No, if not for the medication I’d only have been more emotionally tortured by Adam’s cries. Now I sit, half of my body against the wall, as the police- whom I must have seen a hundred times this week already- get their answers. Of course we have none for them. Adam is just another missing child to add to their list. He’s just another one of the children they need to find, but never will. I’m not crying, and there are no tears. I’m just sitting here listening to the footsteps, cries, and words of those around me. The sheriff isn’t here yet, but Deputy Yew is.
Why couldn’t he- the monster, just let us go? There are other kids for him to take still, but he had to come after Adam and me. What makes us so special? Is it that we’ve already fed him so much pain that he wants to milk us for everything we have? I don’t know. Maybe he was irritated that I was recovering so quickly instead of giving in to hopelessness in the face of loss.
There’s got to be something I can do about Adam. Shana is one person I thought I couldn’t live without, but Adam… Adam is helpless. He’s seven, weakened, and traumatized by watching the death of his friends. I recall how much pain and how scared I felt when I was in that realm. How is someone in Adam’s condition handling it? I can’t let him suffer like that. I have to do something about it. Can I go back in and get him out? That axe is probably still on the ground somewhere, but he was watching and waiting for me before. He’ll probably intercept me more quickly from the start. Even if I do make it to the tree, there’s no way I can repeat the process I did with Shana. I was barely able to escape with her assistance that time.
I feel the sounds of those around me drown out, covered by a new sound. It’s him. I turn around and look. Out of my peripheral vision, I catch him standing in the hallway. I can’t look any closer without having my eyes sting. Has he come for me now? No, he’s just here to rub it in and enjoy the fruits of his evil. The adults are downstairs, and even if they were up here with me, they’d be oblivious to him. I look in my hand at Adam’s sling. I’ve been holding it for a while now. This won’t be my last memory of him. I toss the sling in the fiend’s direction not even looking to see if it passes right through him, or if he blocks its course.
“I want him back,” I mutter aloud. I close my eyes, expecting him to laugh, but he just waits there. I do my best to hide my emotions, both inside and out, but I’m not sure it’s working. Maybe I should take another Prozac? No, that would mean walking right by him to get it, and I can only imagine what will happen if I risk that. I sit here, quietly, almost catatonic for a long time. It could be hours, or maybe it’s only been thirty minutes. All I know is I felt a few pats on my shoulder, hugs, and the police are gone.
I can hear my parents having hysterical conversations on their phones. They must be notifying our relatives of Adam’s disappearance. Maybe they’re looking to receive condolences for Adam to help comfort themselves, but in my opinion that only makes more people feel bad. It’s justifiable though. The way I feel about Adam… I need a friend to convey my feelings as well; I need Shana, but he’s taken her as well.
He’s taken too much from me. He’s taken my family, friends, health, and social life. He may not have me in his shadowy prison, but he’s feeding off me nonetheless. I feel an arm around my shoulder and see that Bubbe has assumed a sitting position next to me. She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell she feels the same way about Adam as I do, and knows exactly what I do about his disappearance. Our feelings are mutual, and there’s hardly anything to say.
“He’s here, waiting for me,” I say.
“I know.”
“He wants me next.”
“I know,” she answers.
“What do I do? I can’t leave for Michigan without him. I won’t.”
“I don’t know.”
That’s all we can bother to say. There’s no use wasting words, but from what I have said, I know one thing is true. I can’t leave without Adam. I won’t let myself, and if it means I have to try and pull off the same rescue attempt I did for Shana- at the cost of my life, then I’ll try. Even if he dies in my arms like she did, I won’t let the fiend keep him.
“We can’t sit here like this. It only encourages him,” she says.
“So what do we do? Ignore him like nothing happened?” I ask, horrified at the thought of- not thinking.
She shakes her head. “We’ll think of something, but he’s only feeding off of us when we’re like this,” she says.
More tears come from my eyes. I slowly stand up, unsure of what I am going to do. I sense the static, but the monster isn’t in the hallway right now. He’s stalking from somewhere else. Despite it being her own advice, Bubbe doesn’t appear ready to get up quite yet. I walk over into my room, wondering if I’ll see him waiting, but I can only sense him. Maybe he really is in here, but is standing just on the other side of the veil that separates our worlds-and is just not visible at the moment. He could be right in front of me at this very moment and I wouldn’t know it.
I look around the room for something to do. Maybe I should play my guitar, and take some medication. Medication could help keep my emotions in check. I walk over to my nightstand and pick up the bottle of Prozac. I screw open the top, but when I feel the lid open, I stop. Is this what I’ve resorted to, drugs to keep me sane while the fiend watches me? I feel a sudden surge inside my chest.
I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but it feels like I’m imploding. I’m squeezing the medicine bottle so hard that my nails are digging into my palm. I feel a surge of rage, fear, and anguish all hit me at once.
“Why!?” I scream at the top of my lungs. I turn and throw the bottle as hard as I can. It hits my vanity mirror and scatters pills across my room, leaving a crack in the glass, but I don’t care. I don’t care for vanity. I don’t care for health. I don’t care for the police. I don’t care for myself. I want Adam back.
I kick my suitcase, causing its contents to spill out over the floor. I pick up bottles of nail polish and throw them, on the floor; at the walls; everywhere. I scream again, this time it’s mostly anger coming from my throat. My vision blurs. I throw something else. I’m not sure what it is, maybe a shoe, and I hear more glass breaking in response. I throw everything I can get my hands on, not paying any attention whatsoever to where they land.
Every time I throw something, I scream.
“It’s not fair!” Slam.
“I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” Bang.
“Just leave us alone!” I rip autographed posters from my wall. I rip my blankets from my bed. I tear out the contents of my closet, trying to find more objects to throw. “Show your face!” I scream.
“Alyssa!” I feel arms wrap around me. I squirm and push, but I can’t get out.
“Calm down!” I hear Dad shout. It takes me a second to realize that he’s the one that has me.
“Oh my god,” Mom exclaims. I don’t understand exactly what’s happening. I have my head in my hands, and I’m sitting against something. I hear the static again, and this time it’s doing that rhythmic pulsing. He’s laughing at me. It takes all I can to keep from clawing my nails down my face. I hear Mom on the phone, and from the conversation she’s having I can assert that she’s speaking with Doctor Filbert. I guess I’m bound from the nearest psychiatric ward soon, a perfect place to go crazy in.
“You should take a bath. We’re going to see your Doctor,” I hear Dad.
“I don’t need a shrink,” I say.
“Have you seen your room? Have you seen yourself!?” he shouts.
“Honey,” Mom interjects. “Listen, we want to find Adam just as much as you do. You forget that we love him too, but we love you as well. We need to be together in this, and we can’t have you being destructive.”