Aftersight Read Free Page B

Her name's Jenny."
    "Is this a voice that's in your head, like hearing your own thoughts, or does it seem like it's coming from outside of you?"
    "It's kinda hard to explain. It's definitely something outside me. Yeah, I'm hearing it, like I'm hearing you now, but it's not quite the same."
    "Are you hearing the voice all the time or once in a while?"
    "Once in a while."
    "Does it happen at the same time of day? Are you doing the same things?"
    "No, it can happen any time. Usually I'm not doing anything. Like I'm daydreaming. That kind of thing."
    Dr. Singh picked up my thick folder of medical records and paged through them. "It says here that you've been smelling things, too. Things that no one else can smell. Does this happen at the same time as you hear the voice or other times, too?"
    "The same time, always at the same time."
    Doctor Singh went back to writing. "And what is the particular smell?"
    "Cedar chips."
    She raised her eyebrows, as if surprised. "A pleasant smell then?"
    "Definitely."
    "What about visual disturbances? Blurriness or seeing auras, that kind of thing?"
    "Auras, yeah. Bright colors around people and things. Mostly around people."
    "This happens during the voice episodes?"
    "No," I confessed against my better judgment. "I see them all the time now."
    ****
    I'd promised myself I wouldn't tell her everything and, in the end, I managed to keep my big secret to myself. But Dr. Singh prodded on and on about Jenny until I had no choice but to tell her about what happened.
    Two months ago, shortly after I’d returned home after weeks in the hospital, I’d started hearing a little girl singing. I’d still been in a wheelchair at the time, so Mom and Dad had set up a makeshift bedroom for me downstairs, complete with television and computer access. Still on a lot of pain meds, I’d slept a lot and, fading in and out as I did, the singing hadn’t seemed unusual at first. It had sounded muffled and far away, like a little girl was playing in the neighbor's backyard.
    I hadn’t thought much of it until I heard the voice late one night. Mom and Dad had gone to bed hours before and now the only sound in the dark, slumbering house had been the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clatter of the ice maker dumping its load into the freezer tray.
    When the singing first started, I'd been dozing. The sound had jarred me awake and I had to squint to hear it: Singing and then the faint sound of giggling. A little girl talking, as if to another person, but I hadn’t been able to hear another voice, like eavesdropping on one side of a phone call.
    Only then did it occur to me that there hadn’t been any little kids living next door at the Petersens'. All their kids had grown up and moved away years ago. The oldest daughter just had a baby boy, but he had been too young to crawl, let alone sing .
    It had been snowing all day and though I hadn't been out in it, I knew this kind of icy weather well, when snow covers everything in layers of white. Nights like that were very cold and very quiet. But sound, when there was any, can travel a fair distance and in odd ways. It's possible the little girl's voice had come from farther down the street, but it seemed strange that anyone so young would be up playing so late.
    I’d forgot all about the little girl’s voice during the weeks of physical therapy and the torture of learning to walk again. I hadn’t heard the voice again until one afternoon after school. I'd been encouraged to take walks whenever possible and had been making my usual circuit around the neighborhood when I heard that familiar giggling. Instantly, I’d recognized it from that cold winter night.
    I’d glanced around the nearby yards and up and down the street, frantic to find the little girl who the voice belonged to. Whoever it was had seemed amused by my panic. The more frantically I’d searched, the more entertained the little girl seemed to get.