Beckoning Souls (A Psychological Thriller) (8 page)

He grabs my arm as I pass by and stops me. “Nathan? What is the matter?”

I jerk it away, wincing at the sudden pain from my injuries. “Suddenly you’re so concerned about me?”

“When I see someone standing out on the sidewalk, talking down to something that’s not there, I have to wonder.”

I open the door to go in. As if he didn’t already dislike me enough, now he sees me the way Rose has. “It’s none of your damned business. Like you said when I first got here – treat me as if I’m not even here. That includes what you see outside this door.” I slam it and trek up the stairs. Usually I hope to never see the images again, but I want the boy to come back. I was on the verge of something. The woman I’ve been seeing has asked me the same thing.
Why?
If only I knew.

***

Rose

When I get home from work, Rusty is on the couch watching TV. It is strange to not see Nathan here and I realize I miss him. I can’t understand why he is being so stubborn about it all and I don’t want to believe that he can actually hurt himself, but there really is no other explanation.

Rusty doesn’t acknowledge me as I put my purse and keys down. I’m exhausted from a long shift at the hospital and the last thing I want to do is deal with my temperamental teenager.

“How was your day?” I ask as I go into the kitchen. I don’t even want to cook supper.

“I saw Dad today.”

A part of me is relieved and a part of me instantly worries about how that could’ve possibly played out. “How’d that go?” I sit down on the far end of the couch and he doesn’t look away from the TV.

“Good.”

“That’s all? Good? How does he seem?” My son has never been a person of many words, but I want him to emphasize.

“He seems sad. And he looks exhausted.”

I grab the remote and turn the TV off, expecting an outburst from him, but he looks at me for the first time since I’ve been home. “What are your thoughts on all of this, Rusty? I know it’s hard with him not here.”

“I think you shouldn’t have kicked him out. It’s obvious he needs us. I think as his wife, you should be his biggest support.”

I’m glad he’s being honest, but his words sting. “You saw what he did to himself, right? What if he ends up trying that with one of us?”

“How are you so sure he did it to himself?”

“I sure as hell didn’t do it, so unless you did, who else could it have been?”

Rusty sits up on the edge of the couch and balls his fists. Here’s where the anger would come out. “You ever stop to think that he’s telling the truth? Maybe something is going on, Mom! When has Dad ever done something so out of the blue? Why would he lie?”

“He could be mentally ill, Rusty. The things he’s claiming might all be in his head and he needs help. He needs medication. He needs to talk to someone professionally.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he goes up the stairs to his room. I’m on the verge of crying when the doorbell rings. Swiping the tears from my cheeks, I take a few deep breaths before I answer. I’m shocked to see Nathan’s father on the porch. In the time I’ve been married to Nathan, I think I’ve probably spoken to him about six times.

“Mr. Gallagher, what are you doing here?”

He takes his hat off, his brow furrowed with worry. “Can I come in, Rose?”

I let him in and we sit at the kitchen table. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“You got any scotch?”

I pull out a bottle that Nathan recently had opened and pour him a tumbler full. “Here you go.”

He gave a short laugh and sloshed the liquid around before taking a swing. “One thing I know Nathan and I have in common. We love our scotch.”

I can’t help but laugh with him. “And don’t forget whiskey and cigars. It’s a battle I’ll never win with him.”

His face grows serious. “Why’d you kick him out, if you don’t mind me asking? And before you answer, I’m not sure you’re aware that he’s staying with me. It’s gotta be pretty extreme for him to come ask me for help.”

I hesitate at first. I don’t know him that well to discuss things, but since it is regarding Nathan, and he is his father, maybe it will be more of a chance to get him some help. “We can start with the fact that he’s stubborn. Why do you ask?”

“Did he recently get beat up by someone?”

I’m hoping he’ll give me more details that will corroborate with what has been going on here before I give him more information than what is needed. “I guess you could say that.”

He finishes off his scotch. “He looks like shit. At first I was chalking it all up to marital problems. It’s not hard to believe, considering the role model he had as a kid.” He points to himself. “But today I witnessed something that’s a little hard to swallow. I went out to check the mail and he was across the street, talking to nothing. He was carrying on a full conversation and even reached out like he was touching them. I confronted him about it and he got very angry. Do you know anything about that?”

I almost fall out of my chair. So it’s not just here. Nathan is acting this way at his dad’s house too, and I don’t want to believe it. I nod and pour myself a shot of the scotch to dull the emotion. “He’s been doing that here too.”

