Livvy

This story was created for Dr. Jason Benskin's Horror Story Prompt Challenge "Face The Darkness Within"

*** *** ***

There’s a quiet hum next to me. Someone's talking in a low voice a little farther. And... is another someone to the other side of me..? I can hear them breathing, slow and heavy.

I try to open my eyes, but they're glued shut. A reddish-orange glow flickers through my eyelids.

I give it one more try, and the breathing next to me breaks off for a second.

Where am I? At home? Why does it smell like a blacksmith’s workshop... like... what is it... iron?

I try to raise my hand to rub my eyes, but it gets stuck, causing a metallic clink.

What is going on? Am I chained to a wall? To my bed?

My bed doesn’t even have anywhere to attach a chain...? Is this some kind of sick joke? Am I at Mike’s place?

Although the memory feels a little foggy right now, I’m almost certain I went home last night. I think.

What time is it?

I hear someone giggling, as if trying to suppress laughter.

So this is a joke?

I turn my head from side to side, trying to open my eyes, my mouth – anything.

A mellow rhythmic "shh-shh-shh" is trying to soothe me, and the chains tighten.

Handcuffs? I’m handcuffed to the bed?

Someone’s tightening them?

I can't piece together the picture around me. The details don’t add up to anything familiar.

A quiet, gentle soothing and cold handcuffs pinching my wrists so tight there must be red marks on there by now, if not blue.

The warm and damp-sweet odor as if raw barbecue forgotten in the sun for too long and a sharp sterile scent of disinfectant, like in a pharmacy, cutting through it.

And the heavy breathing... not mine, but next to me... and a...child? a girl? giggling and shushing behind me. What is this?

I finally manage to open my mouth, but all that escapes my dry, crusted lips is a slow rattle, before everything fades away. The light that came through my eyelids before is getting darker and darker, and the quiet murmur of a conversation is swallowed by the blackness.

***

I have no idea how much time has passed, but I can finally open my eyes.

Now, I wish I hadn't.

The first thing I see is two police officers standing by a door.

The humming sound is still here, but before I can turn toward it, something else catches my attention. A lump rises in my throat as I look down at my clothes – light blue jeans and a white tank top. Or... they used to be blue and white.

They're soaked in blood. I can smell it – the sweet rotten barbecue meat and the rusty iron. The damp, soaked through fabric is tight around my waist, making it itch and sting.

What happened? Was I attacked? Whose blood is this? I try to feel if I’m hurt anywhere, but I don’t feel anything except the sharp pain the handcuffs are causing on my wrists.

I look at one of the officers by the door and open my mouth, not sure if any voice is gonna come out.

"Where am I? What is going on?"

The man jerks his head toward me. My voice startles him. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls his radio from his belt, pushes the button and says the words that send chills down my spine.

"The suspect is awake," he says to whoever is on the other end of the radio.

'Suspect' is such a label! I hear a girl snorting somewhere behind me.

Before I can turn my head to see who the voice belongs to, the door opens and a man in a suit enters. So, instead, I take my questions to him.

"What is going on? What happened to me?" I demand.

He looks surprised to hear my question and glances at the guard, who just shrug as an answer. The suited man nods at my cuffed hands, and the guarding officer releases them.

And then it clicks.

Years of mystery writing put themselves to use. Cold realization hits me like an iceberg.

The blood. The handcuffs. The officers by the door.

They aren’t guarding me.

They are facing in. They are guarding everyone else from what’s inside.

Me. The suspect.

The two officers are dragging me down a hall. The lights are turned off at the end, so there’s no telling how long the corridor is.

The humming from before follows us.

"Olivia Halbrooke, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Michael Harlan. You have the right to remain..."

I hear him talking, but the words dissolve around me. An attempted murder? Me? Mike has been hurt? How?

You know how! titters the girl.

"Is Mike okay? Where is he? I want to see him!" I'm finally able to vocalize the buzzing in my head.

"He’ll live. Not thanks to you."

What does it mean? Not thanks to me?

The suited man points to one of the doors in the corridor, and they push me in there. There is a large mirror on the wall.

Interrogation room.

I recognize the room quickly. I've spent a lot of time in this room, or at least a room similar to this one. In my head, that is, when I wrote my previous book.

Ahh, feels like home, right?

I did a full 360 to see who was talking to me.

Nobody was there. Behind the glass, perhaps?

"Who are you?" I press my face against the glass and block the light with my hands, trying to look through the mirror, but I know it's a failed attempt. I've done enough research to know it doesn’t work like this.

Someone attacked Mike last night. Did he go out after I’d gone home? Why? Where? It was way past midnight when I left. They can’t possibly think it was me! I’m a 160 cm tall woman, and Mike is a big, strong firefighter. How could I attack him?

The door flies open, and the suited guy hurries in. One of the officers follows him but stays by the door.

"Sit down," he says dryly.

Quiet.

"Why did you try to kill Michael Harlan?" he asks, in complete seriousness.

"I didn’t! It must be a mistake. Why do you think that?" My heartbeat quickens with each passing second.

Because you did, silly! Or, you know, we did!

"It’s not funny! Who are you?" I yell at the glass, and the detective stares at me, confused.

"What’s not funny? Who are you talking to?" asks the detective, quickly glancing back and forth between the mirror and the guard officer.

"I didn’t try to kill him. I love him. Why would I hurt him?" I’m almost yelling at the detective now.

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Honestly, under any other circumstances, it would have taken us a while to suspect you, but you’re one of the stupidest killers, or attempted killers, I have encountered during my career..." He gestures to my bloody appearance. "And we have your notebook. It’s basically a confession."

