The Third Twin: A Dark Psychological Thriller by Darren Speegle

Author:Darren Speegle [Speegle, Darren]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: epub, ebook, QuarkXPress
Publisher: Crystal Lake Publishing
Published: 2017-04-27T22:00:00+00:00

12

As we sat back for the first time in at least an hour, the ladies on their couch, I in my cushioned armchair, I’d left out nothing. No detail that I could readily recall, no impression, however fanciful it seemed. And not once had their suspension of disbelief seemed strained. Equipped with at least Dianna’s longstanding relationship with the paranormal, they’d apparently made the decision somewhere along the way to quit resisting what lay outside known bounds and to proceed as though the supernatural was as legitimate a player as anything that could be converted to formula. Which effectively rendered ‘suspension of disbelief’ an obsolete term unless proven otherwise, and somehow I didn’t see any of us reserving hope that the land-based and scientifically logical explanations would suddenly pop up out of the puzzle’s assembly. The soberness with which Dianna and Maya absorbed my story spoke volumes as to the validity of the experiences, and by extension, my sanity. Any lingering doubts on those fronts had been squashed since I’d come into their company, and I suspected the same was true of the two of them.

They’d naturally been horrorstruck by the violence and terror perpetrated against my family; saddened, to surfacing tears in Dianna’s case, by the losses I’d suffered. Maya had been responsible for most of the interruptions, revealing how deeply disturbing she found parts of my account by displaying a morbid curiosity that drew narrow looks from Dianna. For my part I maintained the distance that allowed me to unshelve the experiences as needed rather than to relive them, which in turn enabled me to present my information contextually, and without losing myself in emotion. Dianna, astutely, called me on this, suggesting that events seemed to have left me cold. I’d no answer for this, unsure myself of my deeper psychological health. As far as I was concerned, as long as I retained the ability to think circumspectively, to see things from above, to act and react of my own will and instinct, then I was worthy of the mission with which I’d tasked myself.

With the piano’s music trickling unobtrusively in the background, Dianna was the first to react to my story as a whole. As she’d established with her occasional questions and input during the account, she was unwilling to trade one millimeter of penetration for delicateness, no matter how deep her sympathies went. Several beers in, a side of me, shamefully, wondered if she was that way in bed.

“I am at such a loss for words, Barry, so sorrowful for what you have endured, so disillusioned by this world of ours with all its false promises, I wish I could just go to sleep tonight and never wake up. Truly, where is there room for hope when the world is so bloated with pain and suffering? But I won’t surrender to despair. I can’t. Why? Because even as your story kills the spirit, even as it saps what sunlight still finds its way in, it also resurrects the will and determination, provides the needed fuel to see the business through.

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