Driven Mad

A hand that was not her own curled around her wrist, the touch cold, turning her skin to ice underneath its caress. 

“Just do it,” the voice whispered into her mind. “Imagine the power you will gain.”

Stiffening under the words uttered to her in a way only she could hear, Lyssa stood there, mind whirring. Long ago, the voice had been a faint whisper, something she could ignore — push aside. Now, it had grown. Its hunger for her and her actions was becoming more difficult to disregard. 

And she was beginning to think she didn't want to brush off the whispers. 

She was starting to suspect the voice was her own. 

Even so, she blinked, and the frigid touch was gone from her wrist, skin left unblemished aside from the goosebumps now racing along the planes of her flesh. Months had gone by and she’d yet to tell a single soul about her visions — if she could even call them that. Embarrassed to admit she needed help, Lyssa kept her concerns close to her chest, warmed only by her fluttering heart. 

“Lyssa,” someone shouted behind her. For a second, she almost ignored it, convinced the voices in her head were taunting her once more, but it came again. 

Clearer. 

“Lyssa!”

Finally, snapped from her languid haze, she turned, curious as to who was calling for her. The sights and sounds slowly filled back in around her. Dreary paint colors on the wall came into focus, the yellowed casework before her that had once been white, sharpening. Humming from the fluorescent lights filled her ears, overpowering the sound of blood rushing through them. 

She was in the break room, at work.

And a burning smell permeated her nose. 

Shit!

Whipping back around, she saw the source of the smell — her overcooked TV dinner currently spinning in the microwave.

“Maybe it’s still salvageable?” the same voice from earlier said, closer now. From the corner of her eye, Lyssa saw it was Thea, a coworker. 

She really was losing her mind it.

Opening the microwave door, the steamy, ruined mess looked back at her. “I don’t think it is,” was all she could manage, looking around for something to assist her in getting the melted plastic out of the appliance. Grabbing a nearby kitchen towel, she used it as a buffer before tossing it into the trash. 

Lyssa could feel her coworker’s eyes on her as she shuffled back to her cubicle.

Did she look as unstable as she felt?

Just get through the day, she chanted silently. Sleep had evaded her, making it hard to keep her thoughts composed. It didn’t help that the only thing she could see when she closed her eyes were the last moments before the crash.

Glass shattering, her screams echoing throughout the small car. 

Sirens growing closer even as she saw —

No, not here.

She would not think of those moments here. 

With hours left to go, Lyssa sat at her desk and wondered how long it took for someone to wither away, both physically and mentally.

***

Returning home from work should have eased the tension in her shoulders, but if anything it worsened. The quiet that accompanied her home, that refused to leave her apartment, was glaringly present. There had been a time when Lyssa relished in the solitude her home brought, enjoying the silence for what it was. A time to recharge. 

Now, it was cursed, filled with ghosts of her memories that wouldn’t leave her alone. While she didn’t believe in the supernatural, she feared she’d be crushed by the weight of her guilt. The suffocating loneliness wrapped its arms around her and tucked her in at night. 

It was disgusting how pathetic she’d become, unable to eat or sleep, and when she finally did find the motivation — the courage — it was for nothing. The food always came back up, her stomach refusing to settle. And the voices, the horrid whispers, forbidding her to live in peace. 

Settling onto the couch, Lyssa refused to sleep in her own bed anymore, giving up on the prospect of ever feeling whole while laying there again.

It only reminded her of Andrew.

Her head fell back against the scratchy decorative pillow, mind restless. Grief was a fickle thing, always demanding to be felt, but presenting itself differently every time. It tricked her into thinking she was healing, when in reality she was spiraling.

Sometimes the darkness was easier to hide in, especially when she felt certain it was where she belonged. 

***

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he whispered, breath tickling the edge of her jaw. A tentative touch along her cheek made her heart race as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. 

“I can never forget it, since you’re here to always remind me,” she said, a smile gracing her features. The room around them was dark, but he could feel her cheeks bunch with the gesture. No matter where they were, he always made sure to memorize her laughter, the little mischievous grins she showcased when a deplorable idea crossed her mind.  

“Good,” he said, lips brushing against hers from their close proximity, “and I’ll always be here to remind you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

***

Salt flooded her nose and mouth and for a moment, Lyssa thought she’d been tossed out at sea, left to drown. It would be a blessing to escape the confines of her life, the survivor's guilt she carried, but when her eyes popped open, her dark apartment greeted her.

She was only drowning in her miserable tears. 

Engulfed in her grief, left to rot alone. Forever. 

The promises that they’d exchanged had been for naught, the universe deciding to be cruel and unfair. Without Andrew, she was alone, and had lost her purpose in life. 

Her phone rang, coaxing her from the blankets she’d tried to bury herself within and the caller ID made her pause. 

