Patient A-3

Chapter 2: Shadows

Avalyn

Age 10

 Stealing a quick peak around the corner, my eyes fixate on the sleek, black grand piano positioned in the center of our entertainment room. I'm never allowed in here. Mom says it's for adults, and the massive bar lined with various alcohols is proof of that. I tip-toe towards the large bench, checking over my shoulder before plopping down on the smooth surface. With my hands poised above the keys, I pretend to play the familiar tune Nanny sings to me each night, humming along softly. I close my eyes and imagine I'm a talented musician playing beautifully for a crowd. Lost in the imaginary scenario playing out in my head, I inadvertently press down on one of the keys, causing a loud note to resonate throughout the room. I jump back, snapping my head over my shoulder to ensure Mom hasn't heard me. Thinking I'm in the clear, I rise to my feet and gracefully bow toward each corner of the room.

 "What are you doing in here?" My mother's plaguy voice echoes from the doorway. Her familiar anger was palpable, as it often was, but the intensity of her gaze made me instinctively recoil and curl inward. I drop my arms and wrap them around my torso shielding myself from her oncoming words.

 "Did you touch it?" She accuses, diverting her gaze to the piano.

 "No Mom, I promise," I plead with widening eyes, hoping she can't see through the lie.

 She casts me an exasperated glance, scoffing to herself before making her way over to me. She bends down til she's at eye level with the keys, inspecting each one very carefully.

 "You touched it! You actually dare lie to your Mother?" she questions, her tone laced with contempt.

 "It was on accident. I didn't mean to, Mommy," I murmur, holding back the tears in my eyes.

 She seizes my arm with a forceful grip, yanking me out of the room and hurling me against the wall of the hallway. With a pointed finger, she releases a torrent of words I've been strictly forbidden to repeat. Her nimble fingers grasp my cheeks, squeezing hard enough that my lips pucker out.

 "How many times have I told you not to touch my piano?" she hisses.

 " 'M sowwy Mommy," I struggle to get out.

 Her hand falls with disdain, her glare unwavering, before abruptly rising and delivering a harsh slap across my face.

 Yanking on my jet-black tresses, she pulls my head back til I'm looking directly into her eyes. I can see Dad in my peripheral, and I know what's coming next.

 "You weren't made to dream, Avalyn. You remember that."

 Turning to my dad, she adds," Take her to the basement." 

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Avalyn

Age 20

 With a gasp for air, I shoot upright, my hands instinctively flying to my throat. The sound of rain falling outside my window soothes my anxiety. Slightly panting, I fumble around until I find the chain to my bedside lamp. I check my phone, which reads 3:07 A.M. I haven't had a nightmare in years, but it makes sense being back in this house. My mind wanders to the basement. Knowing it sits right below me leaves me feeling uneasy. I could never remember what happened down there. Dr. Beth says the human brain represses traumatic events in order to keep you safe. My brain is clearly working overtime.

 Poor girl needs a break.

 The storm outside grows heavier by the minute, causing the house to creak and moan. I used to swear up and down to my Nanny that this place was haunted when I was little. Strange noises were always heard late at night when I was supposed to be asleep. I even used to convince myself that a screaming man haunted the bottom floor. Of course, it was only my imagination playing tricks on me. It wasn't until I was 13, that I was able to distinguish reality from fantasy.