December 17, 2002

"Where would you like to begin?" Her thick-rimmed glasses were pulled down to the tip of her nose. I knew they would have jumped off her face if I hadn't thrown the couch cushion viciously towards my target at exactly the right moment. The father I had once had taught me my reflexes well. A man in a white button-down and harshly ironed black pants retrieved the cushion from the corner in which I had thrown it, and then pulled my tightly gripped hands from the shredding couch as I struggled and giggled. It was quite funny to see my mother enter from the shadows and throw the pillow back at me, as if we were in a pillow fight on my old bunk bed and not the dangerously white room in which I had been caged in for weeks. I wondered why the man had interrupted.  Tugging at my unattractive white gown, the figures in the back of my mind continued to dance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The walls creaked and vibrated, I felt the floor pushing up closer underneath my slippers. I could feel Mrs. ___ attempt to read my mind, and my head twitched to reject her control.
"Your pictures are trying to talk to me.”  Mrs. ___ turned around too quickly, pushing her glasses farther up her nose and peering intently at me through them- as if I were a puzzle and she hadn’t figured out till now how many complicated pieces were needed to fix me.  She had a nearly microscopic view of me with those spectacles covering her dark eyes, and still couldn’t quite decipher what was wrong with me.
"Stop- Stop staring at me," Her eyes bulged and I chewed on the side of my index finger. It was raw and painful, but at least it was a distraction to the talking paintings and couches spinning around like a merry-go-round. It reminded me of Symphonies Park- the horses, the rides, the cotton candy. It led me to wondering why we hadn’t gone back to continue the tradition this summer.  Unlike the other times, this time I didn’t attempt to recall anything that had happened past last week, with each day the migraine grew and the voices became more unbearable.
"Nothing's moving, Sophie. You're safe here-"
"Then tell him to… stop talking!" The man in the painting lurched out at me and I jerked to the other side of the couch. As many times as I tried to escape, why did the shadows continue to follow?
"Sophie, please sit down.  You're safe," She attempted a soothing voice with a futile outcome.  The monitors ran over to me and grabbed my wrists once again. I screamed. Screamed so loudly Auntie had to run in to rescue me from their grasp, calming me down.
Where was my mother, I need my mother. Monster, he's a monster.
"Timmy?" My brother appeared on the windowsill. It's funny how he's learned to master it recently- appearing and disappearing right before my eyes. Timmy saved me from the nightmares.  Most of the time.
"Timmy, they're scaring me," I walked over, hearing Auntie's sigh from next to me as she gave up in her attempts to attach to my wrist, elbow, and lastly my shoulder, before letting go and sitting down to begin and rummage through her purse. There wasn’t anything in that purse except for the round yellow bottles and her forever-silent cell phone.  I learned that when she started digging through her bag, she was worrying.  I was mostly the cause.
"It's time to go home, Sophie," Timmy's blue eyes widened, and he turned towards me, pudgy fingers reaching out to touch my arm.
I held my hand out, "I'm on my way."
"Mommy needs you to make dinner, Sophie. I'm tired, Sophie," His voice dragged on as I felt a gentle hand wrap around my elbow.
"Go to bed, Timmy. Don’t worry, I'll be home soon." I allowed myself to be dragged back towards the couch as I blinked and Timmy went back home.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The clock on the wall ticked.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I could smell Auntie's perfume sitting next to me; felt her hand holding mine and, this time, the walls had briefly stopped vibrating when my eyelids drifted shut and the void and emptiness of my mind took over the vibrant colors.
"She's in no state for a trial. Any sixteen year old wouldn't be able to stand the situation, let alone one in her condition." Auntie’s whispering voice soothes me. I once knew a sixteen-year-old girl as well.
"We've put it off for a long enough time. Every chance we get at discussing, she can never get any words out. If we wait any longer, there will be no chance for improvement, just a worse condition than we started out with. It can't be cured, just maintained and I fear that at a young age like this, in circumstances as severe as this, the medication would have as much effect as a placebo."
