Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #20 November 2015 | Page 72

foreboding followed by the heart crushing discovery
of my broken body, stashed deep in the woods under a
pile of leaves.

I feel myself being pulled back through a dark
tunnel of memories; flashes of pain and fear, mixed
with feelings of utter degradation and a desperate
need to survive. His teeth, un-brushed and foul, stench
of stale beer and sweat. His body heavy, his grunts
guttural like a demon.

The memory almost pulls me away to a darker
place. I struggle to focus again on the scene before
me. The woman keeps glancing over my mother’s
shoulder, as though she sees me standing there, an
invisible intruder.

He held me for more days than I could count.
He broke my body and when he could use me no
more, he cut me just to see me cry and writhe in pain.
He broke my will until I begged for the sweet release
of death. That was the only time he obliged my pleas,
almost severing my head from my body in his lust
for blood and vengeance against a mother who never
loved him.

“… and the police have no leads.” My mother
shrugs helplessly. “That’s why I’m here. I don’t know
what else to do.”
Susan sits back in her chair and fixes my
mother with a kind but firm eye.
“Is there someone you suspect, Karen?” Her
question shoots out of nowhere, catching both my
mother and I unawares.

I push against the memories and force myself
back to the present, to my mother’s voice.
“That’s why I came to you Susan. I’ve heard
that you read things in people. Sometimes see things.”
She shifts uncomfortably in her chair, as though she’s
encroached on sacred territory.

“Well, actually yes… that is…” my mother
stammers. “How did you know?”
“I’ve been in this business for many years,
Karen. I’ve learned how to read people.” Susan smiles
again as her eyes stray towards me. This time I’m sure
she can see me, or at least sense me in some way. I
decide to test my theory and shift to the other side of
my mother’s chair. Susan’s eyes widen as they follow
me and my soul throws a party.

For an instant, Susan frowns, but it’s quickly
replaced by a conspiratorial smile.
“You could say I investigate cases on several
planes.”
My mother relaxes and laughs. The room
suddenly feels light and full of hope. I want to scream
out, tell her she is right. I want to tell her about the
cellar beneath that shuttered house. I want to release
the pain I suffered there to the ether, never to stain my
soul again.

She can see me! Now she just has to hear me.
It’s a sobering thought. I have no idea how to
break through the wall of deafness that separates the
living from the dead. The veil is easy to part but when
people don’t believe, they grow deaf to the pleas of
the departed.

For the first time since I passed, it seems
possible.

As you think, so it shall be.
My mother is speaking in earnest now, leaning
forward, her eyes alive for the first time since I left
her. “He lives two doors down. He lives alone, his
front yard is atrocious. Overgrown, his windows
constantly shuttered as though he’s hiding something.”

As the meeting ends, I find myself drawn
towards Susan as she closes the door. I glance at my
mother. Her face seems fuller, her cheeks have a faint
glow of colour. Her eyes are bright and her step has
a skip in it that I haven’t seen for a while. I stop and
look back at the door. I know what I must do.

72