“And the wounds? He do that to himself?”

I don’t want to seem like I’m bashing my husband, but his father needs to know. “He claims he didn’t, but it has to be. I’ve suggested getting help and he straight up refuses. I figured kicking him out would make him do it for the marriage, but you can see how that worked out.”

He pours more scotch and drinks it like it is water. I still can’t believe he is sitting in my kitchen after everything he and Nathan have been through, so it’s obvious he is very concerned. “I’d say I could suggest it to him, but offering advice to him now would be counter-productive.”

“Mr. Gallagher, is there any mental illness in your family? I’ve been doing tons of reading, and sometimes this stuff is hereditary.”

His eyes widen and at first I’m scared I have offended him with my question. “His mother went through major depression after Nathan’s brother died. But what could he have? Schizophrenia? We’ve never had that with anyone, at least, not that I know of.”

“I’m not sure. I just wish he’d talk to someone.”

“And why won’t he, Rose? Does he give a reason?”

“He’s scared they’ll throw him in one of those insane asylums. He still has this notion that they are like the hospitals on
Shutter Island
or something. And I think he’s also worried about the stigma because he’s a firefighter.”

“All the more reason for him to get help,” he says. “I feel bad because I’ve never told him how proud I am of becoming a firefighter. It’s a job I know I’d never be able to do. Seeing all of that death and destruction. It’s no wonder he could be sick.”

I wish Nathan could hear his father talk like that. I know for a fact he’s never heard him say I love you. “Maybe you should tell him what you just told me, Mr. Gallagher.”

He nods and stands up. “Maybe I should. I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s been pretty quiet in his room, but I’ll see what I can do and let you know.”

“I’d appreciate that. I’m really worried.”

“You got it, Rose.” He lets himself out and I’m still shocked at what just happened. If Nathan’s illness can bring him and his father closer together, maybe something positive can come out of this entire mess. Just maybe, but I won’t hold my breath.

Chapter Eight

Nathan

I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for something to happen. Of course, when I actually want them to, they don’t show up. I’m certain I’m alone in the house. My father left shortly after he caught me across the street and hasn’t been back, and though it’s scary to be alone, I’m glad I am. Taking a deep breath, I walk into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. That’s where the woman hurt me the first time. Maybe she’ll come back if I go through the same routine.

It seems like every time I look in the mirror, I have strayed even farther from the Nathan that I was before. I don’t like the man looking back at me. When did I get so hard? When did I start looking like a homeless man?

“You gonna come out and hurt me again?” I try to taunt her, but I can only hear the slow drip of the faucet. “Come out and play.”

I laugh at myself. It’s no wonder Rose kicked me out. I can’t blame her or my dad for looking at me like I should be in a padded room with a straight jacket on. After a few more minutes, I can’t stand to look at myself anymore, and go back to the bed. It’s just like everything in life – when you want it to happen, it doesn’t.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, I look through my duffel bag and feel the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile. There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey in the side pocket. I can’t remember when or where I got it, or even if I packed it myself, but I know Rose didn’t do it. Unscrewing the lid, I take a long pull. The burn is so good and I continue to chug it until there is nothing left within the bottle. I look at it as if more will magically appear at my request, but there’s not even a drop left for my tongue. I peel at the label and think about how becoming an alcoholic on top of everything would be like lighting a match in a pool of gasoline, but I can’t help it. It numbs the pain. It also helps me sleep. You know, the usual reasons people pick up drinking.

I toss the bottle on top of the duffel bag and lay back against the pillows. It’s starting to get dark out and what is left of the sun peeks through the blinds. The tree limbs make shadows on the far wall and begin to move with the wind picking up outside. One limb hits the window, scraping against the side of the house. I stare at the tangled shadows on the wall and with each second, it seems it grows wilder, looking like a Halloween painting or decoration.

“Why?” A voice hisses, and for a second, I tell myself it’s just the wind. “Why, Lieutenant Gallagher? Why Mr. Fireman?” The voices change, but all still have a very eerie feel to them. Multiple whispers start to overtake my senses, and I can’t decipher the different voices within the mixture. I roll over on my side, close my eyes and pull a pillow over my head to try to get them to stop, but instead, it grows louder, the creepy shadows become three dimensional, and I feel something tug at my leg.

