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I watched my father button his black overcoat, before he gave me a solemn look. The day was suitably overcast, matching both our moods. It was 8.45am on a Monday, and neither of us wanted to do this.
‘You ready?’ he asked, even though we both knew it wasn’t optional.
‘Can’t wait,’ I faux-grinned. He grimaced, picking up his car keys and heading outside. George and I followed in procession. A couple blocks away, we could hear the knell of a church bell. I shuddered involuntarily. Seemed to be an omen. Dad, as usual, was oblivious.
Nobody spoke in the car. Our destination was only five minutes’ drive away, and there was nothing to say. I’d barely spoken to them this past weekend. Dad had been avoiding me because he was a coward and thought I’d fight him. George? He didn’t even know what to say. This event had come completely out of the blue, and I’d only had time to mourn-
Okay, okay, I’ll stop. It’s not a funeral, though it might as well be George’s. I was going to see a therapist.
What? That not gloomy enough for you? Well, then allow me to elucidate. I see ghosts. Lucies, I call them. I’ve seen them for as long as I can remember. They tend to have unfinished business here that they need a living person to deal with, so I help them out. So far, so good, right? Wrong. There’s been collateral damage along the way, none of which has been solely my fault. I have never pulled a trigger on anyone. I have never pulled a pin out of a grenade, or stabbed somebody or-
You get the picture.
There is only one death related to me that I regret, and I will admit to sharing guilt for. Tommy Perez. He was my only friend, and he asked me not to do something. I did it anyway, and he died. So did a few others. I... have to live with that. The other deaths? Not my fault. They would’ve happened if I hadn’t been there, I was sure of it. Still, I was the only one who saw it that way. Everyone else chose to blame me, the mental patient. Regardless of the fact that all I’ve ever done is help the dead find peace. But nobody wants to look at that, do they?
No, they do not.
This was not the first time that I was going to see a therapist. I’ve been seventeen times over the years, each more samey than the last. You’ve been to one, you’ve been to them all. Daddy disagrees. He’s sure there’s one out there who will get through to me and stop me lying, as he calls it. Yeah. A decade of my life spent almost getting killed, and he still thinks I’m making it up. I am a logical thinker, I’m telling you. I only believe in cold hard facts, and if it can’t be proven, it’s probably not true. I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell. I don’t think aliens have invaded Earth, and my tin foil is kept firmly in the kitchen, away from my head. Point being, I’m not an idiot who believes in things she doesn’t see. I am reasonably intelligent and no good has ever come of this for me.
So, why would I have spent the majority of my life lying about this?
Answer: I wouldn’t. Ergo, I must be telling the truth, right?
Yeah, no. The only people who believe me are dead. Dead-dead, like Tommy, or lucy-dead, like George. Neither are a great help or comfort to me.
Look, I don’t want much in life. I’m pretty rich, so I already have everything material anyway. The only thing I have ever wanted is for someone to say those three little words that mean so much.
No, not that.
I believe you.
The only person who’s ever said that is Tommy, and well... see above.
‘She’ll see you for an hour, maybe longer if needed. Call me when you’re done,’ said the closest family I had. Blood is not thicker than crazy, it seems.
‘Dad, this isn’t going to-’
‘Call me when you’re done,’ he repeated tonelessly.
Alright. I decided to keep to the cool atmosphere and didn’t bother saying goodbye as I got out the car. George wordlessly followed.
‘Brianna,’ my father blurted out, just as I was about to slam the car door. My hand itched, but the angel on my shoulder stopped it from closing all the way.
‘What?’
‘I’m only doing this to help you.’
‘No, Dad. You’re doing this to help you.’
Because why talk to your child like a human being, when you can ship her off to a shrink so she can pop pills and become a different person?
