[0.00. a decade of madness]

1993

LOSING A PARENT ISN'T SOMETHING PEOPLE EXPECT YOU TO GET OVER FAST. Especially when you're fourteen and saw it with your own eyes. They don't even expect you to not imagine things in the days, weeks, even months after.

Unless they call themselves Elizabeth Ross. Then they might tell you that you're a bit crazy after a few weeks.

It had been about three weeks since that night. September had come and gone, and Angela had been one of the last ones to go back to the house. She had spent every day and night at her uncles' house. At first she kept herself locked in the guest room that had once been her uncle's study, eventually after enough requests however, she began to mingle amongst the twins; Jackson and Sarah, and their older cousin, Greta. She joined the family in the living room for dinner while they all watched Travel Pursuit on the Family Channel. She helped the twins with their math homework once they came home, while she hadn't even set foot back in school yet. She humored her aunt by accompanying her to the grocery store once or twice a week while her mother went home to keep cleaning, or she would take their dog, Frankie, a bulky bulldog that probably couldn't see or smell a damn thing anymore for walks. The rest of the time, she stayed in the guest room, sometimes accompanied by Frankie. It was the only place where she didn't feel like she had to act like she was getting better, and Frankie was the only one in the house who wouldn't think she was crazy.

"Angela?" her mothers voice creeped into Angela's own room, cutting through the sound of her Super Mario gameboy game.

"Hm?"

"Are you coming down for dinner?"

"Not really hungry." Angela replied simply, not tearing her eyes from the small screen in her hands. However her ability to play the game declined dramatically as her ears listened for her mother to walk away from her doorway as usual.

She had been back in the house for less than a week, and had only eaten a handful of meals with her family. Mainly only lunch while the twins were at school. Breakfast or dinner she usually ate well after everyone else and in her room. She couldn't bring herself to be in the dining room in the evening, even with the new table set, new curtains on the thin windows, and the new cream colored walls. When she was there, all she could think of was what happened and how her mother was seemingly trying to erase it from the house.

"Do you need to spend a little bit more time at Greta's?" her mother questioned in one long drawn out breath, tonight instead of just saying okay, honey, and walking back downstairs, her footsteps neared Angela's bed and put herself just barely in Angela's peripheral view. "It's okay if you do...it's okay if you're not ready to be here." she assured her as she took a seat on the end of Angela's bed.

Angela took a second to pause the game she had already lost before looking up at her mother. "You're the one that wanted me to come home." she reminded her, "I didn't want to come back here."

Elizabeth sighed heavily as she put a hand on Angela's leg, "I really think it would be good for you to talk to someone, Angie." she said, "We got that list of therapists that we could look at—"

Angela rolled her eyes, "So you could have a professional tell you I'm just crazy?"

"I never said that, Ang—"

"You didn't exactly believe me when I told you what I saw." she interjected sharply, her tone much more aggressive than she had intended.

Elizabeth didn't say anything at first, instead she visibly had to take a deep breath before she uttered a word. "Angela, what happened...what your dad did—"

"It wasn't dad." Once again, cutting her mother off mid sentence, Angela felt her throat growing tighter and felt it begin to burn a little bit again as she felt an outburst of tears coming on.

"Right..." her mothers voice came out as a whisper as she looked down at her feet. "Do you really think you want to go back to Greta's?" she asked again, changing the subject from Angela's father back to her original question.

Angela sighed heavily as she plopped her head back down against her pillow and unpaused her game. Letting the music from the start menu fill her room. "Most definitely."

Her mother echoed Angela's sigh, "I'll call Tom after the twins eat, okay? Maybe bring you over there too? You haven't slept well since you've been home."

"I wonder why..." Angela muttered.

Her mother was quiet for a second, probably biting her tongue to not say something she'd regret. "I'll come check in on you in a bit, okay?"

Angela nodded. "Kay."

"Okay..." her mother said, "I love you, you know."

"Love you too." Angela replied in one breath as Elizabeth rose up to her feet and left Angela with her game in her room.

Once she heard her mother step on the first step, a high pitched creak told her she was finally alone. A bit of relief washed over her as she felt boiling hot tears begin to form in her eyes. Both over the fact that her dad was gone and that nobody believed her when she said it hadn't been him. Not really. She knew that he was gone, she knew that his ashes were in an urn in their living room. That was him. But whoever had taken his gun and used it on him, that wasn't him. She knew it wasn't. He had preached gun safety, had preached about talking about your feelings, about asking for help. He wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't have waited for someone to get home to do it. He wouldn't have smiled while he did it. His eyes wouldn't have been pitch black.

