Hello Darkness

Chapter Two

Blood. I hate blood. Revolting, disgusting, sticky blood.

The pungent smell of rust and dirt clings to my nostrils like yesterday's trash, curling my stomach. If I don't cleanse it soon, the garbage can in the corner will be needed. Three bright dots tarnish the ivory canvas of my favorite kicks, and I didn't even want to look at the bottom. The red scuffs they left on the white tile are enough to tell me they're no good now.

Maybe it's superficial of me to worry about my shoes when there is a woman dead in the other room, but it is better than thinking about the alternative-than acknowledging the dark knot pitted in my chest. I need to keep my head on straight, at least until I get home.

I knew I shouldn't have come to review this shitty band. I thought I'd escaped, when Melissa offered her interview. Had I known what horrors would transpire, I would have stayed home. But now her face, the blood-oh god, the blood-and those marks are the only vivid images I see.

When I have an attack, everything becomes a blur, like a filter pulled over my eyes. But I can't seem to shake it this time. Red drips down the earthy-brown walls. Blood pools on the floor and anywhere else I look for too long. The seclusion, in this nearly empty backstage room, was necessary-or so they say, because speaking with anyone before the police arrive could apparently sway my statement. Personally, I think they just want to make sure I didn't kill her.

The medical examiner offered me water after she cleared me, but it still sits in the cup. I tried to take a drink, but my hands were entirely too shaky, and I nearly dropped it when it turned deep red. None of this could be real.

I did nothing to help her. But what could I have done? Alma is the nurse, not me. Of course, Alma would have known what to do-she always knows what to do. I was the useless sister, the sick sister... the crazy sister. And it showed when I just stood there, staring at those damn marks.

I press my palms into my eyes. Black smudges coat my hands when I pull them away-I really need to invest in some waterproof mascara.

I sigh...those marks were what stopped my heart and made my body tingle. Two small holes could do that to me. Two tiny little marks can bust my chest open and send me spiraling back fifteen years.

No, I won't get in my head. I worked too hard to get out of it. I can't lose all the progress I've made. But when my eyes slip to the tattoo on my left arm, it makes it too easy to dig up those horrors and travel back to that night. It was meant as a tribute to those I've lost, but now it was nothing more than a reminder. A record at the base near my wrist, a cassette tape near my elbow and an old microphone topped at my shoulder, the kind I've watched Elvis use in old-timey videos. All blended with roses and vines. I'm flexing my hand watching the flowers ripple when the door flings open and hits the wall with a thud.

A tawny-skinned officer wearing an authority-blue uniform fills the doorway. But when I meet the officer's honey eyes, I don't just see a man of the law. I see late night pillow fights, drunken midnight phone calls, my secret keeper, but most of all, the person that stood by my side when it seemed like the world turned against me. The concern wrinkling his forehead fades as he looks me over.

The pressure lifts from my shoulders. "Breccan." I stand and wrap my arms around my friend's neck. When they called the police, I hoped he would come.

"Charley, thank God," he says, his thick arms pull me into a tight embrace. He gives the type of hugs that take the worry away. The kind that make you feel like you're not alone. "I heard your name over the radio, but no one would answer why. Then I got here and..." he sighs, his thick shoulders slumping. He leans back, analyzing me to ensure I'm not broken. "Are you okay?"