May These Noises Startle You at Night
Prologue
The room was lit up with red and blue lights. They circled around like a disco ball and reflected among the face of the pale teenager. Her eyes dampened and dragged down to the body crumpled at her feet. Blood seeped from a wound in the back of his head and thickly crawled toward her boots. The sirens of the cop cars around her began to fade as she stared down at the man, dead. The authorities had yet to barge through the door and she wondered if maybe they were waiting for a surrender. For someone to come out with their hands out, waving a white flag and to say it was all over; that they had given up. It wasn’t happening. He was dead and it was all her fault. She killed him. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears and she could feel her heart trying to break her ribs violently inside her chest. A sound, somewhere between a wheeze and a sob, escaped her and she covered her mouth. If she was too loud, she swore she could wake him. It was habit. Her hands dropped to her side when she remembered he wouldn’t wake up anymore. The door clicked in the other room; they were coming in. She had to get out; she couldn’t be found with his blood on her hands. She knelt down to her father and rubbed her hand along his cold cheek gently, biting her lip. “I’m s-s-so s-sorry.” She whispered. She stood up and took off toward the back door, pausing only once to look back at him on the floor. She frowned, but when she caught the glimpse of a blue uniform coming in, she darted into the darkness outside.
***
It was pouring outside when the teenager was thrown onto the muddy lawn in front of his house. He put his hands out to break his fall and rolled a few feet before finally stopping and looking back at the door where his father and mother emerged. A duffle bag was thrashed out at him and his arms came up again to deflect it. It landed with a splash in a puddle beside him. He didn’t look at the bag or wonder about its contents, he simply stared at his parents. They looked at him with pure loath and revulsion. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” His mother spat at him and turned on her heels to walk back into the house. He watched her disappear and wondered if that would be the last time he would ever see her. “You’re disgusting; a disgrace and an abomination.” His father said sternly. “Never come back here, you hear me? No sinner will be welcomed here.” The boy ducked his head, cringing when he heard the door slam. He swore it was louder than the crack of thunder that followed. He looked up; for what, he didn’t know. He knew there was no hope of his parents doing anything sympathetic toward him anymore yet, he still did hope for something. Anything. His eyes caught the sight of an eight year old girl in a pink sundress, standing in the front window and staring at him. He picked his hand up and waved at her, braving a smile. She clutched a doll in her right hand and waved back with her left. Within another moment, an arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her away from the window. His mother drew the curtains and blocked him out. He rubbed his hands over his face, sitting in the mud for a moment before he snatched the backpack and ran off.
***
It was another night of tucking his two kid brothers in bed then turning around and peeking into his mother’s room to make sure she was still breathing. She was, so he spun and walked back into the living room of the small town house. He was watching cartoons when he heard a rumpus coming from the room at the end of the hall. At first, he ignored it. But when it to continued and got louder after four minutes, he stood up and trudged over to his mother’s room. He pushed the door open to see his mother bent over, sitting on her bed. He couldn’t make out what exactly she was doing, but there was a shattered lamp on the floor and she was whimpering. The whimpers, however, weren’t of pain and it sent a disturbing shiver through him. He walked closer to see her holding a piece of the broken glass against her skin. She had drawn a scarlet line along the crook of her elbow. In her other hand she held a needle with a clear liquid inside. There were two things he could do; he could grab both things from her and put her back to bed and dispose of them or he could ignore her considering she was oblivious to his presence. He was sick of cleaning up after her and pulling her out of a habit she’d descend straight back into. So, he ignored her. He left the room and tugged his cellphone out of his pocket, calling his aunt in the next town over as he woke up his brothers and told them to each pack a bag, grab their pillows, blankets and their bears they were both attached to. He drove them to their mother’s sister’s house and dropped them off. He told them he’d be right back; he was just running out to get something. He said that their mother had to do something that was something they shouldn’t see anymore; she was sick and she needed to get better and for that she had to be alone. After making sure they fell asleep comfortably and thanking his aunt again, he got back into his car and drove away with no destination in particular but away from there.
***
Another needle, another tube, another doctor, but the same nurse. She held his hand with such delicacy like she thought that if she was gentle there, the needle might hurt less. It didn’t and he looked away every time he felt the steel pierce his skin. “Sugar, you know it doesn’t hurt anymore.” She hummed, just like she did every time she’d give him his shot in the same soothing, warm voice that wrapped around him like a winter scarf. He simply huffed and waited until she let go of him so he could tangle his arms across his chest. She started telling him the next time he should come in and what treatment was next in line, but all he could focus on was the shrilling smell of antiseptic, the sounds of other people in the hallway coughing and crying and chattering, and how chapped his lips were. He wet his lips with his tongue and looked over at her, asking if he was done and ignoring the fact that he had cut her off. She said the next appointment date once more and let him go. When he heard her say “bye, I’ll be seeing you,” as he passed through the door way, he felt a twinge of guilt because he knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t look back at her and say “Bye, and only if I don’t die first,” with a smirk like he always did, he only walked out of the room and into the hospital hallway. He buried his face into his arm as he coughed a few times and he swore he could feel his lungs giving up every time he did. He paused at the front desk and waited for the nurse to hang up the phone before he stated his name and said, “I’m stopping all treatment.” With that, he left the hospital without a glance back.
