Warning: this story is VERY disturbing. Read previous stories in this thread here.
I put my phone down, sighing heavily. I had just been speaking to my father, Spence. He told me he wasn’t going to make it to Stephanie’s for Sunday lunch tomorrow. He sounded tired, worn. But then again, he always sounded like that. I couldn’t blame him. I felt the same exhaustion myself. We had carried it with us for years. The memories we held, the nightmares we had survived. He told me mom wanted to go away, maybe to the mountains for a while. She wasn’t doing well these days either. It seemed like every week she was trying a new medication.
The nights were the worst. My father had quietly admitted this to me. The tossing and turning, the fearful glances at the door…jumping at every sound. For my father and I, the passage of time wasn’t enough to erase the fear that was seared into our minds like a brand.
Stephanie seemed to be doing the best out of the four of us. She was happily married and her baby twins were almost three months old now. She had named them Jack and Jill. She thought it was cute. It was. Her husband Lewis was a good guy. He took care of them, a selfless strong man who put his children and wife before all.
I sat in the darkness of my apartment, glancing at the clock. It was almost eleven. I thought about retiring for the night, but instead got up and poured myself a shot of rum. I downed it without even thinking and let the heat settle my worn mind.
I went to take a piss and heard my phone ringing from where I had left it on the couch. I zipped up my pants and went to pick it up. I expected it to be my father again.
It was Stephanie.