I try to fight through the fear and come to my senses. Right now is a good time to get down to the bottom of it, but I can’t control my heartbeat. The hand wraps around my ankle a second time and I try to kick it away to no avail. The grip is tight through my pants and whoever or whatever it is tugs so hard that I slide across the bed and onto the floor, hitting with a loud thud. My head collides with the hard wood and for a second, the edges of my vision grow dark and fuzzy.

The voices don’t stop. They continue to ask why over and over. They yell out my name. I feel nails clamp down into my leg again but this time I’m not going to let them get a good grasp. The room is completely dark now and I’m fumbling around on the floor with God knows what. The fingernails clench on so hard that it feels like I’m being stabbed with five knives. I feel liquid drip down. I’m
bleeding
. Damn it, Rose will accuse me of self-mutilation again.

Again they pull, and this time I slide across the floor. I try hard to grab onto anything to give me an advantage, but there’s nothing available and I’m out of reach to grab onto the bed. As I slip toward the hallway, I know the doorway is coming, and my body slams hard into the frame. It’s enough force to make whatever had hold of me let go. The pain is unbearable and I feel my consciousness waiver. Where are they trying to take me? To
hell
? 

I gather up as much energy as I can and try to crawl back into the room, but my body fails me. It’s been through so much in the past few days that it’s about ready to quit for good. I rest my head on the cold floor and close my eyes, hoping –
praying
- that whatever was here is gone now and will leave me alone.

Tears sting the corners of my eyes and I continue to hold onto the doorframe for safe measure. “What do you want from me?” I yell out, but this time, no voices speak. No hand grabs me. Instead, my vision goes black and stays that way.

***

“Nathan?”

The voice is distant, but isn’t like the ones I’ve heard before. It takes me a second to recognize who it is, but my eyes fly open when I realize it’s my father. Everything is so blurry that I’m not sure it’s really him. I just see someone hovering over me and that the light is like nails through my skull.

“Nathan? What in the hell?”

I feel his hand on my arm and I jerk away from him. It gives me sudden flashbacks of the hand on my leg and it makes my skin crawl. I try to move but the pulse in my head hurts with every beat and I wince as it shoots down my neck.

“Son, I’m here for you. What happened?”

He’s here for me? Is that really him? I can’t remember a time that he’s ever said that to me. I blink a few times and things finally start to clear up. I can see him better and he kneels beside me, a genuine look of concern on his face.

“Please talk to me, Nathan.”

I can only imagine what I look like strung out on the floor. How the hell am I going to explain this without looking even crazier?

“I’m fine.” I prop myself up on my elbows but I know he doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t even believe me.

“What happened?”

Again he touches my arm and I yank away, regretting the sudden movement. “Like you’d believe me anyway.”

He stands up and paces behind me. I know he’s looking around the room to get some answers. I am finally able to get to a sitting position and turn to watch as he analyzes the situation. I’m not even sure how to lie.

“By what I walked in on, my first assumption would be that someone broke in. I mean, you were down on the floor passed out and you’ve got a pretty good gash on your temple.” He reaches down in the duffel bag and picks up the empty bottle of liquor. “But after talking with Rose, I know that didn’t happen.”

Anger shoots through me so fast that I literally see red. “You talked to Rose?”

“I just got back from there.” He tosses the bottle back down on top of my clothes and doesn’t say anything about it, but he doesn’t have to. I can read him loud and clear.

“Why would you do that? Not once have you cared to even get to know her or Rusty, and suddenly you’re going over there?” I can only imagine what they had to say about me.

“Since you won’t talk to me, I had to go to the closest person to you. Nathan, I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m worried about you. She’s worried about you. What harm would it do to tell someone about this?”

I feel vulnerable on the floor and my body screams at me as I get up. I brace myself against the wall. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I have been hit by a truck. “So that’s what you guys were doing? Sitting in
my
house talking about me? I bet that was real entertaining for both of you. You get to jab at the psychopath who talks to himself and beats himself up?” I stop myself as I bite back the emotion.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really happening then? Let me hear your side too. Otherwise, Rose’s is all I have to go off of. You not telling me gives me no grounds to believe you.”

I glare at him and don’t say anything for a few seconds. “And why the hell should I do that? Suddenly you care? Suddenly you wanna be a dad to me?”

“Yes, Nathan. Yes, I do.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and it surprises me when he sits beside me and places his hand on my knee. This time I don’t pull from his touch, but it’s the first time I notice the blood that has soaked through my pants. Ignoring it, I hesitate. He’s going to react just like Rose. How could he not?

