All That We Say or Seem by Cole Delacour

Author:Cole Delacour
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781949604146
Publisher: Hidden Helm Press
Published: 2020-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Everything swirled around. Soft and yellow-lit, the gaslighting warned me as quickly as the way my lungs tightened in the thicker air. Despite the heat, the room sent chills up my spine. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I could see blue taking over beneath my nails. Still, I sunk deeper into the chair. Exhaustion pinned me, and as the fire crackled to my right, I forced my eyes to focus. Back in the study, I sat across from Dr. Ose.

"Welcome back, James," he said. Legs crossed, he reclined with his hands folded in his lap - a pen settled between two of his fingers. "How have you been sleeping?"

My nose scrunched as I shook my head. "What?"

"Narcolepsy can be a difficult condition, but it is treatable," he assured me. "Schizophrenia as well."

A slow dawning realization overcame me. "You’re - you’re acting like I’m one of your patients."

"Aren’t you?"

Fighting against the weariness in my bones, I pushed myself up. "Mrs. Hayward and Rory told me all about you. There’s plenty of articles about you and Carreau."

He smiled. His face blurred, so I couldn’t say exactly what he looked like. White and brown-haired - dressed in a suit. "I’m sure there are numerous articles. Likely more than a few about Florence Sullivan and the massacre which happened here as well." He didn’t give me a moment to respond. "Regardless, you’ll find our dear Mrs. Hayward is an eternal optimist. While well-meaning, she’s too kind. The Governess trapped your young gentleman in limbo - a terrible fate if he had any of his memories. Luckily, Dr Carreau and I were able to minimize damage - "

"You’re gaslighting me."

The black sphere where his eyes should have been blinked. The swirling movement of a Van Gogh swirled in the streaks of brown and peach across his face. If I could focus enough, I might have smeared him. Rubbed my hand across the wet paint of his face. Might even make my eyes focus a bit better.

"James, I need you to concentrate. I believe you’re having another episode," Dr. Ose said.

His tone rocked, low and rolling as he spoke, but it wasn’t nearly as calming as he likely intended. It itched. Overly prepared. A highly practiced lure - as deadly as a siren. The same voice we were told to use - objective but not too distant. Trustworthy. An absolute lie.

Something lunged at me. Ose didn’t seem to move, but a flash - like lightning - danced across the thick air. Silver. Sudden. Pain - sharp and sudden - pierced me. Dragging my mind back from wandering, pain silenced the distraction of my over-energetic mind. Carved deep into my chest, the lines of my tattoo ached. They cracked. Bleeding and peeling -

"You were saying…" he urged, but the words slurred, drawing out and slowing as the warmth in the room drained.

A flood of cold swept through. The thick air rippled, exploding and thinning and chilling as stones plopped - one-two one-two -

And I woke up - panting and cold and drenched in sweat.

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