Eerie Silence
-Tints of Shade
Chapter Two

I leaned against the window and looked at the people outside listlessly, ignoring the fact that no talk was initiated between Father and me. All I could hear was the occasional honking of cars, and the cackle of the pick-up truck, which belched numerous clouds of the darkest smoke. The radio wasn’t on. It was hot and a little bit drafty in the car. I felt the urge to take off my denim jacket and some of my clothes, though in the end, I hesitated.

I lifted my finger and gently traced a question mark on the window, wondering what the asylum people would think of me. I was sure they wouldn’t have an inkling who I used to be years before. I was a very different person back then. No longer was I the lively, annoying, talking Christina Wesley, the girl who ventured to quench her curiosities. Not that I was no longer a curious being, in fact, curiosity, I believe, is a prominent human trait. It only happened that I stopped voicing my needs, wants, and questions, tiring as it was at times. I wasn’t about to give up now. People say that curiosity killed the cat. I wasn’t going to end up dead in my tracks like him.

I often talked before. I knew I was a social being, that I had a standing in the world, six-year-old that I was. I engaged in small, meaningless talk and tried to make friends. I ran around, laughing and playing with Abby. Daddy didn’t hurt me then and Mommy concentrated on her sewing and arts.

I had many follies. I think I am better off whom I am now than who I was before—if I am to say so myself. I think I matured. I was only severely misunderstood. Daddy said I was crazy. I say crazy people aren’t as obedient.

I transferred the object of my attention back to the people hustling and bustling, a cornucopia f questions attacking my ever-weary mind. I asked myself if ever they were misunderstood. It was a rhetorical question—I wouldn’t be able to provide an answer anyway. In turn, I also wondered if they were people who misunderstood others, people who called others lunatics even if they weren’t. I wanted to sneer at them, the judgmental men.

Minutes passed by and we left the city and drove on a highway. The place looked utterly unfamiliar. I was, of course, never the travel type. I looked around at the vast expressway, dumbfounded. Daddy was driving faster now. The ride was smoother and there were no more pedestrians.

My hand found its way to my tummy. I felt it growl and in that moment, I felt like I needed a biscuit. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything decent—that is, enough to call a square meal—in two days, as I remember. I only popped candies or cookies in my mouth every few hours or so. I was thankful to have packed a plastic of biscuits today.

I took a small coconut biscuit from my backpack and savored it slowly, making it melt in my mouth rather than biting it. After that, a feeling of sleepiness enveloped me—perhaps due to the silence, the blankness, and the immense unfamiliarity of the road—and I curled up into a ball, closed my eyes, and went to sleep.

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I had a bad dream. Nightmares were already regular—and they always concerned the night of Mommy’s death. Today wasn’t any different. I couldn’t see anything in my dream, only a tiny yellow light. I felt as if I could feel clothes against my revealed skin. I could hear all the cruelty in the world with keenness.

“Please, Leonard, don’t do this!” I heard Mommy scream in my dream. It was a pathetic plead that the mystery man did not listen to. I could hear him continuously sucking her skin, only taking a break for a few moments to breathe and speak.

“Shut up, sexy bitch!” I could sense him leaping back in to kiss her, and I heard him moan and grunt in forbidden delight. I cringed.

“I don’t want this!”

“This isn’t about what you want, Hilary!” He yelled frighteningly. Mommy tried to gather up all her strength to scream for help, but what I heard seemed only a useless squeak. “It’s about me and what I want!”

“Please, please, I’ll do anything!” She pleaded some more, trying her luck, though it was all in vain. The man might have already gotten annoyed, for after that, I heard a gunshot. He laughed evilly, and then proceeded to what seemed like breaking Mother’s dear bones. It was horrific.

There was always something weird about my nightmares. I could never recall the rapist being my father, Leonard, but Mommy always mentioned his name in my dreams as if he were the antagonist. I knew the voice of the mystery man was shrill and more youthful compared to Daddy. I couldn’t understand why he was always portrayed as the evil man in my sleep. Why? Could he really be the one? It would explain the reason why he didn’t want any further investigations, but I just didn’t get it. It couldn’t be him. Something in my heart told me it wasn’t. He was mean, but not guilty of rape and murder. There was something inside of me that told me that Daddy wasn’t a very bad person.

I didn’t know exactly how long I’d slept, but it must have been for quite a while, for when I woke up we seemed to be driving up on a hill, on a completely different landscape. I didn’t wake up without shock, despite the fact that my nightmares were already regular and the same. The corner of my eye felt wet, and so I gave it a soft touch. A teardrop had already formed. I asked myself—without reply—if I had actually cried in my sleep. I was in a daze and felt a quick fit of depression fill me—an empty feeling of despondence.

“Wake up, kid,” Daddy said the minute my eyes flicked open. I sat up immediately when I heard him, then rubbed my eyes to strengthen my vision. I didn’t want to make him upset. “We’re here.”

I could smell the aftermath of his smoking—it was immensely unpleasant. I scrunched up my nose and breathed with my mouth, hoping the odor wouldn’t reach my lungs.

I let out an innocent yawn—that was probably as close as I would reach to talking. I could sense Daddy smirking. He knew that, it just seemed funny to hear me let out some air. Funny, in a humorless way. It only proved I could talk, but didn’t want to. After all those times with hardly any sound escaping my mouth, it felt unusual to hear my high-pitched tone, even if it was merely in the form of a yawn.

Daddy parked the truck near a tall oak tree, the truck making irritating noises and cackles—the sound that bid me goodbye as I slept and hello as I woke. I put on my backpack and prepared myself to pull the travel bag with me as soon as Daddy permitted me to jump off. I transferred Elena to my left hand, clutching her tightly.

I waited with a patient look in my eyes as I scanned the place. It was verdant, lush, and filled with trees. There were beautiful rosebushes and a variety of other flowers. It was a natural, picturesque place and I couldn’t help but smile slightly when I saw children frolicking about on the grass, with the sun smiling upon them and giving them tanned skin. At least I knew I wasn’t alone.

“Get out.” Daddy bluntly commanded me. I opened the car door, hopped out, pulled my travel bag with me, and slammed the door shut, with Elena still clutching my left hand. Daddy came out from the driver’s side moments after. I supposed he was going to escort me to the asylum. I appreciated that—truly, I did.

I dismissed the burdening weight on my shoulder and followed Daddy closely behind. There was a wonderful, revitalizing feeling that crept up my throat when I took my first step on a dead leaf and heard its crunchy, crisp sound. Nature was truly inviting. The wind was fresh—it compromised for the layers of clothing that I wore. The children looked so joyful, despite the fact that they must have known that they were in a juvenile ward, a place for the so-called insane. Weren’t they offended?

My simple happiness sank as quickly as it had risen when I saw the building I was to stay in. The garden was beautiful, inviting, a good place for meditation and relaxing, but the gargantuan building made of gray brick looked really a lot like prison—hostile, uninviting. I frowned and let out a small sigh that lay unnoticed. Did those little, frolicking boys and girls really live there?

I felt the sudden urge to leave the place, if only I could. Instead, I continued walking, following Daddy’s path with stiffer and more hesitant footsteps, as if every move was a move that put me closer to my doom. I just wished that I could be as carefree as the playing children, or wake up and realize that I was merely being delusional.

A/N: I said I was unsure of whether or not I will continue this, but it just seemed so exciting to write--probably not exciting to read, though. Please give me a handful of your thoughts about this work! Thank you, A Daughter of God, for reviewing.