A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 2)

Chapter Twenty-Three (Part 1)

The voices are back. I'm not sure how long I've been here now. The only time I get a glimpse of daylight is when I use the bathroom, and even then, Connor has one of his lapdogs stalking me the whole time. They're always in the room at night. It's usually the one with the greased hair and braces, but sometimes it's the one I first met outside Ava's house. Sometimes it's Lucy.

I've not told Connor about the voices. They come and go. Initially, it was just when I thought about it, but now it's random. I'll just start hearing screaming sometimes. There are never any calm voices in the mix, or Mum or Dad, just screaming. It stops me from sleeping most nights. I've not heard my parents since I was at Connor's flat, and I still don't know if it was all in my head. It can't really have been them. They're passed over.

Connor has no idea about any of it, or that I've got my full memory back. I made up some bullshit story about having a vision where he was dark, and he seemed to believe it. Boy, did that irritate him. He thought one of his vision tainting goons had messed up.

Why was I so stupid back at his flat? I knew Annabel hadn't flown to England with us. I should've said something else, made something different up, something I knew aligned with what had happened. I could tell by the vision I'd had that she wasn't with us when we left, not that I even needed the vision by that point. I had my memory back. I guess enough of it hadn't resurfaced yet. Or I just panicked. I don't know. Either way, I was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The curse daze still hasn't lifted. Connor has said it should be the same as blessed spaces, and I should get accustomed to the heaviness after a while. It's not budged an inch since the first day. I've lost some days. On the rare occasion I actually get a half decent night's sleep, I'll wake up, and I won't remember what happened the day before. Sometimes I'll have conversations with Connor, but the next time I see him, I don't even remember what we talked about.

It's like my short-term memories are being plucked out of my head before they're stored, and I'm living in the constant dread that it's going to start happening to the memories I've only recently recovered. I don't know what's wrong with me. Connor keeps trying to shove food down my throat, but I'm not hungry. I'm not even trying to be defiant, I just can't stomach food. I don't want to eat. I don't care.

I'm staring at an untouched, dry looking bowl of pasta when Connor barges in one day, and his face is twitching. The guy deserves an oscar for his performance over the few days he was pretending not to be a complete sociopath. I know I'm hardly Poirot, but he had everyone fooled. Everyone bar Annabel, at least. I shift the thought of her out of my head. Connor tries to be friendly with me for the most part, but he doesn't exactly have the best control over his temper.

"The spirits--can you see them?" he demands as he stands over me. What is he talking about? "William is saying you're not responding to him."

Ah, he means his lapdogs. William needs to not be so needy.

"It happens sometimes," I mumble, not really interested. "My abilities disappear when I feel like shit."

Connor shakes his head. "The curse's effects are artificial, it can't impact your abilities."

"Here's a wild thought," I start. "Maybe I'm just depressed."

Connor's response is to stare at me like I just told him I think I'm a dolphin. What a wacky suggestion, eh? You'd think I was chained to a radiator in the middle of nowhere, having recently realised my one living relative is evil personified, and the person I care about most in the world is all alone and probably thinks I'm dead.

"You're fine, just man up," he mutters.

What the--Wow, I'm cured. Thanks, bro. Prick. Connor mutters something about eating, and disappears. I'll chew my arm off before I touch that sad looking pasta.

The one good thing about feeling like this is that I can never hear the screaming voices in this state. Silver linings and all that. Not all days are bad, although the bar is very, very low at this point. New memories click sometimes, from when my parents and Annabel were alive. They're usually dumb, insignificant things, but they're enough to make me feel at least a little less hopeless. Some even include Connor, and he's normal. Hell, he's legitimately nice.

I can't help but wonder if that guy is still in there somewhere. I think I see it sometimes, when we're talking and things start edging on normal, there's something in his eyes sometimes that flickers, as if he realises what he's doing, but it never lasts more than a few seconds.

There's something missing though. A memory? I don't know. Something I'm not remembering. Every time I recollect the crash, my mind goes blank at the point where Mum was killed, and there was no one left besides Connor and me. I'm by myself beside the car, Mum's lying still on the ground next me, and I'm crying. I'm crying really, really damn hard. How didn't Connor just pluck me up from there, and make a run for it? It doesn't make sense.

My next memory of that night is being back inside the car, with all the doors locked, and I'm still crying. Then a white light appears, one I now know is Dad. I don't know if that gap in my memory is what the niggling feeling is. I'm not convinced it is. Whatever I'm forgetting, it doesn't feel like a memory exactly. It feels like a thought, a fact, some knowledge... Something else. I've got no idea.

"At least drink something."

Connor's voice brings me back to the present. He's back in the room, holding a cup of water in front of me. I lean forward to take it, but I must move too far because I'm pulled back by my left wrist. I wince. The skin on it is raw from where the metal is rubbing against it. I still try freeing my hand from the handcuff sometimes, but all it ever does is make my wrist bleed. I don't even realise I'm pulling on it half the time. I think I move a lot in my sleep. I ignore the pain and take the water.

"Don't try anything," Connor mutters once I've finished drinking. "William and Christopher are here."

I give him a questioning look, but he says nothing as he pulls something out of his pocket and bends down to reach for the handcuffs around my wrist. There's a click. Connor takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet, and it's pathetic and embarrassing because without his help, I'd barely be able to stand. I don't know if it's because I spend most of my time sitting down on a hard floor nowadays, but it's like my legs have given up on me. The second I'm on my feet, I feel a cold hand grasp the back of my neck. Probably William, the younger spirit with the suspenders. He tends to opt for the neck grab.

We move slowly out of the room, which is also completely down to me. I have to lean on Connor to keep my balance. I instinctively go to walk in the direction of the bathroom, but Connor leads me into a different room. I stare at what looks like the front door of the house as we pass it, but the grasp on my neck suddenly tightens.

"Ow! Alright, alright, you don't have to snap my head off," I mumble.

Connor must hear, but he ignores me. As much as I hate my abilities sometimes, there's something really damn frustrating about knowing there are spirits around me, but I can't see or hear them. We end up in what I think is supposed to be a living room, but the only thing here is a stained sofa and a television propped on top of a few boxes. There's a fairly big window in the room though, and my eyes are drawn to the sunlight. Actual sunlight.

"You need sleep," Connor announces as he nods at the sofa. "Just for tonight. William, Christopher and Lucy will be watching the whole time."

Wow, what a generous guy. I want to say he can shove the sofa up his arse, but I'm so exhausted from having few hours of sleep a night that instead, I absentmindedly fall onto the thing. Holy shit, it's comfy. How is this so comfy? It looks like it's been grabbed from the street, how is it so comfortable?

For the first time since I got myself trapped in this place, I wake up feeling refreshed. There's a blanket over me that wasn't there when I fell asleep, and it's warm and soft, and God, I've missed being comfortable. How is this so comfortable?

The feeling of glee doesn't last long. Minutes after waking up, the screaming begins.