2001

It had been nearly a decade since her father committed suicide in their family dinning room right after Angela got home. It had been nearly ten years since she felt normal, since she was normal. Watching your fathers eyes turn black moments before he blew his brains out while he had a smile on his face was something that would make you different for the rest of your life. And no type of therapy could ever even begin to help or fix anything. At this point after so long, there wasn't anything that really could be fixed. The only person who had come even remotely close was Anna Thornberg, a hypnotherapist that Angela had avoided seeing for two weeks. She was the first person who didn't try to explain the black eyes away, but instead directed her to a professional in the field. Whatever that field was, Angela wasn't quite sure yet.

All she did know was that it sent her to Sioux Falls, South Dakota. An hour's drive from the town she never moved out of after she dropped out of college. She was safe there. From there, she could continue to assure her mother in California that she dropped out because she just wasn't passionate about school. She didn't care for it. And that came to no surprise to Elizabeth since Angela had barely managed to finish high school. Angela knew for a fact that if she went home, Elizabeth would see her lies written all over her face. If not her, then Sarah— the new Ross Golden Child would.

"Where..." Angela muttered as she held the printed off directions to the specialist, the directions weren't exactly leading her to a promising looking place. "...the actual fuck..." she added as she followed the step by step instructions off one dirt road and onto an even more narrow one.

She had expected an odd sort of specialist. Perhaps another type of therapist, maybe a more experienced hypnotherapist that dealt with cases similar to hers. One with an office maybe in town, not down some winding, never ending dirt road at a place called Singer's Salvage Yard. She had hoped that it was just called that on the directions because the name of the business just hadn't been changed yet on google. But the further down the road she got, the more she began to doubt that.

After driving down the narrow road, Angela eventually arrived at her destination. Singer's Salvage Yard didn't look at all like any type of therapist's office. It barely looked like a functioning salvage yard. There was one worn in pair of tracks in the dirt driveway that were worn in so deep that she had to slow down and give the dash of her car a bit of a pat as she said a silent prayer that nothing was damaged.

"You're crazy..." she spoke aloud to herself. If she wasn't, she would have turned around instead of driving into the salvage yard. Both sides of her were lined with junk, and the further she got inside, she saw rows of cars. Some of them were new, some looked like rusted antiques that needed fixing. And at the end of the driveway, there was a house. In the middle of everything— it was like this place was this professional's own island that was never bothered by the outside world with the exception of how he acquired all of his junk.

Angela reluctantly put her car in park before she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. Before she climbed out she pulled her phone from it and clutched it tightly in her hand along with the directions. If she had put the address in wrong or something and she had accidentally brought herself here, and some maniac lived there, she might not have time to dig around for her phone.

Angela made her way up to the door, nearly tripping on a plank on the stairs that was warped before she was able to even knock. Once she was stable on her feet again, and found the doorbell and gave it a push, hearing a dull ringing from inside the house. Then moments later, the door was pulled open and revealed a heavier man who was a bit shorter than she was. And was a great deal older than her.

Fuck. This couldn't be the right place.

"I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong address." she said instantly, "I'm sorry to bother you," she added as she started to take a step back. "I'll just-"

"Angela Ross?" his voice bellowed, "Anna said you'd be here any day." he added, not sounding or looking nearly as intimidating as Angela originally thought. He knew her name, which wasn't the reassuring part, it was that he knew her therapists name.

"Anna Thornberg?" Angela questioned.

He nodded, "Haven't talked to her in'awhile, I was surprised when she called." he said simply, "Said you have...uh...some memory stuff you were working through. Thought I might have some answers for you?"

Angela gave him one more look over, the more she looked the less intimidating he was. In fact the more he looked like he was just some lonely old man who didn't have many visitors. "Uh, yeah. Pretty much...she said you might be able to tell me more about...um...well...it sounds crazy."

"I'm sure I've heard crazier." he replied.

Angela took a deep breath, "Okay, well, uh, black eyes?" she said simply, holding her breath for a moment hoping that alone wasn't going to make him laugh or shut the door in her face.

authors note;
well here we are :') ive been waiting to start posting this all week it seems like. im so excited for you to see where Angela's story takes her!

stay classy!

*unedited*