Buried in Sunshine (5 page)

“I imagine that it will take some time for this
adjustment to set in,” Dr. Riley says as she places her hand upon
Emma’s knee in attempt to keep her focus on the conversation. “The
main thing that I hope comes from this, is that the old you—the
positive parts of the old you. That girl who went to college for
art and design, the one you described as pretty and cheerful; I
hope that those aspects of you help you overcome your anxiety and
depression.”

“But what about the person that I have been for
two years—what happens to her?”

“You are still you,” Dr. Riley says as she
squeezes Emma’s knee. “You will always be you—just perhaps you will
be able to do more. A life with less fear is a life that is free.
Once you can start overcoming what you used to believe impossible
you can do whatever you want. You already made a step by leaving
the house at night. That is a big step.”

“It was because he… Aaron,” Emma says,, the name
sounds so familiar—yet alien to her. She knew that she loved him.
However, there was such a sense of detachment that she could not
quite comprehend the idea of him. “…was killed at night?”

“That’s what I believe, yes.”

“How many doctors have I seen before you?” Emma
asks as she rubs her temple with her palm as though the thoughts
are giving her a mild headache. “That memory is such a blur.”

“I believe six.”

“Why so many doctors…” Emma asked as she buried
her eyes in the palms of her smooth open hands. “Why was I
eventually allowed to believe that I had a sister?”

“You would only stop hurting yourself when
people would agree…” Dr. Riley replied as she frowned and sat back
in her chair. She let out a heavy sigh as she fingered the brass
railing of her leather chair. “It wasn’t an easy thing to do—your
mother did not want to see you committed. Even with all of your
issues and anxieties, you were calmest when you believed that you
were someone else. As to why so many… A lot of psychologists that
you were seeing would eventually try to get you to face the truth
and you would simply stop going.”

“So my mother, and you—stopped trying?”

“We just…” Dr. Riley says as she hesitates as
though deeply regretful. “It is not a decision we came to lightly.
We just wanted the best help for you. I honestly believed that
eventually you would come to realize the past. I figured it was
best to treat your issues and hope that everything worked out.”

“I know that she tried to tell me…”

“She wanted you to be happy again. That is all
that she ever wanted for you. She came to see me once a week—she
had so many hopes and so much love for you. She constantly
questioned if this was right or wrong, just like I have. I just
want you to know that the decisions and actions that we have made
were not decided flippantly.”

“I understand,” Emma whispers as she looks to
Julie. Emma manages a half smile and nods. “Whenever I think about
people trying to tell me who I really was—all I can remember is
screaming, throwing things. It’s all a hot ember red blur.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you both laugh
and smile in a session—“

“Is this a session?”

“More of a conversation about a success I’d
say.”

Emma thinks to mention seeing herself—that
sister version of herself that forced her into the doorway. It is
also on the tip of her tongue to mention the strange warning about
the seven days until the sun comes for her. However, she keeps
these two secrets tucked away as they only make her feel more
insane. She remembers the ‘evaluation’ periods she has spent in the
hospitals and although they are part of that life that remains a
blur she has no pleasant feelings towards them. “So what do you
recommend I do now?”

“I would sleep on it,” Dr. Riley says as she
pauses. This is unusual for her as she is usually quick to come up
with solutions and advice. “I would see how you feel about
everything in the morning and just go from there—try something you
are afraid of. Maybe go out. Do you remember anything about what
you used to enjoy?”

“I still feel kind of depressed so—not
much?”

“I guess then my advice would be for you to find
things that you do enjoy. Try new things—go for walks, listen to
music, try running. Maybe visit some friends.”

“Do I have any friends?”

“Whenever you described your sister, she
did.”

“I remember… I think I pushed them all
away.”

“Then make new friends,” Julie quickly replied.
“Or try and contact some of the old ones. I’d like to say that,
from experience, they would come back… that they would understand
what you’ve gone through and accept you. However, the truth often
is that friends do have a tendency to scatter when things get too
serious. Especially those who have never had an anxiety attack or
suffered any kind of mental duress.”

