Across Acheron

Session 1

Since you seem like a regular shrink, you’ll want me to start off telling you about my childhood, how my parents treated me, and if I got bullied or something. I’m sorry to say I have no intention of going into something I don’t remember in the first place. Some memories from the last twenty-four years of my life are missing, and to be honest, I don’t mind it much. I must’ve been a really messed up kid, considering all the marks on my body.

For that reason alone, I’m content with knowing nothing.

So instead of telling you about my life, I’ll just explain how I got to wearing white scrubs and watching people scream their heads off down the hall. The story of how I got here begins at the end, where I woke up one afternoon on someone else’s lawn and had to choose between life and death. There was a gun held right between my eyes, the barrel smooth and glinting with menace in the sunlight.

I swear, the guy holding it was this close to pulling the trigger. I didn’t see him properly at first; it was late afternoon, if I remember correctly, so the sun was in my eyes and shadowed his features.

I wasn’t too concerned about seeing his face, though. I was too busy freaking the fuck out. I wanted to move, but his voice told me not to. So I laid there like an idiot, my eyes bugging out of their damn sockets as I hung on the scale of life and death.

But I didn’t die then, obviously. The guy took a slight step to his right and blocked the sun, leaning towards my face. He seemed young enough, but the aging skin around his eyes gave clues that he was probably a few years older than me. The beard on his face showed that he didn’t care much about shaving, or he didn’t have the time to. A look of pure terror crossed his face, but as quick as it came, it left. His skin didn’t gain back any colour, though, and he still looked close to crapping his pants.

“Get up,” he commanded, his voice deep and gruff. Instead of allowing me to get to my feet, he grabbed my shirt and hauled me in the air, causing me to damn near piss myself.

When I was finally on my shaking feet, I noticed that he wasn’t the only one with me. There was another. He was young as well, but noticeably younger than the other. He was still about a foot or so taller than me, though, with copper brown hair that glinted like gold in the sunlight and flawless, slightly tanned skin.

I was forced to look away from him when the other knocked my head with the back of the gun. He grabbed my wrist roughly and pushed me towards their small cabin, which I hadn’t noticed before. The cabin stunk of old wood and sunflowers; a weird combination. I couldn’t mention anything about it, though. Not with a gun pointed at my head.

The oldest forced me to sit down on a futon covered with a flannel quilt. Everything screamed lumberjack, but the oldest didn’t look like one. Neither did the pretty one.

“Who are you and what were you doing on my lawn?”

I had answered as truthfully as I could, although he could have blown my brains out because of it.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’? What, you just dropped out of the fucking sky?”

The corner of my lip twitched in morbid amusement at the thought of raining men, but I didn’t laugh. It would just piss him off even more.

“Look man, I know how bad this looks, but I’m telling the truth. I have no idea who I am or where I came from, much less do I know how I ended up on your lawn. I just...”

I sighed and scratched my head, unsure of what to say next. I tried to act suave as hell to show I wasn’t dangerous. That’s one thing I learned about myself; I’m able to stay calm in sticky situations. I always go with the flow—I never argue about anything. I think it’s easier to live life doing exactly what people tell you. You end up with fewer enemies.  You can write that down in your notebook, if you want. Quote me.