Past Demons

The voice in my head was extremely loud and distracting today.

I usually knew how to control it, but sometimes it got a little out of hand. Over the past year, “The Voice” – as I’d come to refer to it – had usually been nice to me, but it became loud and uncontrollable when I was upset, even turning nasty sometimes. Today was a day to be pretty damn upset, so I couldn't really blame The Voice for being so loud. I tried to suppress it. I tried to suppress the thoughts that came along with what The Voice was telling me, but I couldn't focus. Not today. I didn't have the strength to fight today.

“Give yourself in to it, Becca,” The Voice demanded.

There was a split second when an image of her flashed through my mind and I felt my heart throb painfully, but I squeezed my eyes shut and suppressed it. I couldn't think about her. Not now. Not yet. The Voice seemed to sense my anguish because I felt it trying to control my actions. It usually fed off of my negative emotions – guilt, sadness, and anger – and since today was a day when I felt all three emotions, I found it harder to resist the commands.

“Go to the bridge,” The Voice commanded. “Go there and meet him.”

The bridge was essentially an old concrete and metal structure that connected my town to the city. It was the most peaceful part of my town, only ever used by the occasional carrier truck or by college kids driving towards the city. No one ever bothered me there.

The bridge was also peaceful for me because that was usually where I met him. He was the part of my world that I associated with everything good. He was the most decent person I knew, a good listener, and my rock in times of need.

I really needed him now.

I found myself putting on my old green trench coat and getting into my car. I started the engine and drove down the familiar route, my hands and feet controlling the car and automatically taking me to the place I so frequently went.

While I was driving, The Voice spoke up again. “You need to think about her.”

“I can't,” I whispered out loud.

“You need to think about Rachel.”

The name sent a stab through my heart. Even as I tried to suppress the thoughts that The Voice started sending my way, I found myself caving.

An image of Rachel's face on the day of her seventh birthday surfaced in my mind.

**

She'd been so excited on her seventh birthday that she'd literally been glowing the entire day. She'd had a dance recital on the same day, which only added to her excitement. And that evening, when she'd danced so beautifully in front of a large audience, I'd felt my chest puffing out with pride. My little daughter had seemed so grown up, and I felt proud to have brought her into this world. Her father had been absent from her life – having run away when he’d found out I was pregnant – and I had had to raise her myself. Rachel was my masterpiece – the result of my love, affection, and guidance – and she was the single-most important part of my life.

**

I slowed down the car when I neared the bridge, and I shook my head once to get rid of the thoughts. As I came to a stop at the bridge and got out of my car, I could see his tall figure already waiting there for me. His arms were resting on the railing of the bridge as he looked out at the vast expanse of land below.

“He knew you'd be coming today,” The Voice sounded approving.

My heart warmed at the thought and I smiled. I put up my messy dark hair into a ponytail, pulled my coat around me tighter, and made my way over to him. I rested my arms next to his on the railing.

“How long have you been here?” I asked him.

He looked over at me with a small smile, “Just a couple of hours.”

“You didn't have to come. What if I hadn't turned up?”

“I knew you'd come eventually, especially because of what day it is today.”

I remained silent.

“How old would she have been today?” he asked gently.

I felt my throat close up. “I can't talk about her.”

His eyes were full of sympathy. “You need to, Becca. Let it out.”

“Talk about her.” The voice was strict this time. I knew better than to make it angry.

“Rachel would've been eight today,” I replied in a small voice. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest.

“It's been exactly one year, hasn't it?” he prodded tentatively.

I nodded, my eyes prickling with unshed tears.

“Becca, you need to talk about it.”

“Let it out, Becca,” The Voice pitched in.

I shut my eyes tight as an onslaught of memories from Rachel's seventh birthday rushed through my mind.

**

I rushed backstage as soon as Rachel's dance recital was over and I scooped her up in my arms, peppering her face with kisses and telling her how proud I was of her. She giggled and beamed beautifully.

I helped her change out of her costume and then we walked out to the parking lot and got into my car. Rachel was allowed to sit up front in the passenger’s seat after she put up a huge fuss about being the birthday girl. I decided to indulge her this one time.

We pulled out of the parking lot and were on our way back home, chatting about Rachel’s dance recital and her birthday party, which was supposed to be at our house later in the evening. We stopped at a red light and continued chatting, and just as the light turned green, Rachel took something out of her bag and said, “Mommy, look! See what Mrs. Trellis gave me as a birthday gift!”

I smiled as I turned to look at my baby girl’s excited face.

Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion.

I heard squealing of tires and an urgent honking from behind. My eyes jerked to my rearview mirror and I realized a second too late that an SUV was closing in on us from the rear at an alarming speed. I screamed and tried to swerve out of the way, but it was too late.

The impact felt like a ton of bricks being thrown at my back. The metal-on-metal sound was deafening. My little daughter’s screams seemed even more deafening. And then my head hit my car window hard enough to make the glass crack, and I blacked out immediately…

I found out later at the hospital that my daughter – my precious seven-year-old baby girl – had died in the crash, while I had miraculously survived.

**

I was jerked back to the present as he put his hand over mine. I looked at him and he must've seen the anguish in my eyes because he sighed and just whispered, “Oh, Becca…”

“Your daughter died and you survived. You couldn’t save her,” The Voice taunted.

“I couldn’t save her,” I echoed.

He squeezed my hand. “There was nothing you could have done, Becca. It’s not your fault.”