"Is there an absolute need for her to attend the trial? She won't understand what's going on-" The rude lady interrupted Auntie. I could feel Auntie's pulse quickening from beside me.  I meant to apologize to her, but words didn’t come out as easily as they used to.  I never meant to hit her like I did two days ago. The demons in the gray had just come too close to me. The black had almost shone through.  I liked to try and stay away from the voices.
"That's why she was called in. She doesn't remember because she's denying herself of the memories. She's a minor, and under no condition would imprisonment be an option due to her state. But simply avoiding the trial is not an option in the federal courts. Especially with a matter like this, they need to prove her state of mind in order for the defendant to be completely cleared of any convictions from their permanent records," The voices often made it hard to concentrate.
"I don't think her records matter very much at this point."  Once my eyelids opened enough to see the blurry colors of Mrs. __'s pantsuit, the conversation was silenced.
"Sophie, honey? Are you okay?" Auntie's soothing voice did nothing to console.
"Where's my mom?" A loud sigh and exhalation of breath from across the room. I tried to ignore the contrasting sides of Mrs. __'s conscience appearing on either side of her shoulders, taunting me with shrieks of nonsense.
"Do you know what a trial is, Sophie?"  I wanted to be a lawyer growing up.  Mommy said one of my talents was making sense of situations, and everyone said I was a born peacemaker. My chin tilted upwards, and she cleared her throat,  "In a few days, you have a big day. But we need to help you to remember."
She passed a clipping of something to a monitor, who handed it to me. I squinted my eyes before the words had a chance to jump off the paper. I didn't read the words, the picture of two buildings with a 9 and an 11 over the headlines said enough.
"Do you know what this is, Sophie?" She questioned as if it were easy to spend months building up walls to forget something, just to have them broken down once again. I felt tears in the corners of my eyes, a feeling I had become immune to. Why were they lying to me? I stared blankly, the walls didn't move anymore.
I felt my body tremble, I was no longer in control of anything from my neck downwards. There were no lies, just the truth. Mommy waved to me from the driver's seat dropping me off at school.  I remember I used to sit near the window and look out at the towers from her office, amazed at how small everyone looked down below.  I was sent down to Mrs. Dalloway's office before lunchtime. Silence ensued for months after. All black. Cold mother in casket.
My head banged against the couch rest before I had a chance to control the monster.  Once. Twice. Three times.
"Sophie- Sophie stop!" Auntie cried out, and the same monitor rushed over, pulling me back as he pushed Auntie out of harm’s way. His job was to protect people from me during my visits.  Everyone was pushed away from me. The voices incessantly reminded me that I was meant to be isolated.
"For God's sake Karen, she knows what that is!"
A second clipping of newspaper was slipped into the palm of my still shaking hand and I stared. And stared. There was a monster in the picture. I ripped it in half, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. I didn't realize I was sobbing until my throat burned from screaming and my head ached.  I was making a scene again, lately that was all I was good at doing.
The commotion surrounding me faded out. I was bleeding- I'm sure of it. Suddenly there was an increasing awareness of my proximity to the four walls surrounding me, the aching of the bruises on my ribcage, and I looked down as my fingers melted into nonexistence. I was bleeding, trapped and getting ripped to shreds on Daddy's broken pieces.
"Stop," I whimpered, "It hurts." A belt was whipped across my chest, and I crashed down on the shattered bottles of the living room floor. He said I looked too much like her.  I was a daily reminder of a person that could now only leave an empty spot next to him in their once shared bed.  Timmy cried in the distance, but I was cornered. Trapped between a wall and a man I thought I knew.
"You're hurting me daddy!" The chair was in my hands, above my head, and the monster was sitting in the chair in front of me. I aimed at my target, it wasn't only revenge, but self defense.  Self defense for all the times that I had remained motionless, silent, and endured the pain.
