a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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That night, across town, bathed in the cool shadows of his unlit room, Calum Waters is reclined on his bed, aimlessly watching the sky roll by as the evening begins to fade into sunset. In one hand he absently flips an empty white lighter. In the background is the all-too-familiar sound of his grandfather and mother entangled in another alcohol-fueled argument.
Muffled banging. "Daddy, you can't keep doing this, you'll drink yourself into the ground!"
Calum sighs dreamily, as if caught in a picturesque movie moment instead of a moment of unbridled chaos. The lighter in his hand takes another gentle spin through the air before plopping back into his palm. Loud footsteps thunder around in the living room-Nathaniel fueling himself for another rageful attack.
"I don't tell you how to live, don't think you can get off on telling me!"
Janet sobs loudly. "Daddy, please! Stop!"
Calum knows the begging won't work. It hasn't worked since before he was born; he's heard this conversation a thousand times over. Just weeks prior, Dr. Mahoney at the VA clinic told Calum it sounded like his grandfather was an alcoholic.
"Yeah, no shit," Calum had laughed, lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette and blowing through a third of it in one long inhale. Dr. Mahoney had merely watched him smoke with quietly observant eyes. Other therapists before hadn't approved of Calum smoking in office, but Dr. Mahoney was different.
How does that make you feel? How did that impact you as a child? What about now?
Truth be told, Calum was completely blunted to anything emotional. He didn't care that his grandfather drank to excess, didn't care that his mother was so mentally disturbed she couldn't leave the house most days, or that the military discharged him dishonorably after a few questionable incidents from his last deployment. He physically couldn't care about most things.
But nonetheless, he wrinkled his nose against the bitter smoke floating before him and spewed out some shit about his feelings and his perception of his grandfather, blah blah blah. Whatever it took to keep the medication dispensing and suspicion off his back. Dr. Mahoney smiled pleasantly and brought out that lovely little prescription pad; a thing of unending beauty.
But then the doctor's pen had paused ever so slightly. Calum knew that hesitation well; no medication was strong enough to handle the root of his problem, but perhaps enough mood stabilizers would continue to quell his more "unpredictable" symptoms. "I think we'll keep you on the Seroquel for now. Is it helping the mood swings?"
I don't have mood swings, Calum had thought. Dr. Mahoney couldn't know this. Calum had cocked his head a little, pretended to show concern. He drew his eyebrows in, pouted a little bit, tried to appear thoughtful. He knew he was good at it by now, he'd watched plenty of people make the same expression with ease. "It is. Very helpful, Doctor."
