Ana found herself, a staggering, fifteen feet away from The Door. The Door that was to yield her a place of solace from her past sins. The Door that was to allow her to commence life with a clear conscience. The Door that was to revolutionize her life towards redemption. Ana reluctantly dragged her slender body closer-and-closer towards the baleful door that stood at the end of the hallway.
She knew that every inch of her being had forbade her to do so, but this was her only choice, this was the only way she could regain just an ounce of peace. By now, Ana had successfully managed to take seven averse steps, but that was it, that was all her mind was capable of after what had happened. Ana envisioned faces all sorts staring down at her, peering into the depths of her soul. She was paralyzed to the spot as she glared at the forthcoming menacing aura that awaited her arrival. Right when Ana was about to execute the traumatic task of opening The Door, she encountered a cold wave that embalmed her. The hairs rose on the back of her neck and her mouth ran dry. Knowing that this was her only chance to escape the trauma, Ana took a deep breath, turned the metal handle and entered into the unknown.
Upon entering the skeptical, cube-shaped box, a wind of esoterism gushed by Ana. She felt alienated, hostile, antagonized. There was this eeriness that crept upon her, slowly engulfing her state of mind into a world she knew she was unprepared to encounter, a world she knew she did not belong to. Ana performed the quotidian action of wiping the tears off her face ever so slowly and ever so suspiciously, it almost seemed unorthodox. As she lifted her head not more than thirty degrees up, her eyes instantly caught sight of a dull mustard yellow couch, with worn down cushions and a coffee stain on the right arm. As she mustered the courage to scrutinize further aspects of the room, she noticed the presence of peculiar instances. For a first, there was a colossal bookshelf, but with no books. Not a single one! Just an old picture frame enveloped with a layer of dust. Then, there was a computer, but with no mouse or keyboard, and finally, there was a dead body.
Yes, you heard me right, a dead body.
Ana exclaimed a subtle gasp after which she felt her knees tremble and gave in to gravity. As she fell, she began to try and comprehend the foul stench that encompassed the walls in the room. She knew it was normal of her to see things since then, since the incident. She even knew the name of the body lying motionless on the ground. But what left her spellbound was the existence of that very body in this room.
She felt a sudden warmth on her shoulder, A middle aged woman, with long, delicate fingers, turned Ana around and lifted her off the ground.
“Hi Ana, my name is Sophie and I’m here to help you.”
As Ana stood up, Sophie led her to the antiquated couch. Ana began to recollect the sole purpose of her being here and reallocated her line of sight to Sophie. Ana’s first glance of Sophie led her to believe that she is, indeed, a woman of much esteem and prestige, and one that simultaneously carries an essence of mystery and suspense.
“What made you come here?”, inquired Sophie.
Ana was speechless, not because she did not know why but, because she could not tell why. Her eyes often took quick glances towards the far corner of the room behind the chair Sophie was sitting on, and every time she caught a glimpse of Harry’s body, her heart skipped a beat, maybe even two.
“I-I…can’t tell – I mean I don’t know”, Ana stuttered.
“Is there something behind me?”, Sophie curiously wondered as she turned her head back inspecting the far corner of the room.
Ana was now stumped. She had no option, but to brave through her fears. Taking a deep breath in, Ana uttered the words she dreaded, the three words that she knew would haunt her for life.
”I did it”, declared Ana.
“Did what?”
“I killed him”, Ana blurted, pointing to the corner where Harry’s corpse lay.
“I killed him, but-but he ridiculed me, insulted me! It was in the heat of the moment! I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”
Ana was relieved she finally surrendered herself and her emotions, but she felt vulnerable, insecure, violated. As the tense atmosphere began to settle, Sophie looked behind and asked,
“What do you see there Ana, I don’t see anything?”
Ana knew that there was nothing else to hide, so she might as well reveal her innermost, darkest secret, one that she knew she had to succumb to, to be able to move on from it. And so Ana told Sophie everything, all the way down to the finest details.
“After the accident, I would repeatedly interact with people that weren’t even there, people that didn’t even exist. This was when my mom took me to Dr. Samuel, who diagnosed me with Schizophrenia. It has been a few months since the diagnosis and I had believed that my illness had gotten better, but clearly, I was mistaken, I was wrong. I’m trying so hard right now, but every time I open my eyes the only figure I see is Harry. He’s right there, right next to the bookshelf. See! Look! He’s staring at me. His eyes are wide open. Can’t you see it? Can’t you see him?”
Sophie’s eyebrows caved in as she attempted to decipher the situation. It was clear to Ana that Sophie had never worked with a patient like her before, a patient so ashamed of herself, a patient so disturbed.
Sophie calmly stated, “this was great, Ana. You opened up to me. This is a major milestone!”.
“Just one last question though, hope that’s alright.”, Sophie continued.
Ana sat upright, adjusting herself, ready to face reality.
“Did you feel guilty?”
At first, Ana was perplexed by the simplicity of the question, but in a moment her mentality was transposed to one of a guilty conscience’s. The trick question had begun to seep in, however. It had become a trick situation. The longer she sat feeling sorry for herself, the less sorry she felt. It’s called a reverse something or the other. There isn’t time to get into that now. Ana stood dumbfounded by the nature of the question. Ana tried to explain to Sophie what really happened, and what she really felt. She tried to give Sophie a chance to sympathize with her.
“Harry behaved inappropriately, it wasn’t all me, it couldn’t have all been my fault. He started it and that’s all I’m going to say.”
Sophie then spoke, in a deep, solemn tone, “Anyways, I’m going to give you some pills. Have them after every meal, and I’ll see you next week, same time.”
Sophie ambled to the desk and foraged for a key. She looked disoriented, chaotic, and simply just out of order. Her trembling hand reached out to the bottom of the desk where she ever-so delicately lifted a key. But why was the key under the desk? Ana began to ponder this very question. Was it a family heirloom that had fallen and one that she did not want to damage, and so had slowly and carefully picked it up? Ana looked at Harry at the corner of the room, and after an intense mental conversation with him, assumed that this, in fact, was the case. Sophie continued to open up the top right drawer, the only drawer with a keyhole, so there was no surprise there. She grabbed onto a couple of bottles containing eldritch-looking white pills. Sophie then closed the drawer after taking quick glances about the room and gave them to Ana.
“Remember, one after every meal. Don’t forget that.”
Ana took the brown bottle labelled “Amphetamine”, thanked Sophie and got to her feet. Ana felt content, relieved and gratified. She was proud of herself, of the progress she made. She took one last glimpse of Harry from the corner of her eye and was once again face-to-face with The Door. But The Door was no longer a menacing figure, it was instead a figure of closure, of reassurance. Ana took a deep breath, turned the handle and once again, entered into the unknown.
As The Door creaked shut, Sophie waited for barely a minute before she hastily scurried to lock it. She then sprinted to the corner of the room and dropped heavily down to the floor. She wailed and screamed. Tears welled from deep inside and coursed down her cheeks. Sophie reached out her hand and despite all her tremors seized a glass picture frame from the bookshelf, unsettling the dust particles on it.
“I did it Harry; I gave her the poison!” The frame contained what looked like a picture, a memory of Sophie and Harry embracing the other as if there was no tomorrow.
“Mom and dad would be proud of us, wouldn’t they Harry? Wouldn’t they?”