Distorted

Kendall was normal until a series of frightening nightmares and daydreams invade her life. The search for answers only leads her to more questions. Is she prepared for the outcome?

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7. THE NIGHTMARE

When I was finally able to relax, my mother had come into my room without knocking and sat on my bed. She looked at me, took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket, and lit one. I watched the smoke twirl and then fade into the air before she spoke.

“I just got off the phone with Dr. Monroe. He didn’t tell me much; just that he couldn’t see you anymore. What happened?”

To the untrained ears, her question sounded normal. But I knew what she was asking. Things were never anyone else’s fault, always mine. She would tell me my dad drank because I was such an awful child, but I didn’t believe that. He drank because he turned into an asshole and wanted to hurt his family.

Sliding off the bed, I went to the window and stared out into the night. Somewhere, a car horn blared and tires screeched. I wondered if the person had gotten into a car accident. That one thought took me away from what was happening now, and it was enough.

“Kendall?”

Her voice had called me back, away from the darkness, and I turned around to face my mother. She looked tired, almost like her being near me was physically exhausting.

“What?” I asked, pushing my hair away from my eyes. “It’s none of your business what happened.”

“I’m going to pay for another doctor to tell you there’s nothing wrong with you, so I have a right to know what happened with this one.”

I couldn’t tell her. There was no way she would believe me. I bit down on my cheek and said, “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m tired. Can you please get out?”

Surprisingly, she listened. After the door shut, I collapsed onto my bed and shut my eyes. I wished I hadn’t fallen asleep.

Something about this was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I stood with my hand on the doorknob, ready to turn it. When I did and it opened easily, there was no one in it, just a desk, papers covering it, and a lamp.

He wasn’t here.

Backing out of the room, I wheeled around to face him. He was standing against the wall, his eyes frightened. He went to ask me what I was doing here, why I was doing this, why—

It didn’t matter anymore as I pulled out the gun and shot two rounds into his chest. I watched his body slam back, blood spluttering from his wounds. He was dead before I stepped over him and out into the night.


My eyes snapped open to meet the darkness and I sat up. For a moment, I had no idea where I was, but then it all came flooding back. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and dialed the only number I could think of.

Two rings and he answered, despite the time.

“Kendall?” His voice was groggy.

“Please,” I whispered into the receiver, my breathing heavy. “Please help me, Christian.”

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