Chapter Text
“So tell me again what happened.” A smooth, controlled voice came from the lips of the woman opposite him.
“They were so real...”
“Were they?” A thick black headband held back sleek, honey blonde hair that flowed down to her waist and curled in ever so slightly at the tips. She had a very professional look about her. The lighting made her skin pale and cold-looking, but her eyes seemed a warm periwinkle.
“They were.”
“How so?”
“They lived and breathed, and laughed and cried. We all did.” Soft black hair fell in front of the boys face and masked his eyes.
“So yeah. They were.”
“Why the past tense?” She held a small notepad and pen in her lap, constantly taking notes on his each and every word.
“They died.” His eyes found solace in his hands as they fidgeted with a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. His long fingers contrasted with short, uneven fingernails that had endured years worth of biting and gnawing at the tips.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I don't.” His shoulders were tense and his eyes were burdened with heavy bags that revealed just how many sleepless nights he'd had in recent years. He was so tired, and it showed in his every feature. Even his eyes, which had once held the brightest blue skies within their depths, had dulled to hold a more shallow, greyish undertone.
“Care to elaborate?”
“I mean, I used to hope that maybe one day they'd come back, or maybe I would even get to join them, but now...”
“Now...?” She quirked her eyebrow ever so slightly, as she continued to scrawl down her observations, taking in his every word, movement, even the tone of his voice, whatever might help her understand the boy's mind and what was going through it.
“Nothing even matters anymore.”
“So, you have finally accepted their deaths, and are now simply in mourning?”
“In a way.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Dead.”
“In a metaphorical sense?”
“I don't know anymore.”
“That suggests you did know at some point.”
“It used to be literal, but that was back when I thought I understood.”
“I'm afraid you're not making much sense. What exactly did you experience with these children?”
“Nobody believes me when I tell them.” Because it never happened.
“I believe you Mr. Egbert.”
“You don't.” The minutes ticked by, with nothing but the scratching of pen on paper filling in the silence, until finally he broke the silence himself.
“They're still out there.” Because it did happen.
“In what sense?”
“Every sense.”
“And yet they're dead?”
“In every sense.”
“I'm afraid I'm having a bit of trouble understanding.”
“I know.” Another stretch of silence filled the room, and this time even the pen had stopped scratching the paper, as she had stopped to look up at her patient with confusion in her eyes. With his next words, he stood from his chair.
“Why do you do this?” His lungs took in every ounce of oxygen possible and filled his chest with that last breath of hope.
“What exactly are you referring to?”
“This.” He could hear his own voice ringing in his ears, along with the pounding of his heart as it pumped blood through his body so fast, he thought he might be dying.
“If by this, you mean my career choice as a therapist, I've always found the human mind to be a highly interesting topic of study.” He looked deep into her eyes, the eyes that weren't really hers, but were now. She was so much the person he once knew. He could hear it in her voice, in the way she crossed her legs and flourished her hand when she wrote; he could see it in the way she looked into his eyes that weren't really his, but were now; in the way she questioned everything around her and could somehow pull answers out of nothing but observations. He had once visited the hottest club in Texas every day for a year, just to see the auburn eyed DJ with the honey-brown hair who didn't know him as anything other than his favorite fan. Soon after, he'd worked as an intern at a science lab in Madagascar for 6 months just to visit the cheery, hazel eyed girl with the ponytail who, still, couldn't even remember his first name. And now, after days and weeks and months of therapy, he had finally reached his last session, and his last hope.
“I know, but why do you keep doing this with me specifically?”
“Because this is my job, and you are my client.” His vision blurred with tears as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“But do you care?” A thick copper taste filled his mouth.
“Of course I do. I care about all of my clients.” He understood. His shoulders tensed even more so than before, and he began to shake as his hands became fists that clutched at nothing. It really was just him.
“I see. Thank you for your time.” And with this, he was gone, a mere two words left hanging in the air where he was standing only seconds before – two words forced out in a cracked whisper, that made his throat burn, but his body go numb with grief. Two words that he carried with him all the way out to the parking lot where he promptly fell to his knees and broke down in tears against a concrete wall. Two words that his head repeated over and over as he abandoned this glitched world, leaving behind nothing but a gun and a splatter of sticky red that sunk into the cracks in the concrete and stained the side of his head.
“Goodbye Mrs. Lalonde.”