Unthinkable

This will be an ongoing series, posting one new chapter every week. Updates/ posting announcements will be at the bottom of any work done before the upcoming chapter release.

Distressed screams echoed through the hospital. Julie lay on the white tiles just inside the motion detection doors while her blood pooled underneath her. She curled herself into the fetal position, clutching a single photo to her chest and repeating, “My son, oh, my son.” She sobbed, her cut hands shaking as she showed the horrified patients in the lobby the photo; he was smiling in the living room of their family home. She showed them just like she had tried to show the neighbors as she stumbled down their neighborhood block. Just like she showed the man who graciously picked her up and very literally kicked her out of his car once they arrived at the hospital. Her groans sounded like those of a wounded cat. She ignored all the workers in white coats rushing to her side. They asked her questions, yelling for a stretcher bed and the police. She could hear none of the commotion that surrounded her; Julie only felt the ache in her heart, wondering where her son could have been taken. She stared up at the bright lights that began to merge with the white ceiling above her. “Find Michael,” she gasped as her head fell back, whacking on the cold floor.

When Julie awoke, she was met with a ballpoint pen tapping her cheek. She turned over, caught off guard by all her fresh bandages crunching against the hospital bed. When her vision focused, her eyes narrowed as she looked back at a man she wished would simply leave her fucking life. He had always been too nosy, and her blood boiled as she stared up at the stubbled chin of the very man who tried to take her son away. A former family friend, on Jim’s side. He would come to every party, and every family dinner, and just attached himself to Michael. Matt had gotten close to Michael, and Julie couldn't tell if it was motherly instinct that made her gut turn, or if it was just creepy for a man to be that close to a child.

“What do you want,” Julie hissed through her teeth. Matt’s face held a cold statuesque gaze, unfazed by her rudeness.

“You know as well as I do that I'm the one they call for any business in this jurisdiction. Trust me, I wish I wasn't looking at you either.” His deep voice and southern drawl made his cold sentence sound like something out of an old John Wayne movie.

Matt sighed and pulled out a pen and notepad that lay tucked away in his chest pocket.

“I’ll make it quick. I just need to know what happened last night. Give me all the details you can remember. Even the little ones you don’t think matter.” He said, refusing to catch a glance of her blue-eyed stare.

“I was home with Michael, and we had just made our favorite dinner, a burger and fries. We had heard the landline ring in the hall and he had gone to answer it. We thought it might be my sister. Then he screamed. The lights went out in the house, and I was attacked, and he was taken.”

Officer Matthew Hughe finished his notes and then pointed his pen to her face where a large bandage stayed taped to her cheek. “Did they try to stab you there?” Matt asked, his hazel eyes fixated on the bottom of the bandage where the crimson fluid had begun to peek through.

Julie let out an aggravated sigh. “Yeah, that was the first jab.”

Matt’s eyes met hers, “Who else have you pissed off? That's a vengeful, more personal attack, you know?”

Julie's lip curled into a frown, and her brows narrowed. “Fuck you, Matthew.”

Months, then years went by and Julie stayed in that house. That same house where she got attacked. The same house in which she had been stabbed sixteen times. The same night her son went missing. His case had gone cold after only a year, but with no leads and no progress on the case, the investigators had seemed to give up. Julie fought to have her son's name plastered on the news. She begged for more than just a flier on a missing persons board. She had arranged search parties that dwindled from hundreds to tens to just her. She would search tirelessly through the woods and her local town for five years, coming up empty-handed every time. He was only thirteen. He had his whole life ahead of him and no one seemed to care. No one cares about Michael or his grieving mother.

Julie never gave up though. In her kitchen, the white wall that used to be decorated with family photos and vintage plates now held a board with red and yellow stings that carefully connected themselves to pictures of people, and locations, anything that could lead to her son. The last picture she had pinned to the center of it all, smack dab in the center of their printed-out house was of her son. His gapped toothy smile looking up at the camera, standing in front of a Christmas tree in their living room. The Polaroid was tattered and wilted with stains of Julie's blood that covered the left corner of Michael’s face. The white frame had gone yellow, and the beautiful cursive writing was so faded you couldn't make out anything but the date. Paper notes littered the wall with what had happened that night, with every detail she could remember, all possible scenarios and suspects.

Julie slid her coffee over the wooden table like she had every morning since that night, staring blankly at the web of red and yellow string she had created.

“Michael, where are you, baby?” She whispered into the still air.

Her hands slid themselves along the bleached hairs of her upper lip. Nothing new had come to her mind, and an ache in her stomach reminded her she needed to eat. Taking care of herself had become a distant memory. She focused all of her time on finding Michael, and her teeth had begun to turn yellow and gritty with plaque. Her hair was long and matted, and she would forget to do the necessary things to stay alive. Julie had lost her job; she hadn’t left the house, other than to search the nearby forest for her son. Her social connections had become few, and she relied on working with people she loathed to find him. The money from her deceased husband was the only thing keeping her afloat. That and when she would occasionally sell her body to a nearby creep for cash. Julie was a wreck and she knew it.

As soon as the clock struck 7:30 AM, she would receive a call from her sister. She got one every Wednesday. Nancy, though she wasn’t a fan of her sister, cared for her; they were blood after all. Not only did she feel some sort of obligation to check on her, but she cared for Michael and Jim too. Though they were both gone now, she couldn't bear the thought of how they would feel if she abandoned Julie.

“Hey Jule. Just wanted to see if you need anything or maybe just want to talk.” Her voice was soft, but forced, like it always was.

Julie followed the red string that followed the path from her son's bright and happy face to her sister's high school yearbook photo with her eyes.

