Valley of Echoes

Chapter One

As soon as I walked out of the red brick building, my glasses fogged up from the gentle mist forming in the air. It was like I knew what I had to do. Had to go to therapy and talk to her. They say talking will help. Talking will make things better. They don't see the things I see, they don't hear the voices I hear. It's like I'm living in a nightmare that I can't wake up from.

I took a tissue out of my pocket and cleared the mist from my glasses. Once I put them back on, they misted up again. I noticed Juliet at the black iron-rod gates in her Dodge Neon car. I rushed through the playground, climbed into the front passenger seat and buckled myself in.

She turned to look at me and I smiled widely. I didn't say anything to her. I hadn't talked to anyone since the funeral of my Grandfather Perry. I wasn't allowed to go to his funeral as I was told it was my fault he died. How could I kill a full-grown man? His death was a relief in my mind. Mom was adamant about blaming me for his death. She beat me until my body was black and blue with bruises.

It's been a year now, and I'm still being blamed for his death. To cope, I found my own way. I was given a social worker, Juliet Cox. She tried her hardest to get me to talk, but I didn't. I hadn't said a single word since his demise. I hadn't spoken to my parents, my friends or my Grandmother Perry.

I can still remember how he looked as he sat in his chair with his eyes closed. This was something I couldn't get out of my mind. Each night when I go to sleep, I see him looking at me as I lie in bed. Dad was the only one who didn't blame me for his death. It was like he was there believing in me. I just couldn't understand him one bit.

Juliet drove through town and began talking about this being my third visit to Sherry, my therapist. I hadn't spoken to her since I was assigned to her. "Remember to talk. If you start talking, it will help let people know how you're feeling. We're here to help you. Remember that," Juliet said as I climbed out of the car. The only reason I was in therapy was that I was a self-harmer.

Nobody knew I carried a utility knife and razor blade in my backpack. If people found out, I'm sure they'd lock me into a mental hospital. I watched Juliet drive off. I stood there as her car got into the distance. I turned to look at the tall building where Sherry was. Her office was on the fourth floor. I hated heights; it meant I had to take the elevator up to her floor.

"Talk and it will help"; the words rang throughout my mind as I entered the building. I counted all the steps as I made my way to the elevator and climbed in. It was empty. I pressed the button for floor four. The thought of going into Sherry's office and talking with her was far from my mind. I shook my head and told myself no. He told me if I ever told anyone he'd come get me and take me to hell with him. I didn't want to go to hell. I tried my best to be good and honest with all my friends.

Dear God,

Give me the strength, guidance and help to get through this session with Sherry. I mustn't tell a soul what he did to me. Now my Uncle David is taking his place and raping me. Every time mom leaves me with my Grandmother Martha, he rapes me. Plus, my grandmother will beat me as mom does. She put a hot poker for the open log fire on my back. I still have the scar from that. AMEN!

I walked out of the elevator and along the hallway and to the waiting room. This will be another hour of silence, I was sure. I walked through the wood-and-glass door and up to the window. I handed the receptionist a piece of paper with my name on it and whom I was there to see. I didn't talk to anyone. "Go sit down, I'll tell Sherry you're here." I turned to see a half-crowded waiting room and sat on a chair by myself.

I clutched my backpack to my chest and held it there. It had my utility knife and razor inside. I started to look around the waiting room, thinking about what Sherry would ask today. Would she want me to talk? I sure hope not. I was too scared to talk. Talking meant letting people inside my mind, to let them know what had happened to me by my grandfather, grandmother, and mom.