|Quiet which speaks
Author: SSirppi PM
I wonder if she was simply mad. Somehow I cannot believe that someone so terribly sane could lose her grip from reality so completely. Yet the alternative is too horrible, too unimaginable to even comprehend. Still, I can't help but think back and search for the answers I know I will never have.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Tragedy - Chapters: 3 - Words: 2,850 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Updated: 02-04-13 - Published: 01-25-13 - Status: Complete - id: 3095253
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Quiet which speaks
Part 3 out of 3
As the time passed she appeared more and more distant. Sometimes she just stopped what she was doing and turned like she had heard something. I didn't have the heart to confront her and prayed that whatever it was that was wrong with her would end with the pregnancy. Such a coward I was, if there ever was a chance that doctors could have helped her I should have taken it then.
Weeks passed and finally our lovely daughter was born. Ivy wanted to name her Eowyn, but I stalled her. She argued that if she had wanted to be unreasonable she would have gone for Galadriel, but I didn't want our child to bear the burden of other children's intolerance. Eventually we settled for Evelyn. I adored her and she seemed to be good for Ivy as well. It had been months since she had appeared so focused and smiled so much. For a while everything seemed perfect. Ivy thrived in the warmth and light of the summer and I followed with awe and dread as our little girl grew with terrifying speed.
Then the autumn came, darkness in its wake and Ivy's father died. I though the weeks before the funeral were terrible. She couldn't handle silence at all and kept some background noise on all the time. It seemed like Evelyn was the only reason she bothered to live at all. Almost all her actions were related to our daughter somehow, I think I received one small smile during that whole time. Sometimes she came to me and wrapped herself into my arms but she never wept or talked about what she was going through. Then the funeral came and everything fell to pieces.
My parents were taking care of Evelyn for which I'm everlastingly grateful. Ivy was quiet but she managed to say some words of reminiscence and I was already letting out a sigh of relief when the priest asked us to quiet down for a prayer. I prayed that Ivy could handle the ceremony to the end but once again my wishes were not answered. After a moment of silence Ivy bolted like a deer from a huntsman. I ran after her leaving the shocked guests and the priest staring after us. I reached her at the gates of the cemetery. I tried to talk to her, offer some empty comforting words but she refused to speak. Carefully I led her to our car and drove her home. I'm not even sure she registered what was happening, she remained quiet and her eyes never once focused on me. From home I called my parents and asked them to take care of Evelyn for the night. I said Ivy was upset. Understatement of the century.
Eventually she went to sleep and I drifted off sometime after her. My dreams were uneasy. I dreamed of my own grandmother who had never met Ivy. She appeared as in the old photographs from her younger days, but I recognised her instantly.
"The dead are coming for her. She refused to listen to their pleas for too long. Let her go, it's too late."
Then she was gone and suddenly I could hear weeping. I jerked awake. Ivy.
She was sitting on the floor of our living room in complete darkness. When I turned the lights on she slowly turned her gaze to me. It struck me that it was the first time I had seen her weep. Yet the fact that she seemed aware filled me with traitorous hope.
I went to her and wrapped my hands tightly around her. She sobbed against my nightshirt and for a while I just held her. Then she seemed to collect herself and spoke:
"They are all dead. I can make out what they say and – Oh gods, they are all dead!"
Her voice rose to a shriek and she clutched me tighter but I had no comfort to offer her. How do you comfort someone who hears voices in her head? "Don't worry love, you are just mad"?
I took her to see a psychiatrist next day. They wanted to take her in for couple of days, to test out medications and to make sure she was no danger to herself or others. The worst thing was that when she had calmed down she did not appear mad. Closed off, cold, yes but completely reasonable. When I was leaving to get Evelyn, she turned away from the window that had held her attention since she came out from the psychic evaluation. Her gaze was sad as she walked to be and kissed my cheek.
"I'm sorry, Alan."
"You have nothing to be sorry for." For even though I hated this, I knew it wasn't her fault. I didn't hate her for doing this to us, I hated fate or if there was God I hated him.
She gave me a small smile.
"I love you. Whatever happens I want you to know that."
She disappeared that night. From behind a locked door and barred windows. The security cameras showed nothing, she had vanished without a trace. And I could not help but wonder, and I still do, if the dead had really came for her as I had dreamed. Which would be worse? That she, in her madness, somehow manoeuvred herself out and disappeared from the society, maybe died in some gutter, maybe still lives somewhere with her voices? Or that the dead were really talking to her and finally claimed her as their own?
Evelyn was the only that kept me alive for a long time. Our beautiful little daughter growing up, asking why she did not have a mother. I told her that she was dead. Even if that is not true it's the only answer I can give. If she ever came back she would be locked up in a heartbeat. For if she had been alright, healthy and sane, she would have come back already. She wouldn't have left Evelyn, left me, otherwise.
Evelyn turned four yesterday. She is a bright child all smile and laughter. Now she is playing on the floor of the bedroom with her new Barbie-dolls. Suddenly she looks up and a look of puzzlement crosses her face.
"Daddy, you were wrong, you know."
"Mommy is not dead."
I freeze. Surely she could not have been serious. She could not have recognized Ivy even if she walked straight into her in a street. All my pictures of her had been put away for I still couldn't bear the sight of them.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, dead people can't talk to living. So she can't be dead. She told me I was pretty and that she was really proud of me." Then she tilts her head to the side as if to listen to something. Her face falls.
"Oh, she says she is dead but that she can talk to me because I'm special." The last part brings the smile back to her lips. I cannot form a sound.
"She says she is still sorry and that she loves you. And that she misses us both, very, very badly."
A/N: Thank you to all who have read this to the end. It's my first fictional story in English (excluding one short piece of fanfiction) and I would be really glad if you would tell me your opinion. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, but if you just want to tell me that I'm awesome please go ahead ;)
With love, SSirppi