Sharp pain on side of neck- blackness follows.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The handcuffs tightened around my bruised wrists. There was rarely a moment I stepped through the doorframe, women in white often walked out and back in, but I was secluded. I wondered why I was handcuffed today; I wondered why Auntie sat on a different couch than me today and two additional monitors stood beside me.
"We're going to play a game, Sophie," Mrs. ___ held her notepad up. I didn't know which pair of eyes to focus on. No lies, just truth.
Timmy and I played games after Mommy left us. I forgot where she went, but she wasn't there anymore. We played hide-and-go-seek; only we hid from the monster in the room next to us, and stayed in our hiding spots until we were so enclosed we couldn’t bear it any longer.
"If you agree and know what I'm saying to you, raise two fingers," She demonstrated and I followed cautiously. Timmy held my left hand over my handcuffs and I smiled at the gesture. I could see his hand, but I couldn't feel it. Must be the effect of the tightening handcuffs and medication. He encouraged me to play, so I did.
"If you don't agree, do this," she held up a flat hand and I followed.  Auntie turned her head towards me, wiping at her eyes and tentatively moving her fingers over the bruise on her left cheek.  My doing.
"You are fifteen years old." I held up two fingers.
"Your name is Sophie Nicolson," Two fingers, I agree.
"Fourteen months ago, you're mother left you and never came back." Two fingers.
"Do you know where she went?" Trick question.
"Into the smoke." Mrs. __ looked at Auntie, who nodded her head.
"Your father could no longer take care of you and your brother." My fingers shook as I subconsciously raised two fingers.
"He started to drink." Two. "He was-" I closed my eyes and held up five fingers, "Yes," I muttered.
The paintings behind her would have been pretty if they weren't screaming at me from past the colors. Yet another slip of paper was placed into my hand. I expected words, but was greeted with a dull pencil and blank paper.
"Write about what happened the last night in your old house." What part of the game was this?
The colors erupted in front of my eyes. This topic wasn't thought about. I pulled the white gown closer to my chest, and stared out the window.
The little boy curled his legs up to his chest, wiping at his tears, the girl wrapping her arms tighter around his chest. He asked when it would stop hurting, and she said that someday they'd make it back to the sunset. He told her that she felt himself slipping, and she was hurting his bruises, but she was talking to the voices in her head. She was carrying him into the sunset, but she lost him from her arms along the way. The little boy fell.  Three stories down were enough for him to see his mommy again.  She heard the screams, the sirens, and then later that night she recognized her own screams. Cop car to white room. Voices to screaming nightmares. Daily visits to seclusion.
The page was still blank.
There was an earthquake, I felt it. Timmy’s hand was removed from mine.
"Do you remember, Sophie?" The blood lining the white walls was smearing across my arms. It wasn't mine. "Sophie?" The handcuffs, the gown, the slippers. The blood crept to my cheeks. It was his.
"Sophie!” Timmy cried out, falling farther from my grasp.  My eyes rolled back into the darkest corners of my mind, and I was met with silence.

December 18, 2002

The nightmares didn't stop. Daddy woke me up before seven o'clock and I hid under the covers until Auntie's face morphed back into her own. She dressed me in an ironed-gray dress suit, and brushed my hair neatly down, pushing it behind my ears. She hugged me, it was my big day. She told me I'd do great, and it was my big day. I was going to face my truths, and it was my trial.

The mirror showed a reflection and it was something that wasn't me. I felt the firm, cool orange bottle from Auntie's purse lined with my name on the prescription. The walls might speak to me, and I might see multiple faces of the same person some days, but I can still sneak into what isn't mine to have.
The cap popped open. Careful not to make noise, the pills emptied out onto the sink's counter. Colorful pills lined up.
I'm coming home, Timmy. Don't be tired for too long. Mommy and I will put you to sleep soon. Water. Drink.  Swallow each and every one. 
The cool tiles and walls became a blur of dots and I succumbed to the visions of the other worlds. The cool gray turned to a fading black, and then to an array of pastels. I'm sorry, Auntie. My big day will go on without me. It's time to return home.
And for the first time in fourteen months, the walls were silenced.