Echoes Down the Hall

I walk through the long white hallways of my mansion, my bodyguards accompanying me for another appointment. This side of my home has many offices to pick from, but I always meet my therapist at the end of the hallway. She's here so often that she has her nameplate on the door. I allowed her to hang the plate up for that reason. I started to regret that decision immediately the first time I saw it. My secretary always schedules me for an appointment with her, even though I've told her to stop many times.

I don't believe therapy works; all it is is someone sitting there taking your hard-earned money with a piece of paper calling themselves a "psychiatrist." I continue to go since I hate missing appointments even if I don't need to speak to the thief. I take a mental note to remember to fire my security for putting me through this misery.

Mary is already sitting in the chair across the room when we walk in. My guards stand on either side of the door as I walk in to sit in the only other chair in the room. I look around the room, noticing the changes to my office since the last appointment. The grey walls now have a bright blue accent wall and many more plants. By next week, she'll be moved in, and then the next week she'll start to bring her clients here. I should put a stop to that or start taking rent from her.

On the side table beside me, I get distracted by a flowery mug of tea that I request every time, Earl Grey with five sugar packs, with as much cream as possible till it's on the verge of disqualifying itself as tea. I notice the color is already off, and it is not as milky as it should be. It seems the maids don't know how to make decent tea. I also put another note in my mind to fire all of the maids. Not one should be spared for whatever mess they made with this cup.

I reach for the cup, my guards tense. They should ask if they can take a sip first to ensure it's not spoiled or poisoned. I should fire them, too. Taking a sip, the therapist locks her eyes with me, and I frown, seeing her mouth moving about to speak before I do.

"Four sugars"

She closes her mouth, looking at me, annoyed that I would rather waste time than have her speak to me. My eyes snag on the clock, 5:04 pm, good, only 56 more minutes to waste.

"This tea only has four sugars when I request five."

Mary only nods this time, writing something down, which better be along the lines of the tea better have five packs of sugar next time I sit in this room. I sit the cup down, before I can continue my complaints, she beats me.

"Did you think about what we talked about last time?"

She smiles warmly at me now that she can return to business, trying to hide her displeasure with working with me. I still can see that on her face. I make a shooing motion with my hand, thinking her idea wasn't worth being in my mind.

"A dream journal is child's play, why would I give that any thought?"

Mary only nods like she understands something I don't about myself; that look always irritates me. She doesn't know anything about me. I sit up in my chair more before one of the guards takes a step closer. I glare at him. I don't need protection from this woman; he should know that.

"I've been told someone has had to wake you up three times this past week. The journal will help you remember your thoughts so I can help you through it."

I stare out the window, annoyed and scoff, "Like I need help remembering my own dreams. And does all my staff talk about me behind my back?" Honestly, the dreams are blurry in my mind, but she doesn't need to know that, and I don't like her to assume things about me.

Her eyes brighten. "Have you remembered anything in them?"

She ignored my question. I clinch my fist, but to calm myself, I take the cup of tea, grimacing before I even taste it on my tongue. "I told you there's a fire and screaming."

She nods, writing it down. I'd love to read what all she writes down about me, or if it's all little doodles to make it seem like she's doing a real job.

"No, you haven't told me anything about the dream."

I swear I've told her all about it before, or at least meant to; she probably antagonized me the day I was going to speak, and I walked out without telling her. I shrug.

"It doesn't seem like that big of a deal."

She looks at me like I should say more. Looking over at the time, I see I still have thirty minutes with her. I may as well speak to make the time go faster.

"Fine, Fine. I always wake up from this dream that reoccurs most nights. I stand in front of my childhood house that's ablaze. I feel the burning heat of the flames, and in the distance, I hear my family screaming for… I don't know something or someone inside it. The house eventually crashes to the ground, making me stumble back. While I'm on the ground screaming for the flames to get off, I hear sirens in the distance."

Her pencil scribbling along the paper in front of her is the only noise that goes through the room when I stop talking. She carries on like I'm not there for a full minute before I feel a drop of water on my right cheek. I reach up to wipe it off, looking at the ceiling. Great, now I have to hire someone to check where the leak is coming from.

Looking back at her, I can tell she is watching me steadily, like I'm an animal to be studied. "How does the dream make you feel?"

Another drop lands on my left cheek now, and I wipe it away, looking at the ceiling again, trying to find the leak. My voice is unsteady because I'm ticked off with her, and infuriated by the new leak I must hire someone to fix.

"Why should I care about my family screaming when they haven't visited me in years? They never answer my calls. They want nothing to do with me!"

I look back at her, holding her gaze until another drip falls on me, which is my final straw. I stand, ensuring the disgusting tea splatters onto the floor before leaving the room, going back towards my room, the guards following right behind me.

When I'm back in my room, I go into the restroom to get privacy from the guards; they do their job too well sometimes. I cup my hands under the faucet, running some cold water to splash on my face. I wipe my face off, looking at the wall before me. I wish I hadn't made them take the mirror out. I know I don't need to look in it to know I look great, but in moments like these, I need to make sure my hair isn't out of place after storming off.

I run my fingers through my hair before walking out, noticing my two guards waiting outside the door, and pushing past them. "I pay you to protect me from others, not myself." I collapse in bed. "Go cancel my appointments for today." The guards look at each other before leaving, closing the door quietly as always.

~~~~~

I walk down the hall feeling mad at the world. First, my sister tattled on me about a project I was working on outside of the boring school assignments. Then my mother takes the dead raccoon from the small lab I made in my closet. After that, my father came home to yell at me, telling me how wrong I was and how messed up I would have to be to play with a dead raccoon. He proceeded to shout even louder after I told him it wasn't dead when I started the project. At the end, he told me he would send me off somewhere for troubled people like me.

Getting to my room, I slam the door and throw open drawers, looking to see everything they took from me. They will pay for this. One of the drawers I open and pry off the false bottom, taking the lighter I have hidden among some other trinkets.

After I knew everyone would be asleep, I grab my bag from school and shove it full with any papers I could find. I drag my desk chair to the wall, climb onto it, open the vent in my wall, and shove my bag in before lighting it.

I watch the fire catch on the papers spreading from page to page, muttering, "I'll show you trouble," before I hop off the chair, open my window to climb out.

I sit in the front yard, seeing my room burn first, then spreading to the rest of the house. I wait to see my family come running out, but they never do. They had to have heard the alarms by now. I make my way to the front door. Standing in front of the burning house, I can hear yelling, my mom calling for my name like she's looking for me, my father yelling at her to leave me, and my sisters crying.

I stand there listening, about to help them, telling them this was just for payback. The house collapses before I can move, spraying me with fire. I stumble off the porch into the grass, trying to put myself out, screaming for help, hearing the firetrucks in the distance.

~~~~~

I stand guard outside the patient's room, waiting, knowing that he'll be screaming soon to put out a fire that he's imagined. I look at my co-worker.

"Twenty bucks says he'll be yelling in the next five minutes."

I see him grin and start a stopwatch, "You're on," he says with a friendly glint in his eye. I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. It's moments like these that make the long shifts bearable.

The doctor walks over to inform him when the patient wakes up for his medication. But as he speaks, the expected scream pierces the air. With a triumphant look, my co-worker shows his watch, indicating that five minutes and ten seconds have passed. I sigh and enter the room.

~~~~~

I feel two arms on my shoulders shaking me awake. My throat feels raw from screaming as I look up into my guard's eyes. The dream starts slipping from my mind as I come to my senses, looking around the small, white, clean room. He steps away so I can sit up to stretch and yawn.

"Sorry, I must have fallen asleep."