It made her pulse jump.

“Hello,” she said, desperately wiping the semi-dried tears from her cheeks. Her voice sounded wobbly, but Detective Vince had seen her in worse situations. 

“Miss Lyssa, are you available to talk?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes, why? Any new developments?”

“I think it’s best you come to the station.”

“I– of course. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

Without so much as a goodbye, he hung up. His succinct behavior was what made Lyssa agree to work with him in the first place. She didn’t want flowery language during her time of grief. She didn’t yearn to be treated as though she was fragile.

No.

Lyssa wanted answers no matter how she had to obtain them, and Detective Vince seemed to understand that. Donning comfortable clothes in the dark, she let herself out, not even bothering to glance at the time glowing on her digital clock. 

***

After isolating in her dark apartment, the bright lights within the police station made Lyssa squint. It was painful and didn’t help the overstimulation assaulting her senses. Other than work, this was the only other place she frequented, and the hoards of people bustling around her never got easier to stomach. 

“Let go, let them see who you truly are.” 

Goosebumps lined her skin again, the iciness of which the voice came from made the knot in her stomach clench. The voice seemed to thrive off her weakness, intent on chipping away her armor until all that remained was —

“Lyssa, glad to see you could make it on such a short notice.” It was the detective, his typical all black ensemble cutting across the lobby to meet her. 

“I’m always available for your calls,” she said, meaning every word of it. From the beginning she’d stated that her cooperation was imperative to them solving the case — to catching whoever had taken Andrew from her.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” He asked once he stopped in front of her. The dark circles that seemed to never leave her skin, were traced by his observant eye as he took in the rest of her appearance. She looked like shit, but her will to care had disintegrated. 

“No, I hardly sleep these days.”

“Sleep is beneath you.”

Shoving the cold from her heart, she followed Detective Vince as he led her back toward the interrogation rooms. 

“Again, thanks for coming in on short notice,” he said, maintaining his stride to match hers. “There’s been a development in Andrew’s case.”

Her steps faltered, air whooshing from her lungs as she stopped in the middle of the hall, unable to continue. “What?”

It’d been months since she’d heard those words, desperation and hope mixing into a deadly concoction. Weeks had passed with no new leads, and Lyssa had sunk into the depressing thoughts of wondering if it would ever be solved. 

If the person who’d done this to them — to her — would be caught.

A tentative hand found its way to her bony shoulder, “We got him,” was all the detective said, words concise and unfeeling. Consoling people was not his strong suit, but she didn’t care. 

“Really?”

He nodded, moving his hand to rest between her shoulder blades, gently nudging her along. “Let’s go see him.”

***

One way glass separated her from the man that had taken everything from her, and she was disappointed to see that he had a drink in front of him and no shackles binding his feet. 

“We wouldn’t be so merciful, would we?” the voice crooned. Clenching her jaw, she tamped the words down, intent to listen to what Detective Vince had to say. There must be an explanation to this leniency. 

“We picked him up driving intoxicated,” Detective Vince started, looking from her to the man beyond the glass.

“That should be enough to prove he did it, right?” she said, voice sounding desperate.

The voice within her despised that.

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He can be charged for this crime, but more evidence is needed for Andrew’s case.”

“I can provide that evidence, I remember his face!” She exclaimed, rage bubbling to the surface.

The man had stopped after hitting them, drunkenly stumbling over to their destroyed car. With glazed eyes and a slacken jaw, he’d gazed upon Andrew’s lifeless body, her injured one, and walked away. 

He’d left them for dead.

“I know, I know,” Vince said, growing uncomfortable with her exasperation. “But we need hard evidence too. Eyewitness accounts can be unreliable and skewed.”

“He thinks we’re lying,” the voice said, louder now.

“Please, you don’t understand—”

“I do, Lyssa, but there’s nothing we can do right now.”

Those words released everything she’d been holding in. Coldness seeped into her fingertips first, staunching the sweat that had gathered there, turning it to ice. The blood flowing through her worthless body slowed, cooling with the rage that settled deep within her marrow. People described anger as hot, burning through everything that came into its path, but this … this was different.

It was worse.

Deadlier.

The icy numbness that washed over her extinguished every other emotion she’d felt until there was nothing but hatred left. 

“We have to let him go for now,” Detective Vince said, breaking through her fragile composure. “But don’t worry, we have a team trailing him and hoping to catch him once he slips up.”

“Once he slips up?” She nearly shouted. “He already has, he’s already killed someone! Isn't that proof enough?” Her voice echoed in the small room, and from her peripheral vision, she saw the horrid man turn toward the sound. Even he, who was on the other side, could hear her anguish. 

“I’m sorry, Lyssa, but we need more. Until then, stay home and try to take care of yourself.” With that he led her away, eyes lingering on the thinness of her frame.

