Echoes in the Walls by V. C. Andrews

Author:V. C. Andrews [Andrews, V. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Sagas, Thrillers, Suspense, Gothic
ISBN: 9781501162572
Google: KcRWDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07CL4LRJ8
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2018-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

8

THE HOUSE WAS so quiet that my footsteps echoed from the foyer to the top of the stairway. I heard a door close above and saw my mother starting down the steps, her left hand sliding along the mahogany banister. She walked with her head bowed, something she often did when she was whispering a frantic prayer.

“Mummy?”

She paused when she saw me. “Oh, Fern. I’m glad you’re home.” She had one of her lace handkerchiefs clutched in her right hand and quickly dabbed under both eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I asked quickly. I could feel the static in the air.

She continued to descend. “Ryder had a setback of sorts,” she said, approaching me, her eyes red with worry. “Dr. Seymour and Dr. Davenport are still with him.”

“What? What happened? What’s a setback mean?”

She stood there, looking like she was struggling to find the right words. Whatever had happened had clearly overwhelmed her, and it took a great deal to overwhelm my mother.

“I’m not sure how to describe it, really. We’ll have to wait for Dr. Seymour’s diagnosis. Ryder had something of a tantrum is the best way I can put it.”

“Tantrum?”

She nodded toward the living room, and I followed her. She sat on the settee and lowered her head to take a deep breath. I quickly sat across from her, anxious.

“What do you mean by ‘tantrum,’ Mummy?”

“He tore up his room, smashed some things, broke a mirror, and threw some of his clothes about, among other things. Mrs. Marlene and I were reviewing what we needed from the supermarket when we heard this horrible commotion coming from above. Fortunately, Mr. Stark was repairing a light fixture in Dr. Davenport’s office and joined us. He was able to subdue Ryder, and I called Dr. Davenport, who called Dr. Seymour. He rushed over and gave him an injection of something to calm him. He’s dozing now on the settee in his room. His bed is . . . wrecked.”

“Wrecked?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath. “You’d think a tornado had gone through the room. They’re discussing whether he should be brought back to the clinic.”

“Oh, no.” Tears rushed into my eyes from every direction. “What happened to him? He was doing so well, looking healthy, exercising with his father, enjoying his things, and eating well, too. You even said he was making progress with his memory, Mummy.”

“I don’t know, Fern. You have to remember that losing your memory, short-term or not, is very traumatic for anyone, especially for someone as young as Ryder. I know he’s terribly frustrated. Sometimes when he’s sitting with me in the living room while you’re at school, I see the struggling going on in his face, in his eyes. From time to time, he recalls certain things, yes, but it’s difficult for him, because he remembers only this and that. It’s not a complete memory, complete recognition.”

“I know.” Of course, I had seen that, too.

“Dr. Seymour said on more than one occasion that his recalling a detail here and there is a good thing, even though not recalling it all leaves him angry and exasperated.

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