“You killed her,” The Voice continued. “You are the reason Rachel is dead.”

I laughed, even though the pieces of my heart – which I’d so carefully tried putting back together – were falling apart. “I can’t live like this anymore.”

I heard his sharp intake of breath. “What do you mean?”

The Voice – sounding nasty now – said, “You’re completely worthless. You killed your daughter. You deserve to die!”

I laughed out loud, sounding maniacal. “I mean that I want to end this all! I just want to end this pain. Right now. It doesn’t make sense to continue living like this. I deserve to die.”

I rested both my hands on the bridge railing and looked over the edge, down at the rocky land below. It was at least a hundred-foot drop to the ground. I’d feel the pain for only a second at the impact. It couldn’t be worse than what I’d felt in the car crash. It couldn’t be worse than what I’d felt every single day after that. I felt tears slipping out of my eyes, all traces of my maniacal laughter gone now.

“Do it,” The Voice coaxed me.

“Becca, don’t!” his voice rose in alarm. He grabbed both my hands and ripped them off from the railing. “Do not do it!”

“You’ll get to see Rachel again if you do this,” The Voice whispered beguilingly.

“Becca… Becca!” his voice sounded urgent.

“Don’t listen to him. Do it now!”

“Please leave,” I sobbed to him, trying to free my hands from his. “I need to do this. I need to end this.”

“No,” he said stubbornly as he started dragging me away from the railing. “I won’t let you.”

“Why?” I was still sobbing so my words were coming out as a wail. “Why should I even listen to you?”

“Becca, look at me!”

I kept my face turned away from his and looked at the railing again, struggling to break free of his grasp.

“Only a few feet away…” The Voice goaded. “Do it now.”

“Becca!” he was shaking me now, trying to get me to look at him. “Please don’t do this!”

“Please let me go,” I pleaded with him. “Why should I live any longer? I have no parents. My daughter is dead! I have no one left to live for.”

“You’re completely alone,” The Voice said unpityingly. “Completely worthless. There’s nothing left for you here anymore.”

He held on tighter to me and shouted, “You have me, Becca!”

I struggled for about ten more seconds and stopped when I realized that my efforts were futile. He had me in an iron grip. I felt my face being turned by his fingers, but I kept my eyes down.

“Look at me,” he said in a gentler tone.

My eyes flickered up to his and I saw my own anguish and sorrow being reflected back in his grey orbs.

He brushed his fingers against my cheek softly, wiping away my tears. “Becca, you have me. I will get you through this.”

I could feel The Voice trying to gain control again and I struggled to keep it at bay.

“How?” I whispered to him. “It’s been a year. My wounds still haven’t healed, and probably never will. How do I get through this?”

“We’ll figure out a way,” he sounded reassuring. “We always do. You met me a year ago, soon after the crash. Do you remember how we met?”

“Don’t start this now! Don’t –”

I shut my eyes tight and used all my strength to force The Voice to go away. I could feel its anger burning through but I ignored it. I was starting to find the strength to control it again.

I opened my eyes and looked at him, nodding. “I remember. I was a complete wreck that day. I was trying to run away from the hospital and you convinced me to stay.”

“I saw a woman who looked like her world had been turned upside down and I decided to help her out. What happened then?”

My eyes flickered to one side as I remembered the days following our first meeting. He’d come and visited me at the hospital every day till I’d been discharged. And even though we’d been total strangers, it had seemed like he’d known me all my life.

“You helped me see that I needed to continue living, to honour my daughter’s memory. That she wouldn’t have wanted me to run away from my problems.”

He put his hands on my cheeks, making me look into his eyes again. “Exactly. And do you think Rachel would have wanted you to end your life?”

I looked into his kind eyes and sighed. He was right. He always was.

I put my hands over his and gave him a small, watery smile. “How do you always know the right things to say?”

He smiled back but didn’t answer. He just pulled me into a warm hug and kissed the top of my head.

I had no idea if I would’ve been able to make it through this past year without him. He’d found me when I’d been at the lowest point in my life and he’d helped me face my demons. He had showed me that life was worth living. He was like my conscience, my guiding light.

He was the only good thing in my life right now. And I was going to hang on to that.

For Rachel, for him, I’d hang on for a little while longer.

**********

A black Mercedes slowed down to a stop near the bridge as its occupants – two well-groomed young men – sighted the girl standing by the railing of the bridge.

“Dude, check that out,” the blonde one driving the car gestured to the passenger. “Think we should help that chick out?”

The passenger, a raven-haired man, glanced over at the girl. “She’s hot. What the hell is she doing there though? Why’s she just standing there by herself?”

“I don’t know, man, but look at her! She’s just smiling and talking to herself with her hands on her cheeks.”

They both stared at her in confusion.

“Wait… is she hugging herself now?” The blonde man sounded bewildered.

“Way creepy, man. She’s really close to the edge. Think she’s going to jump?”

“Doesn’t look like it. She looks… happy, I think,” the blonde one commented. “Should we still go there and see if she needs help?”

The raven-haired man appraised the situation for a moment, and then shook his head. “Nah man, forget it. We need to get to Roy’s party soon anyway. This chick’s crazy from the looks of it, and I sure as hell don’t want to get tangled up in her mess now. Someone else will find her and help her. Let’s go.”

The golden-haired man looked at the girl for a little while longer and nodded before hitting the accelerator again. And with that the Mercedes drove away, leaving the dark-haired girl in the green trench coat standing by herself at the bridge, smiling and talking to thin air.