How could she tell him there was nothing left for her to care for?

***

Cold rain slanted against her skin as she stood within the shadows. The feel of it matched the voice in her head, one that kept repeating itself. 

“Take matters into your own hands.”

And for once, she listened. 

Now, she found herself outside the man’s house, watching his drunken figure through the curtains. It hadn’t been hard to tail the police car that had escorted him home, since he’d been too intoxicated to do it himself. 

How pathetic.

The only precaution the police had taken was posting an officer outside his house, down the street.

Drawing her hood closer to her face, she slinked through the darkness, avoiding the pockets of light that littered the street. From her vantage point, the officer outside was preoccupied with something on his phone, and she used his distraction to slip around the back of the man’s house. Her small frame enabled her stealth, and she prayed her intended target had been too drunk to lock the back door.

Even if he had, she knew where the key was.

Lyssa expected her hands to shake as she gripped the brass door knob, its surface wet and frigid from the rain, but they didn’t. She’d never been this sure about something in her entire life.

“Don’t you want him to pay for this?”

Bitter words swirled around her head, spurring her on, encouraging her demented behavior. If this was what madness consisted of, she understood its appeal. Her thoughts were the only things that seemed to stay long enough to keep her company. 

The door squeaked open, halting her inner monologue. Warm air from the furnace wafted out, twirling around her waterlogged frame. It did nothing to dampen the chill in her heart.  

That was permanent. 

A large step separated her from the man’s house — his privacy.

She took it. Her wet tennis shoes made no noise on the hardwood floors. 

It was as if she was meant to be there. 

Water dripped off her coat, splashing softly onto the floor beneath her. The scent of beer hung in the air making her almost gag. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she pushed on, knowing her window of surprise was closing. The door clicked shut softly behind her, trapping her inside the house.

“He’s trapped, he’s the victim now,” the voice caressed against her mind like a lover, encouraging and understanding. Setting her jaw, she nodded, taking those words as gospel. Lyssa deserved this — had earned it — and there was nothing that would take it away from her. 

The man’s darkened kitchen opened up before her, the only source of light was filtering in from the open doorway across the room. 

The living room.

He was so close, yet just out of reach. 

Her reckless thinking had led her here without a plan, without a weapon, but that did little to squash the growing adrenaline in her gut. Looking around, she searched for anything she could use.

Did she want something sharp or blunt?

Should she draw this out, savor the revenge or choose efficiency?

Her eyes snagged on the knife block as if sensing her thoughts, making the decision for her. 

“Grab it, use it.” 

It was decided then.

Before she could stop herself, the cool handle of a knife was clutched within her drying hands, and dim light from the living room enveloped her as she stepped closer to the threshold. The din of a TV on low volume greeted her.

Would that suffice in covering the sounds the man would make?

No, but Lyssa found herself not caring, craving violence more than reason. From the snippets she heard while standing in the darkness, it reminded her of another time. A place where Andrew and her had laid on the couch in their apartment — now just her apartment — and watched TV. The mindless shows they watched hadn’t mattered, but the time they’d spent together did.

And now, it was time she’d never get back, never have again.

A fresh wave of rage washed over her still figure. 

Andrew was gone forever and the universe had left her to live with that — to live with his killer walking free. 

Her shoe sank into the carpet. Then the other. 

A deep breath expelled from her lungs as her grasp on the knife tightened. She could do this, she had to for herself — for Andrew.

Again, she expected the adrenaline weaving its way through her veins, her very being, to make her falter. 

It didn’t. 

The cold voice in her mind, constantly there, wearing her down, wouldn’t let her. 

Eyes drunkenly cut to her, TV forgotten momentarily as confusion lined the man’s features. 

God, she remembered those eyes, hated them.

Lyssa couldn’t go back now, she had to see this through. It was the only way for her heart to move on. 

Right? 

“Who the hell are you?” he said.

A smirk slipped across her features, a menacing gleam evident in her eyes. 

“If this is wrong, why does it feel right?” The voice teased. 

Stepping closer, she needed to sense the fear that had to be running through his body. The voice fed off of it, she craved it. 

“You don’t remember me?” Lyssa asked, voice steady. Like everything else, the iciness that clutched her heart, seeped to her exterior. 

“I—”

“Don’t. Talk,” she interrupted, knife raising with her voice and that was when he finally saw it.

“What do you want?” he whispered, words soft between them. He’d ignored her previous command and that set her on edge even more.

Until she saw his fear reflecting back at her. Her smile widened at the realization. Their situations had reversed. Instead of her living in sadness and fear as she had for months, she could instill those emotions in him. She could curse him with the same gut-wrenching, paralyzing terror. 

Frosted words brushed against her ear. “Didn’t I tell you how powerful you’d feel?”

The monster within her grinned and her voice didn’t shake.

“We want revenge.”