The Arrival | The House of Voices #3

Nineteen - Visitor

Visitor

 

Parish:

Parish woke up screaming, a searing pain running down his arm. The Voices had thrust him into another of October’s memories – the one of the night when the Voices made her father push her out of a window.

She hadn’t mentioned it before, but she’d broken her arm that night. It had snapped under her weight as she rolled off the patio roof and onto the grass floor of the back yard.

It had just been a memory, but as he lay there on the ground witnessing the events of that night through October’s eyes, the pain Parish felt was very real. His arm felt like it was on fire; he could feel hot blood trickling down his arm. Above him, Otober’s father peered out the window and grinned wickedly at her.

“You should be more careful, dear,” He said in The Woman’s voice.

The entire ordeal had been terrifying and traumatic. With startling clarity, Parish finally understood why October had problems with heights.

October’s screams didn’t away and the memory faded. Instead, as Parish blinkingly opened his eyes, they transformed from the plaintive screams of a young girl in pain into shrieks of a boy in agony.

Surprised, Parish realized two things; inside the straitjacket, his arm had been broken in real life as well. And he wasn’t alone in the room anymore.

Standing by the closed door, her arms crossed over her chest, Dr. Larkson regarded him maliciously. She looked the same as she always did, in a navy blue skirt suit and white shirt, with her blonde hair in a tight knot at the back of her head, and yet… there was something different about her. An air of danger.

“What are you doing here?” Parish demanded, trying to sit up despite the searing pain in his arm.

She lifted one eyebrow. “You’re not in any position to be asking me questions, Feltman,” she said. Jerking her head in his direction, she continued, “You threw yourself against the wall earlier. You’re bleeding now.”

He ignored her, forcing himself to sit up and glare. “What do you want, Larky?”

“What makes you think I want anything from you?”

“Please. You wouldn’t skip your precious spa time just to come check on me. I’m not an idiot. You want something – what?”

Her mouth looked pinched. “I want to know where she is.”

There was no questioning who the “she” was.

“Where who is?” Parish feigned a look of confusion. His arm was throbbing.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Feltman,” she hissed, taking a few angry steps forward until she was standing right in front of him. In a flash, she reached out and grabbed his chin, her long nails digging painfully into his cheeks. “Where is she?” She hissed.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” he mumbled, trying for the “tool-ish” attitude he usually treated Larkson with.

Angry now, she squeezed harder, using her nails like claws. “Tell me where the girl is,” she almost screamed, her pitch high.

“Over my dead body,” Parish said evenly, trying desperately to ignore the pain in his cheeks. He yanked himself backward, pulling himself out of her grasp.

He focused on the crazed look in Larkson’s eyes, the blanket of desperation that clung to her like a second skin. He didn’t need Ace or Spade’s aura reading abilities to know that something was wrong with the woman.

With a howl of rage, Larkson lunged at Parish. He rolled backward immediately but wasn’t quick enough to miss her nails scratching him sharply across the face.

The door was flung open and The Warden burst in. “Pauline!” he bellowed, stalking forward to grab her by the arms. Larkson screamed. “Enough.”

“He knows where the bitch is,” she screamed, trying to get out of his grip. Parish saw red in the corners of his vision. “He knows.”

“I only allowed you in here,” the Warden grunted, pulling her back, “to talk to the boy. Not manhandle him.”

“He knows, Lipnicki,” She repeated, slightly calmer this time. She struggled against his hold once more. “He knows where the girl is.” She looked at Parish. “Leave us. I can make him tell me.”

The Warden yanked her back sharply as she tried to lunge at Parish again. “Go home, Pauline. This stress is getting to you.”

“I need to find the girl!” She screamed at him hysterically.

Parish watched as The Warden’s patience snapped. “Get out of here, Pauline,” he yelled angrily, spittle spraying as he spoke. “Now.”

And with that, he shoved Dr. Larkson out the door. Before following her out, The Warden paused at the door and looked to Parish.

“I’ll send someone to clean you up,” he said, almost sounding apologetic. “We’re leaving the jacket on until you stop hurting yourself.”

And with that, he left the room. Leaving Parish all alone to wonder what on earth had happened to Doctor Larkson.