Chapter’s Close

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Emily Doucet pressed her forehead to the steel door and listened. The steady drip of water from the pipe poking through the wall outside her cell; the rising whirr of the boiler connected to the other end of that pipe as a guard somewhere in the prison ran a hot water tap; the hum of electricity coursing through the strip lights in the corridor leading to solitary confinement. Beyond those noises, the wind carried the distant wails of a cat, its piercing cry eerily similar to those of a frightened baby.

Nobody is out there.

One hand against the wall, Emily screwed her eyes shut. Was that a voice? A door slammed in the distance. Emily raised her other hand, touched her fingertips to the steel of the door, and listened for footsteps.

Nobody is out there.

Emily sighed and lowered her hand. ‘I know.’

You’re alone.

Emily shook her head and turned her back to the door. The room was the same size as her usual cell. A toilet sat against the back wall, tucked into the corner, next to the patterned glass window that only opened an inch to allow air into the room. A shelf was mounted below the window, toilet roll at one end, a book from the prison library at the other. Next to the shelf, pressed into the other back corner, was her bed. A single, not a bunk bed. The one advantage of solitary confinement.

A basic, white sink unit completed the décor, bolted to the wall opposite her bed. Emily pulled off one of her cotton socks, stuffed it into the plug hole of the sink, and turned on the tap. As the sink slowly filled, Emily ran her hand over her head, pulling her tangled, brown locks into a loose pony tail. Filling her lungs when the water reached the halfway mark, she thrust her face into the water.

Emily was positive she had heard a woman scream. She had been half asleep, enjoying a dream where she sat on Elodie Myers’ porch, drinking lemonade and watching the birds, when she first heard it. Elodie was sat next to Emily with her cello and, in her sleep-addled state, Emily had thought the sound came from the instrument. Fighting to separate reality from dream, Emily commanded her voice to warn Elodie of what was going to happen. The scream that poured from her mouth jolted her awake.

With the water pouring into Emily’s ears, the rush of the tap shifted from a harsh hiss to a thunderous roar that blocked out all other input. Emily yanked the handle to halt the flow and let the water dull the noises that crept into the room. The thump of her pulse tethered Emily as she reached out in search of the voice that woke her.

‘Elodie?’

The sounds of the room rushed back in as the water drained through Emily’s sock and away from her ears.

Nobody is out there. You’re alone.

Emily’s grip tightened on the tap as she yanked the handle and refilled the sink. Drawing another deep breath, she submerged her face and called out Elodie’s name again.

The definition of madness-

‘Go away,’ Emily said before dunking her head into the water for the third time.

-is repeating your actions and expecting different results.

The water drained away, taking Emily’s tears with it.

‘Why won’t she answer?’ Emily asked as she dropped to her knees, clinging to the edge of the sink.

Because she doesn’t hear you. Because she’s dead.

‘Don’t say it.’

Because you killed her.

Emily pulled herself to her feet and slid the book from the shelf. Tucked into the corner of her bed, she pulled her knees up to her chest and balanced the book on them. She didn’t need to read it. After nine years, she had memorised every chapter.

You couldn’t share her.

It was Elodie’s favourite book at the time. A cheap fantasy novel filled with clichés. Emily failed to understand Elodie’s attraction to the book.

So, you let her die.

‘I tried to save her,’ Emily whispered as she pressed the book to her head, hugging her knees tighter.

Emily tipped her head back, letting it thud against the wall, and stared at the ceiling. Maybe Zoe was right. Maybe her actions did result in Elodie’s death. Maybe, in a different reality, Elodie was sitting on her porch, practising Rachmaninoff’s Sonata in G minor while Emily drank lemonade and listened to her fingers glide across the strings. Clearing her throat as she wiped away a tear, Emily flipped the book open and found where she had left off.

Only in the realms of fantasy could you find multiple realities, hopping from one world to the next to see the outcomes of different actions. Reality didn’t work that way. There was no packing up and moving to a different timeline if you didn’t like the fate of a character. Closing the book without finishing the page, Emily curled up on the bed, hugging her pillow. There would be no escape into the realms of fantasy tonight. In the distance, the cat resumed its wailing, making Emily wonder if that was the scream she had heard.

You should have tried harder, Zoe whispered, her breath causing the hairs on the back of Emily’s neck to rise.

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