***
It was pouring outside when the teenager was thrown onto the muddy lawn in front of his house. He put his hands out to break his fall and rolled a few feet before finally stopping and looking back at the door where his father and mother emerged. A duffle bag was thrashed out at him and his arms came up again to deflect it. It landed with a splash in a puddle beside him. He didn’t look at the bag or wonder about its contents, he simply stared at his parents. They looked at him with pure loath and revulsion. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” His mother spat at him and turned on her heels to walk back into the house. He watched her disappear and wondered if that would be the last time he would ever see her. “You’re disgusting; a disgrace and an abomination.” His father said sternly. “Never come back here, you hear me? No sinner will be welcomed here.” The boy ducked his head, cringing when he heard the door slam. He swore it was louder than the crack of thunder that followed. He looked up; for what, he didn’t know. He knew there was no hope of his parents doing anything sympathetic toward him anymore yet, he still did hope for something. Anything. His eyes caught the sight of an eight year old girl in a pink sundress, standing in the front window and staring at him. He picked his hand up and waved at her, braving a smile. She clutched a doll in her right hand and waved back with her left. Within another moment, an arm slipped around her shoulders and pulled her away from the window. His mother drew the curtains and blocked him out. He rubbed his hands over his face, sitting in the mud for a moment before he snatched the backpack and ran off.
***
It was another night of tucking his two kid brothers in bed then turning around and peeking into his mother’s room to make sure she was still breathing. She was, so he spun and walked back into the living room of the small town house. He was watching cartoons when he heard a rumpus coming from the room at the end of the hall. At first, he ignored it. But when it to continued and got louder after four minutes, he stood up and trudged over to his mother’s room. He pushed the door open to see his mother bent over, sitting on her bed. He couldn’t make out what exactly she was doing, but there was a shattered lamp on the floor and she was whimpering. The whimpers, however, weren’t of pain and it sent a disturbing shiver through him. He walked closer to see her holding a piece of the broken glass against her skin. She had drawn a scarlet line along the crook of her elbow. In her other hand she held a needle with a clear liquid inside. There were two things he could do; he could grab both things from her and put her back to bed and dispose of them or he could ignore her considering she was oblivious to his presence. He was sick of cleaning up after her and pulling her out of a habit she’d descend straight back into. So, he ignored her. He left the room and tugged his cellphone out of his pocket, calling his aunt in the next town over as he woke up his brothers and told them to each pack a bag, grab their pillows, blankets and their bears they were both attached to. He drove them to their mother’s sister’s house and dropped them off. He told them he’d be right back; he was just running out to get something. He said that their mother had to do something that was something they shouldn’t see anymore; she was sick and she needed to get better and for that she had to be alone. After making sure they fell asleep comfortably and thanking his aunt again, he got back into his car and drove away with no destination in particular but away from there.
***
Another needle, another tube, another doctor, but the same nurse. She held his hand with such delicacy like she thought that if she was gentle there, the needle might hurt less. It didn’t and he looked away every time he felt the steel pierce his skin. “Sugar, you know it doesn’t hurt anymore.” She hummed, just like she did every time she’d give him his shot in the same soothing, warm voice that wrapped around him like a winter scarf. He simply huffed and waited until she let go of him so he could tangle his arms across his chest. She started telling him the next time he should come in and what treatment was next in line, but all he could focus on was the shrilling smell of antiseptic, the sounds of other people in the hallway coughing and crying and chattering, and how chapped his lips were. He wet his lips with his tongue and looked over at her, asking if he was done and ignoring the fact that he had cut her off. She said the next appointment date once more and let him go. When he heard her say “bye, I’ll be seeing you,” as he passed through the door way, he felt a twinge of guilt because he knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t look back at her and say “Bye, and only if I don’t die first,” with a smirk like he always did, he only walked out of the room and into the hospital hallway. He buried his face into his arm as he coughed a few times and he swore he could feel his lungs giving up every time he did. He paused at the front desk and waited for the nurse to hang up the phone before he stated his name and said, “I’m stopping all treatment.” With that, he left the hospital without a glance back.