“Make new friends…”

“I know it sounds hard,” Julie says as she gets
up from her chair. “If you need anything, anything at all—feel free
to give me a call. I do not care if it is four a.m. No matter what
you need, you just call okay?”

“Okay.”

“One last thing…”

“Yes?”

“Go out and get yourself a cell phone…,” Julie
says with a reassuring smile.

“Sure,” Emma says as she nods mindlessly. She
had reasons for not having one, however, they no longer seemed to
either exist or matter. “I can do that.”

*

As Emma exits the office building she pauses and
stares up to the night sky—something she has not done in years. The
atreous canvas of night is spread out before her in its oft
overlooked silent beauty. Tiny stars softly fill in pinholes of
light in the palette of shades of deep blue and blacks. The moon
appears as nothing more than a sliver. The view fills her with a
comforting sense of calmness. As Emma is on the verge of tears, she
begins to realize—she has not seen the stars for two years. She has
no memory of nighttime for the last two years. It was almost as if
when the sun set, so did her consciousness.

Back in her car, as she drove through city, she
slowed outside of a bar near a stop sign. Of course, she has
neither desire nor courage to venture indoors, however, she hears
the sounds of human life—conversation, laughter, raised voices over
the rhythmic tones of music. She smells the familiar air of
cigarette smoke. For a moment, part of her—the part of her that she
thought long dead, longs for society. A longing that she would not
believe could even exist within her just a day earlier.

Emma laughs as she clears away another queue of
stray tears that escape from her azuline blue eyes. She feels good,
in a sense, to feel sad. The thought does not make any sense to
her, at least not completely. She imagines that it is like enjoying
a sad movie—or a sad song. It is depressing, slightly soul crushing
at times, however, it makes you feel. It then dawns on her that she
is feeling. The essence of human nature that she has unknowingly
neglected to acknowledge for three years—she feels, she wants, she
needs, more than what meager scraps of life she has entertained
herself with.

As she exits the city and heads back towards her
house—she does not fear the darkness that surrounds her past the
car headlights. In the rearview mirror the orange glow of the city
looms on the horizon. It does not feel like a difficult distance
anymore. Before she knows it, she is home. She pulls into the
driveway, illuminating the tall pine trees in her front yard. A
raccoon scurries away from the trashcans near the house.

Inside the house, it feels as though a heavy
weight has lifted from the air. Although she is its only
inhabitant—the house seems to welcome her back home. The lights
shine a little brighter than she remembers. The walls appear a
little cleaner—as she ascends the spiral staircase to the second
floor she stops. Out of habit she thinks to continue to the top—to
sleep in her familiar attic room. However, this is not her room,
not really. It is time that she reclaimed her own bed. She enters
the old room, turning on the dim lamp on the dresser. She heads to
the bed and takes the top cover and takes it out into the hallway.
With determined hands she beats it against the stairwell allowing
dust to fall down to the bottom floor. The mess, she figures will
just need to be cleaned in the morning. Content that the blanket is
as dust free as she is capable of making it, she returns to the
bedroom. She strips down to just her panties and digs through a
drawer, finding a long shirt. She slips the shirt over her head,
covering her tanned naked chest and looks around the room—things do
not feel as awkward here as she thought it would be. As she climbs
into bed, she reaches over to the nightstand and turns on the
radio. She scans through various channels, mostly music, searching
for something to listen to. She finally settles on a talk radio
station and turns the volume down low so the voices sound faint. It
reminds her of the atmosphere outside of the bar and does not make
her feel so lonely.

She leaves the light on as she allows herself to
get some much deserved sleep.

Her dreams, however, are not so kind.