“No, I don’t. When are you bringing groceries?” Julie said abruptly. Some mornings they had happier conversations; others, Julie and Nancy would yell and scream at one another, and sometimes, it was like today, quick and simple, no bullshit. If it hadn’t been for Michael’s disappearance, Nancy would have dropped Julie like a steaming pile of dog shit, but she hung on to hopes that if he returned, maybe she could take him home with her. Nancy had a big house, a loving husband and two boys who loved their cousin. Michael would be happy there. She loved him so much that even after five long years, she held just as much hope for his return as Julie.

“One of those days, huh,” Nancy sighed. “Well I'll bring them by around 12:30 but I need the money first. Maybe next week you could actually come with me.” She said, shifting her tone attempting to sound more excited about spending time with her sister. Julie groaned into the phone, and Nancy could hear her exasperated eye roll.

“Sure, if that will get you to stop yapping. I’ll send the money now.” Julie said before clicking the “hang up” icon on her phone.

She slammed her phone to the table as frustrated tears began to build in her eyes. Quickly she grabbed her hot coffee and began to chug. The white cup stung her bottom lip as the heat poured into her mouth. She could feel her taste buds shrivel and the roof of her mouth smolder. The heat burned down her throat like sharp glass, sliding down and bursting into her stomach. She needed to feel; she needed to burn away all the hate that festered for her sister. After the final drop dripped down her throat, she slammed her cup to the table gasping for air. Her hot breath cooled her tongue as she panted. She clutched the sleeves of her long-sleeve sweater and took a deep breath to regain her composure.

Her burnt tongue pushed against the raw skin of her cheeks to the flat roof of her mouth. She could feel the raised and irritated bumps and taste the flesh she had just boiled. A hot coffee breath sigh left her body and she was collected. Sitting in silence, Julie stared off into the hallway, which now held a cavity where the home phone would have been had she not ripped it from the wall. She broke it into several tiny bits when she heard the case had gone cold.

She stood from her seat, knocking on the wooden table. Her empty cup that sat just on the edge toppled to the floor, shattering. The rage she thought she had drowned with the scalding coffee ignited and burst from her lips in a rage-filled roar or curses. She reached down grabbed the largest piece of broken porcelain and slammed it to the ground screaming.

“YOU BITCH! HAD YOU JUST NOT CALLED THIS WOULD HAVE NEVER HAPPEND!”

Julies stomach gurgled and twisted with repressed emotions. Words she wished she could say to her sister had she not suspected her of knowing where Michael could be. Her hands shook and her body trembled with anger. She wish she didn’t have to see her, not today. Julie stared down at the shattered cup particles. They scattered along the floor in all different directions, just like her own thoughts. She followed them to the end of the kitchen just before the hall.

Her eyes followed down the hallway to the room she dared not to enter when she was this upset. Her body lifted from her seat. She began. She told herself not to, but she had no control. The wooden panels creaked under her feet with each step. She just wanted one glimpse, one visual representation of what she was fighting for. Before her feet made it down the hall she paused, staring into her linens room. She looked out the side door window. She knew that was where they had entered. She stepped into the room, standing still for just a moment. Her eyes widened and her skin prickled as she heard the sound of her son's old guitar hero drum set. The loud staticky bangs matched the beats in her heart, beating faster and faster to the panicked tempo.

Julie bolted, sliding on her socks down the hall, and swung open his door. His guitar hero drum set ended its beat leaving the room silent. tears from her face she focused her attention to the walls. The pats turned into slams as she searched for some sort of hallowed sound. Someplace someone could be hiding.

“Damn it!” She yelled plunging both of her fists into the wall, tearing one of Michaels Godzilla posters. The tear was enough to spiral Julie. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, giving herself a rug burn on to tops of her ankles up to her knees.

“PLEASE!” she yelled creating small tears in her throat as she sobbed.

“Please, just tell me where you are.”

Her head fell into her open palms, spilling out sickening amounts of tears mixed with snot and spit. She ended her sobs with one hardy scream that sent an aching pinch through the veins in her neck and a painful pulse through her brain. Had it not been for her remembering the drum sets upsettingly static noise, she would have laid on his floor and fallen asleep for the rest of the morning.

She shuffled on her knees, frantically running her hands over every crevice of the toy. Then she found it: a handwritten note with the word PHONE written multiple times in red ink all over a sticky note. Her hands tremble as she counts each phone. She stood, knees shaking, walking down the long hallway to her kitchen. Calmly, she pulled a free pin from her wall and plunged it into the sticky note. Her hands raised, still shaking, placing the note next to several other sticky notes. Each was in the same style, one word or number written over and over again. She had been getting notes since September 17th, and every time, a toy would turn itself on, or she would hear a loud bang in a room of the house. Sometimes she would even hear his voice saying “Mommy.” She would follow the voice and small knocks through the house until she found a new note. So far none of the notes made sense.

PHONE

3

ILLUSION

2

WHITE LIE

5

IMAGE

0

LIAR

1

LATER

7

KNIFE

7

INCOMPETENT

2

LOUTH

Julie tried to put the words into something that made sense, but each number and word only confused her more. She knew someone had to have been messing with her or something, some other being was trying to get her into the right direction. Julie never believed in God, but she wasn’t opposed to the thought of the supernatural. Maybe something knew where he was. Though sometimes, the knocks would be loud and almost angry. Toys and clothes would be thrown and slammed against the wall and every so often, her son’s voice would be yelling, louder, and deeper in the house. She was afraid of what was leaving the notes, mostly because she had no idea what or who it was. Julie feared that it knew more than everyone, even her.