House of the Damned

The Loss

Twenty
The Loss

My nightmares have almost completely stopped and I haven’t dreamed of any dead people at all during the last two months. The break has been much appreciated. Granted, I know that it can’t last and I’m not surprised when it doesn’t. Not surprised at all.

“Cassie?” The voice is familiar, making my blood run cold. I face away from where it comes from, but I still recognize it. I can’t acknowledge it though. Not yet.

I study the setting, to buy some time, if for no other purpose than that. It’s interesting, because I don’t recognize it. It’s a living room, that much is obvious. I face a fireplace, an old style brick one. A brown leather couch is directly across from it, facing the warm flames. Mismatched, flannel arm chairs sit next to the couch, one on each side. Pictures cover the mantelpiece, pictures that I fear my mind could never create on its own. A young married couple. A family vacationing somewhere tropical. Hawaii, maybe? Two little kids, one boy and one girl, opening presents by a Christmas tree. Two teenagers, perhaps the same kids, grinning, each hold a puppy. A high school graduation. Another wedding. A baby. The pictures are like a timeline, a glimpse into someone else’s life.

The curtains on the windows are floral patterned, a woman’s touch to counteract the armchairs. The floor is hardwood, the walls an inviting light green. In one word, it’s homey. In another, welcoming.

“Cassie? What are you doing here?”

I notice the usual eerie silence that accompanies all my dreams. The voice is the only noise to be heard and I’m still ignoring it. I have to. I can’t accept this.

“Cassie! What is going on?” a note of panic, but mostly just confusion. I turn to face the person, when the dream is interrupted.

I bolt awake.

“Cassie! Cassie! Cassandra Annabelle Walker! Wake up!” Emily shouts, pounding on the door. She sounds scared, worried, and upset. Really upset.

I close my eyes again, trying to shut out her cries, wanting to pretend that everything is fine, but after a moment of continued shouting, I get up.

Emily tumbles into my arms, a sobbing mess, the second I open the door.

“Oh, God, Cassie, oh, God. OhGod,” she sobs into my shoulder. I hug her and just let her crying, knowing she’ll get to the reason the moment she’s ready. Granted, I’m ninety nine percent sure that I already know the reason. I want to hear it though, want it confirmed. Actually, truth be told, I’d prefer to hear it denied. I want to be wrong. About this, I really want to be wrong.

Emily dashes that hope with her next words. “Richard is dead, Cassie. He’s dead.” The sobbing continues and if she said a word, I wouldn’t be able to understand it.

My stomach knots at her words. But I already knew that. The man in some of the pictures was a younger Richard. Even if I’d been unsure of that, it was his voice that said my name in the first place, his voice that was talking to me. I just didn’t want to confirm it.

“How?” I ask her as the sobbing begins to slow. Death is common in this hell, but it’s no less painful when it happens. I couldn’t eat for two days after Kate killed herself. The only reason I even started eating was because Emily made me.

“He ‘fell’ down the stairs,” she answers, but her tone tells me she doesn’t really believe that that’s what happened. I don’t believe it either.

"When?” I wonder, which isn’t really that important, but is still something that I want to know.

“About two hours ago. I just found out, otherwise I would have been here sooner.”