"What notebo..." he pulled a white notebook, covered in bloody fingerprints, from between his folder. The one where I jot down ideas for my writings. The one I always keep in my bag, in case inspiration hits.

"That’s for my writings. Where did you get it?"

"I took it from you. Last night," he says, checking his watch, "well, four hours ago, to be exact. After we called an ambulance for the man you claim to love." he says like it’s obvious. He opens the notebook and holds it in front of me.

Oooh, this should be good! That was my idea! I’m really proud of that one! she chirped excitedly.

"What idea? Who are you?" I asked, wondering, if they're playing with me. The detective looked just as confused as I felt.

Giggling. You know he can’t hear me, silly! Only you, Livvy!

I look around the interrogation room, but no one else is there.

"No, I don’t know!" I yell into the air, and the detective is calling someone.

"We have a situation here. Send Dr. Adams. ASAP. Interrogation Room 3.”

Ooh, a situation! Exciting! Am I the situation? she sniggers.

"Shut up!" I yell and cover my ears. "I didn’t try to kill Mike! Why do you think I did? He was fine when I left his apartment last night!"

"That’s a lie. He was nearly dead when we got there, and you were at the table, scribbling in this notebook, looking down at him lying in a pool of his own blood." He held up my notebook.

He’s right, you know. It’s too bad you can’t remember. But we got some great material. Good details. Amazing stuff, really. She giggles softly.

I look at the man and he doesn’t react to the voice at all. I rub my ears. Did they put an earpiece in there to mess with me?

"What does my notebook have to do with anything?" I ask, since he's still holding it up like I’m supposed to understand what it means.

Yes! You tell him! I ignore the voice. Although, he's right, Livvy. I told you, there’s good stuff in there. Pure gold!

The detective opens the notebook, clears his throat, and start reading,

"The human body, including the head, is actually unbelievably soft when you smash it with a baseball bat. It’s easy to remold it. And the sounds are nothing like we see in the movies, they're much quieter, softer. The moaning is louder. And annoying, I must add. That’s why it’s important to do your own research,"

the detective looks at me and asks, "Need I go on?"

I feel sick. I think I’m gonna throw up...

Why such a softie? You did wonderful last night. No vomiting!

"I didn’t write that." I mean... I couldn’t have.

Yes, you did.

"Yes, you did."

"I can’t remember any of it." Last night is a total blank. I went home and... nothing.

Well, that’s a shame. Last night was a blast! We’ll definitely do that again!

"You were mid-sentence when we entered the apartment. You have no way out of this, I’m afraid."

You insisted on doing thorough research to get good, authentic details. I gave them to you. Why are you like this now? So ungrateful!

It sounded like the voice was somehow offended.

You know, we could get some more material right here. You can take them, Livvy! She teased.

"Stop calling me that! And what is wrong with you!?" I’ve hated that nickname since childhood.

"What is wrong with me? What is wrong with YOU! We know you did it – you were there. Your fingerprints are all over the bat, you’re soaked in his blood and you wrote down every detail here. My only question is why did you do it? What was your motive? Did you really try to kill a man just for RESEARCH!?" the detective almost exploded, spitting out everything in one breath.

"What? Not you! Her! The girl. Who is she?" I yell, aimlessly.

Careful, Livvy, you can’t tell him about me! If they find out about me they’ll lock us up.

I ignore her.

"No? Nothing? You can’t hear the giggling?" I demand.

"Giggling? That’s interesting you’d say that."

I told you – shut up! You’ll ruin everything! She wasn’t joking anymore. She was dead serious. Angry.

"Why is it interesting?" I ask the detective, ignoring the girl’s voice.

The man looks at me, as if trying to decide whether I’m serious or playing him. He opens the notebook again and reads, "I didn’t know what to expect, but I never would have guessed this! Each swing with the bat made me giggle more and more. I felt light and full of life. I’m surprised I didn’t start skipping."

See! Material for one hell of a book! Your best one yet, I bet!

I don’t react to the voice, hoping it’ll go away.

I won’t.

"I’m telling you, I didn’t do it and I didn’t write it. I can’t remember anything from last night. I remember going home after midnight from Mike’s place and that’s it. Then I woke up here, handcuffed to the bed." I look the detective straight in the eyes, so he can see I’m not lying.

That’s sweet, but honey, you did do it. Well, WE did. I can’t let you take all the credit, she says through chilling laughter.

"No! No! No, I didn’t!" I yell at the voice. "Shut up! I didn’t do it!"

There's a knock on the door, and the officer opens it, revealing a blond woman in a long white lab coat.

Oooh, look at that head.

I bet you could crush it like a ripe watermelon.

Much easier than with big, old Mike last night!

You should try.

Do it!

I massage my temples and exhale slowly. The giggling in my head grows louder and louder.

Whooosh! she is mimicking the sound of a bat swinging through the air.

"Leave me alone!" I yell.

I need some quiet to think!

Silence.

Finally.

DO IT! she screams, slicing through my mind like a blade. My ears explode with the whistling ring, fueling the all-consuming headache.

I'm nothing but a lifeless rag doll.

An unseen force twists and pulls my body. My hands grapple the backrest of the chair, and in one fluid motion, I swing it at the doctor's head.

I don’t know if I hit her or missed, but the next moment, my face is pressed to the floor, and my hands are cuffed behind my back again.

He’s doing his job, you know. Protecting the world from what’s inside.

He’s annoying, she growls.

He should be next!