The Things We Bury - Part 1: In Anticipation of the End of the World [Completed]

Chapter 9: No Requiem (Parts 6 & 7 of 7)

The loud music only underscored the thick silence.  The words not spoken vibrated and hummed like a force field, spreading out, passing through walls, pushing up against Jamie's back.

In his frustration and boredom, he had left the oxblood wingback chair and was perusing the titles on the bookshelf that filled the back wall of the therapist's office.  They were mainly psychology text.  There were a few that sounded familiar: The Interpretation of Dreams, Beyond Good and Evil, and The Undiscovered Self.  These titles were printed with gold leaf on leather spines with hundreds of other works that were mysteries to him.  It was a good thing he had no interest in reading any of them, because the whole shelf was a fraud.  Barely one inch thick, it provided an academic appearance to the small room and served only as a backdrop to the staged office.

Taylor Swift sang about never getting back together at an uncomfortable volume.  Traveling from the MP3 player's tinny speakers in the bedroom, through the mike, and out the office speakers, it was shrill and distorted, popping on the high notes.  It was hard to talk over and it reminded Jamie of how he used to smuggle CDs in.  Now she got new albums loaded on her player every week.  One less thing that anyone need him for.

He threw himself down on the chair and the upholstered leather puffed out a burst of air as it took his weight, while the legs slid back with a screech on the vinyl floor.

"Can you at least tell me that you don't want to talk?  If you say that, I'll leave you alone."  He made another desperate foray against her silence, talking forcefully to be heard.  It did no more good than any of his previous ones.  Amy refused to talk.  She wouldn't even come to the window.  She stayed sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, staring off at nothingness.  Her only movements were the occasional shifting of her legs—bending until they pressed against her chest, stretching them out, curling them underneath her so she sat Indian style.

She hadn't done much more than this since Jamie's shift started three hours earlier.  He had become worried about Amy after he met R.J. on his way in.  R.J. was rushing down the hall to grab the elevator Jamie had just vacated.   "Should be a quiet night," the administrator informed him from about five feet away. 

"Yeah, I know the drill.  The full moon starts tomorrow, so no excitement tonight."  That was all R.J. cared about: the hideous changes.

"Yeah, that and she's in a bad mood."  He twisted his mouth into a tight grimace.  There was concern in his expression, but whether it was for Amy or for the words he was choosing, Jamie was uncertain.  "She's in one of her quiet sulks."

This was the first time R.J. had mentioned anything about her mood, and the way he said, sulks, it didn't sound judgmental like he was talking about a sulking child.  It was spoken tenderly, as though Amy had every right to it. 

A sour feeling churned in Jamie's belly.  How bad was it for R.J. to remark on it?  "What happened?"  He spoke little too urgently, letting his desperation spill out.

"She had a rough session with Horus yesterday and still seems shaken up about it."

"Oh."

"I tried to..."  R.J. seemed to think better about what he was he was saying and started over.  "She could use a friend tonight.  Good luck." 

As he spoke his final word, the elevator door began to shut, and by the time Jamie managed to get out a reply, he was alone in the bunker.

When he reached Amy, she was worse than Jamie had feared.  Even on her darkest days, she may not have wanted to talk but she was always eager for company.  What had Horus done to her?  He would get an earful the next time Jamie saw him.