Ghosts Of The Attic

8. Mourning Sickness

8

     The sleeping pills rested in my hand; I stared at them, already knowing the useless effect they would have on me. But maybe it would be different since I now knew the truth behind it all even if the circumstances were farfetched; the thought was reassuring enough for me to swallow the pills dry, which made me choke for a bit. Coughing, I stumbled over to my closet and pulled out my old, canvas knapsack before filling it with warm clothes. After that, I flicked off the lights and nestled into my bed. Then I heard it; the heavy, angry footfalls echoed in the house as I laid in bed while raised voices filled my ears.

     “It was your idea!” my mother screamed. “And look what happened! He was assaulted!”

     “So?” my father retorted, his voice cold. “You can’t just keep babying the boy!”

     “You saw what they–”

     “I damn well saw!” he shouted. “And I can’t do a damn thing about it, Doreen! And neither can you!”

     “Maybe–”

     “Maybe what?” he interrupted, lowering his voice. “Send him off to boarding school? You think that what happened all those months ago won’t affect him?”

     There was silence before a door slammed shut and my mother’s sobs echoed until they came to a sudden halt. A soft knock on my door made me flinch. “Lucas?” Her voice was hoarse. I turned to face the wall as the door began to open; light spilled in and I could see my mother’s silhouette casted onto the wall.

     “Goodnight,” she whispered.

     As soon as the door closed, I flipped onto my back again with my mind racing. This is my fault, I thought. Sighing, my weary eyes trailed across the ceiling, staring at the moonlight that managed to sneak in. From the white moonlight, a pale figure emerged and silently stepped over to my bedside. As my vision began to blur and my eyes began to close, a familiar voice whispered, “Find me.” Sleep finally overtook.

     The glass coffin gleamed in the light; I peered inside, staring at Lucinda’s body. An iridescent liquid filled the coffin, causing her rigid body to drift and her hair to float around like seaweed. Her eyes were closed as if she was sleeping although there was an eerie quality on her tranquil face. Slowly, I touched the coffin, preparing to open it. Suddenly, a voice screamed, “Don’t touch her!”

     My eyes snapped wide open. I could feel the beads of perspiration dotting my face as my stomach gave a lurch. Covering my mouth, I stumbled to the bathroom before collapsing next to the toilet. Bile rose up my throat and I tried to swallow it back down although my effort was futile.

     “Lucas?” my mother called out.

     “Yeah?” I sounded hollow.

     “Are you okay?”

     “Uh–”

     I spewed in the toilet once more before flushing and wiping my mouth. Grabbing a cup from the dispenser, I filled it with mouthwash and let the sour aftertaste be swallowed up by spear mint. Coughing, my hand shot out to steady myself while my eyes slowly trailed along the broken mirror. My reflection was shattered, but I could still see how lifeless I looked; my skin was paler than ever– emphasizing the freckles on my face–while deep circles ran under my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair, still feeling nauseous.

     “Lucas?” My mother’s sudden voice made me jump and I whirled around, catching her distressed expression. Her turquoise eyes widened at the sight of the broken mirror before catching onto my bandaged hand. Slowly, she grabbed my hand and led me to my bed; I moved stiffly, feeling the knot in my stomach beginning to tighten. The bed creaked from my weight as I sat down while my mother paced in front of me. Finally, she paused to look at me with her mouth poised to say something, but instead she swallowed down the words before pacing once more.