Day 1

Chapter 2: Reconstruction

Emma reaches out in the shifting inky blackness
that surrounds her. She lets out a short scream as a hand in the
darkness grasps her wrist and squeezes it tightly. She digs her
nails into the arm, pulling them towards her in an attempt to free
herself from capture. A squealing, inhumane, noise responds as the
hand recoils back into the darkness. Emma begins to run blindly,
hands outstretched. She comes into contact with a soft, sickeningly
wet warm wall. She places her hands upon it despite the
apprehension she feels with the contact of her skin against the
sickly, sticky surface. Her frantic fingers fumble upon what she
believes is some kind of light switch. She flips it, everything
turns to brilliant white. All around her the hallway is
illuminated—disfigured, soot black, human forms struggle to free
themselves from the dark blood-stained walls of the hallway. Half
of a head screams out in agony, glowing embers can be seen beneath
its blackened flesh. Hands reach out towards her; she begins to
run, dodging hands and eager fingers. Screaming faces come face to
face with her as she passes each corner. She finally reaches a long
stretch of hallway that contains no human terror or blood stained
blackness. She sees a light at the end, although it seems miles and
miles away. Having no choice, Emma runs towards this light. The
screaming grows quieter as her feet carry her closer and closer to
the dim light. Emma pauses to catch her breath, she feels
heavy—almost as though she is carrying a great weight upon her
back. A terrible, twisting, screeching of metal on metal comes from
behind her. She looks back and sees a great light—a blinding,
painful, burning light. She begins to run as the hallway erupts
into flames. She heads towards the open end of the hallway as fast
as her feet can carry her. Just as she feels as though she has
covered a great distance and has placed a safe amount of space
between her and the chasing light, she comes face to face with a
familiar figure—her sister, or…herself. Knife in hand, the short,
blond haired, blue eyed girl lunges at Emma and plunges the knife
into her stomach.

“Why..?” Emma whispers as collapse against the
wall.

Blood begins to stream down from the silver
blade. The figure simply walks away without response or remorse.
The walls around Emma begin to turn black. The light is growing
closer and closer and the sound is all that Emma can hear. The
twisting, sickening noise fills her ears. It feels as though her
eardrums will explode. Emma places both hands upon the silver knife
in her stomach and pulls out with all of her remaining strength.
Engraved in the knife blade is the single word ‘SOL.’ Her blood
pours out black as she begins to lose her sight. All that remains
is the pain and the warmth. Soon, she can feel herself set ablaze.
The pain is unbearable.

Emma jolts awake, her breathing is heavy and her
body is covered in sweat. The sun hovers above her through the
familiar attic window. The sun has streaked a red swath across her
stomach; it is painful and feels warm to the touch. Naked and
confused, Emma searches the sun faded couch for her clothing. She
cannot remember how she got here. Her last memory, aside from the
terrible dream, was going to sleep back in her old room. Had she
been sleepwalking?

“Do you not enjoy it as much as you used to?” A
soft voice whispers in the quiet morning air.

Emma jumps back, covering her naked body as best
as she can with her hands. Sitting on her bed is a familiar and
unsettling sight, her sister—or is her? Either way, it is someone
that should no longer exist. “What… who are you? What do you want
from me?”

The form of her sister, covered in the short
white, almost transparent, dress, gets up from Emma’s old bed and
tosses a worn grey gym shirt her way.

“Do you not know who I am?”

Emma covers herself up and gets to her feet.
“You’re not real.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” The form says
as her eyes narrow and her lips frown. “It’s not terribly polite to
go around telling someone that their existence is not real.”

“If you’re real then why do you look just like
me?”

“Why do you look like you?”

“Because it is how I have always looked?” Emma
speaks as she reaches out and attempts to touch the form standing
by the bed.

“You sound unsure,” The form says as she does
not recoil or flinch as Emma approaches her. “For three years you
looked in the mirror and saw eyes that were not yours, you didn’t
see what you truly looked like.”

As her fingers come into contact with the bare
skin of the form’s arm, Emma can feel the warmth of flesh. She is
not a ghost—perhaps a hallucination? Emma places a hand to the
figure’s face, it feels smooth. Her face feels familiar—it is an
odd experience, almost like reaching into a mirror and being able
to interact with your reflection.