That is all this boils down to, really. He doesn’t like who I am. He doesn’t care about the deaths I’ve been blamed for, or the crimes I’ve committed. He just doesn’t want me as his daughter. You see, everything’s been so easy for him. He was a quarterback in high school, and he dated the head cheerleader, my mom. They were pretty and popular, and so were their friends. And they were rich, thanks to old money. So, they had everything already. And then they married, and my dad got a job coaching the biggest college football team in the States. And they had a baby, and everything was still fine and-
No, wait. That’s where it all went wrong, wasn’t it? Because I was born, and my mom couldn’t hack it and she deserted us. My dad said postnatal depression, which I’ve always totally accepted, but now I’m not so sure. Because I don’t think my dad has ever liked me. Loved me, yeah, cos he had to. But I don’t think he likes me. I think he blames me in a way for my mom’s desertion. But if she really had PND, he wouldn’t blame me because he’d know it was nobody’s fault. So, she must’ve left purely because she didn’t like me, either.
‘Brianna? That’s not true,’ he tried to say.
‘I’ll call you when I leave, Dad,’ I replied, closing the door again.
‘Brianna, this is only for you! You’ll see-’
‘I’ll call you when I leave.’
Finally, my shoulder devil took over and shut the door on his anguished cries. I marched into the lobby and George quickly trotted after me, trying to keep pace.
‘Was that really necessary? He’s right, in his own way-’
‘George, you are non-living proof that he is not right,’ I hissed back, but there was no need. The lobby was empty.
‘I know, but-’
‘No buts. He has never entertained the possibility that I am both sane and telling the truth, because that doesn’t fit with his narrative. I can see it now. He doesn’t want to believe me because his perfect life will be in tatters. So, now I’m forced to take pills against my own will just so he can save face. That’s all this is.’
George pursed his lips, obviously concerned, but I knew I was right. The only thing I did yesterday was think. Well, after trying to plead my case yet again, and pointing out yet again that I knew things I shouldn’t, anyway. Because, yet again, he refused to listen. My own father closed off his ears to his only daughter, opting instead to dose me up. And I was wondering to myself, why? Why would he choose to do that? And I realized that the only answer is that it’s the easier option. He is forcing me to do this so he can have an easy life.
That’s all he’s ever known, after all. Everything’s been handed to him on a platter. Same with my mom, I guess. And then, suddenly, I come into the world and neither of them know what to do with me. I’m supposed to be popular and smart like them, and have an equally easy ride through life. Instead, I see things that others don’t, and I have issues. I am wrong.
And they can’t deal with that.
Mom got out ASAP. Since I never really knew her except from being her lodger, I can’t hate her for that. I can’t do anything for her; I’m indifferent, actually. Dad didn’t leave. He stayed, with the implication being that’d he’d be there for me. And he would raise me, and love me and protect me, because that should’ve been his only job. Instead, he focused super hard on his team and his guys, leaving me to wreak havoc with this thing; that I still don’t know what it is or why I have it. Sure, I get it: he doesn’t understand, but neither do I. And he never wanted to try, so here I am.
Again.
Ready to bare my heart and soul to somebody I barely know, so she can get paid and my dad can pretend I’m just sick. I already know this isn’t going to work, because it requires me to tell the truth. And we all know how well that goes. But there’s no point telling my dad that, is there? He thinks therapy is the only possible cure for me. Because as the saying goes, if it doesn’t work the first time, try seventeen more times.
‘Anna, it’s good to see you again.’
Tess came out of her room and smiled, ignoring the fact that I wasn’t returning it. I was unsurprised to see that she was exactly as I’d remembered her.
‘Ann.’
‘Ann,’ she repeated carefully, like she wasn’t sure if it’d summon a demon or not. She waited politely. I stared at her.
‘You’re looking well,’ she said, after it was clear that I wasn’t going to start small talk.
Hmmm. I didn’t feel like wearing my bright clothes today so I was wearing some old sweats and a worn out tee. Plus, I hadn’t slept at all last night and I rarely wear makeup. But sure, I look “well.” Guess I’m not the only liar, huh?
‘Shall we?’ she coughed, gesturing into her room.
Not like I had a choice. I followed the woman who hadn’t changed into the room that hadn’t changed, where I was somehow expected to change myself.
Eighteenth time lucky? Not a chance.