“I’ll tell you what I’ve told Rose. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t expect you will either.” I rake my hand through my sweaty hair, gathering my thoughts. “I’ve been seeing and hearing things. I’ve seen a woman, a little girl, and a young boy. The woman is hostile and that’s where Rose is assuming I’ve hurt myself.”

“Who hurt you tonight?”

I shrug. “It was dark. There were more than three voices. Whoever it was, they were trying to pull me away.”

“What do the voices say to you?”

“For the most part, they just ask me why. They know I’m a firefighter. They even know I’m a lieutenant.”

My father nods but doesn’t respond. I can’t tell if he believes me or not. He stays stoic and it gives me no hint. Patting me on the knee, he stands up. “How long has it been going on?”

“A few weeks. I’ve lost track of the time.”

“Rose thinks you need to get some psychological help. She thinks this all could be symptoms of schizophrenia or some other mental illness.”

“I know,” I reply. “Is that what you think, Dad?”

“I don’t know, Nathan. I hate to say this, but I don’t know you that well. I know you’re a damn good firefighter and a father to that boy of yours. Rose really does love you. But are you capable of self-mutilation? I can’t answer that honestly. Could you be sick? That’s not for me to decide. One thing I know for certain is, you’re losing your family over this. If salvaging what’s left of yours and Rose’s relationship means going to the doctor, by all means, I’m not sure why you’re dragging your feet. If anything, it could at least rule out mental illness if this stuff is really happening, right?”

I clench my jaw. I’m so sick of people telling me to go to the doctor. “Wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?”

“I go in telling them what I’ve seen and gone through and it’s a quick ticket to an insane asylum where I have no say of when I can leave. It means it stays on my medical history and my job with the department is gone. It means lobotomies, electro-shock therapy, and inhumane treatments.”

“Son, I don’t think they do some of that stuff anymore. Psychological treatment has changed.”

“Yeah? Well I’ve been doing a lot of reading. Electro-shock therapy is still something used today. How would you know, anyway?”

“I think you’re crossing bridges you’re not quite to yet. I do know this, Nathan. If something doesn’t happen soon, kiss your family goodbye. That hurts worse than anything in this world. That is one thing I know about.” He takes one more hard look at me and turns to leave. I’m alone again, left to try and comprehend everything that has just happened. My mind is a scary place. I don’t even want to close my eyes.

***

Rose

I’m about to doze off and I lean into Nathan’s pillow. It still smells like him and it makes me miss him even more. It jolts me back awake and I wonder if this will all get back to normal. My heart aches thinking about him. He’s always been such a strong man. To see him deteriorate like this kills me.

I’ve thought about the things he’s claiming to hear and see. I ask myself if it could be true. I’m a spiritual woman and I think that there could be supernatural things out there, but I also know some about psychology and how symptoms of serious mental illness present themselves. He’s showing classic signs of paranoid schizophrenia or even schizoaffective disorder. He’s seen a lot of death on his job. I
want
to believe him. It’s hard to think that he’s alone, hurting himself, mutilating himself. That’s not the man I fell in love with.

I bury my face in his pillow and take in the subtle musky scent, and if I think hard enough, I can imagine him lying next to me, his warm, firm body up against mine. I can almost feel his arm wrap around my waist, his kisses trailing down my jaw and to my neck. I miss the feel of his whiskers against my skin and his strong hands on my body. I miss how safe I feel with him on top of me, making love to me all night and still having energy the next morning to tackle the day. I begin to cry and the moisture from my eyes soaks into the pillowcase.

Rusty’s words sting hard. The poor kid is so confused, but I am too. Maybe I should be more supportive of Nathan, but if he’s not willing to help himself, my hands are tied. I wipe the tears from my face and try to compose myself. I can’t stand the night – it’s so long and cold, and I think about Nathan and what he’s doing. Is he hurting himself? Is he able to rest? I want to imagine he’s sleeping hard with no worries on his mind.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand. Who is calling me? I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway. With Nathan’s situation, I don’t want to miss anything.

“Hello?”

“Rose, it’s Jack.”

My heart skips a beat at the sound of Nathan’s father on the other end of the line.  I sit up and glance at the alarm clock. “Is everything okay?”

“I’ve been debating on whether or not to call you, but I think you need to know this. When I got home from your place this evening, Nathan was unconscious on the floor. It looks like he hurt himself again. He has a pretty good wound on his forehead.”