“I’m Brie,” she whispers, as if she doesn’t want to be heard. “What are you doing down there?”
The memory fades, and I’m once again standing in the dark room.
“This is where you kept me, isn’t it? Where you hid me away,” I muse to myself. On the other side of the walls. Out of sight. The warmth of the surroundings tells me it wasn’t done out of malice. That he was trying to keep me safe. My safe haven. Inside the very heart of our home.
Another archway passes through to what looks to be a playroom, with dolls lying around, and a rocking horse propped in the corner. I kneel down to pick up a music box, one I recognize, and smile. I lift the lid from over the twirling ballerina inside, and hear the soft chime of You Are My Sunshine. A message etched on its mirror beneath the lid reads: A child is the light in a dark world, and your radiance is as bright as the sun. Love always, Daddy. It was a gift for my tenth birthday, and I remember twirling around the room, pretending to be the ballerina inside.
Closing the lid, I carry the box with me as I keep on with my exploration. Through a third archway that seems to be precariously supported by a seriously damaged beam, I find a cellar of wine stored away, and I have to ignore the niggle of excitement on finding such a treasure. I don’t bother to venture in there, though, for fear that the ceiling might collapse if I accidentally bump into that beam. The fourth archway takes me to what looks to be a study, with an old, ornate desk that reminds me of something from another era, with its beautiful craftsmanship. Behind the desk are shelves lined with books. So many books. One sits propped open on a desktop book lectern, and I amble closer to see the Bible opened to Revelations. Running my fingers over the pages reminds me that this was the last thing my father studied here.
Other books lying about snag my attention. Closer inspection of their spines reveal one major theme--the occult and Christianity. Every version of the Bible, alongside volumes of satanic references, like good and evil stretched across every shelf. Objects made of twigs and twine, hanging from the top of the case. What looks to be voodoo dolls lying about.
“I spent hours here. Reading. Studying. Trying to understand.” At the sound of my father’s voice, I twist to find him standing beneath the archway, a sense of pride coloring his expression as he looks around. “It was easy to get lost in it all.”
Reports painted my father as a kind, but obsessive, recluse, who eventually shut himself into this house. I knew firsthand how his demeanor shifted over time.
“What were you trying to understand?”
“Human nature, mostly.” He nods toward the desk, and I slide onto the leather chair, smiling as I recall sitting here at an earlier time, spinning and spinning until I was dizzy.
I stare down at one of the larger drawers to the right of me, and that cold sensation returns.
Sickness churns in my stomach again.
Closing my eyes brings to mind memories of opening the drawer, one I wasn’t supposed to touch, lest my father would punish me. Curiosity had gotten the best of me, though.
“I opened it,” I confess aloud. “You warned me to stay away from your desk, and I didn’t listen.”
When he doesn’t say anything in response, I swallow back the fear climbing my throat.
Don’t look away.
Hand trembling, I open the drawer. Files are still stored inside. The first I pull out is Brie’s. By the light of the lantern, I flip through to notes from her sessions with my father, learning how her mother had died in a car accident. A drunk driver who sped off. Neither Brie, nor Maw Maw, ever talked much about her mother, which was fine, because I never talked much about my own. It made me comfortable being around Brie, knowing we both shared that hole in our hearts.
Replacing the file in the drawer, I pull out the next one and frown at the name scrawled across it. “Russ?”
Flipping it open lands me on the progress notes for a troubled man. A drunk. One who wanted nothing more than to end his own life. Reading through my father’s notes brings me to