Possible trigger warning: subjects/discussion of mental illness

My heart pounds in my ear, drumming a beat that forces me to open my eyes. Bright light touches the ceiling and walls, informing me that it's daytime. As I try to sit up, the back of my head aches, and then it comes back to me.

Dad. Me. The moths. The ache beats in the back of my head as I try to process it. But I can't. Is there someone trying to tell me something, or is this just a demonic force messing with my head? I can't tell the difference anymore.

As the pounding begins to fade, I hear it echo louder. My head whips toward the front door, and I hear it again. Someone is banging on the door.

"Claire!" A voice calls from outside. "Open up!"

I push myself off the floor and hurry over as fast as I can move. When I open the door, Danny stands on the stoop, his hair disheveled and his eyes tired. But from the furrowing of his eyebrows, I know something is wrong.

"What is it?" I ask him, reaching for my throat nervously.

He sighs. "It's Georgia," he says, and my heart plummets into my stomach. "She was admitted into a mental facility last night."

I stumble back and lose my grip on the door. "W-What?"

"The visiting hours started half an hour ago." He dangles his keys in his hand. "I'll drive."

I almost consider jumping into the back of his Jeep rather than sitting up front to avoid conversation. The entire ride there, I keep peeking over at him. We haven't talked since the morning show incident nearly a week ago. I can't help but think that he can't look at me or think of me the same again.

Somehow, I muster the courage to ask, "Do you want to talk about the talk show thing?"

He's silent. I glance over and his gaze is dead set on the road, and his knuckles nearly white on the steering wheel. After a moment, he shakes his head. "No. Not really."

I nod, trying to hide my disappointment, but I can't. I bite my lip, feeling the sinking sadness from his resentment.

"I just want to move past it, Claire," he says after a few seconds. I nod again, my gaze focused out the window, watching the trees and people disappear behind us.

I think we're a little beyond moving past it, and he knows that too.

Sunnyside is the mental hospital on the west side of town, just fifteen minutes away from Madison. As we turn onto the concrete pathing in front of the building, the orange smiling sun on the sign greets us. Underneath it is their tagline: "Bringing happiness back into your life since 1982."

Danny holds the door open for me. As I step inside, the air conditioning blasts in my face. Not even a minute inside the building and I wish I would've brought a sweater with me.

We approach the front desk, and the middle-aged woman looks up at us. The tag clipped on the right side of her chest says her name is Barb.

"Hi, we're here to visit Georgia Quinn," Danny says. As Barb types at her computer and scrolls, I look over the desk. There is a tray of four different brochures about mental illness and coping — mostly the stuff that family members of the patients read. There is also a sign that lists the visiting hours. Which ends in less than an hour.

Wow, that is some short visiting hours.

"Here," Barb says suddenly, holding out two laminated passes to us. Danny takes them both and then hands one to me. I watch him clip it to his flannel shirt, so I clip mine to my blouse. "Hours end at 3 — please return your badges no later than five after, okay?" Then she looks back at her computer as if weren't here.

I feel Danny's hand gently touch the small of my back. "Come on," he says quietly near my ear. He guides me past the desk and down a corridor. He looks straight ahead and walks so confidently... as if he's been here before.

I want to ask, but maybe this isn't the right time. But when is the right time for anything?

"Does she know we're coming?" I ask after a minute. On the ride over, he said Georgia called him a little while after she was admitted. She said she was fine and thought she'd let him know. Apparently, she called me and I didn't answer. I'm still processing the guilt on that one.

He keeps looking in front of him, but he shakes his head. "She said she didn't want to see anyone, but..." He finally looks at me, and I see how tired he is. How stressed he is. "I think it's time she told us what's going on."

I nod and swallow hard. "Yeah."

At the end of the hall, I almost keep going, but he grabs my arm. He turns into a large, open room with many tables, a television, and some activity items strewn about. At a white table near the back is Georgia. I move faster than Danny to get to her.

"Georgia!" I call out, my voice cracking. Her head lifts, but she doesn't look surprised at all. I thought she'd get up so I can hug her, but she doesn't. So, I sit down across from her. Danny sits next to me.

She looks down at her fingers as she picks at her nails. "I figured it was you." She looks up at Danny with narrowed eyes. "I told you not to come."

"What happened?" I ask her, beating Danny to it. I lean on the table. "Why —"

"Why am I here?" She asks as she snaps her gaze to me. "How did I lose my mind?" She says louder, her eyes wild. After a beat, she squeezes her eyes shut, her face pained. "I can't get them out of my head."

"Who?"

Her eyes open and they look almost purple. "The ghosts. They won't stop talking!" She covers her ears with her palms.

"What ghosts?" I ask her, although I don't know if she can hear me.

Georgia rakes her fingers through her hair. "Bernard," she says, "and Penny. Louis, Trenton, and Charlotte." Then she begins to name many other names. Names I recognize. Beside me, Danny wears surprise on his face like a mask.

"But..." I pause. "Those aren't real ghosts, Georgia." They aren't even real at all. "You made them up." She's looking at me, but I get the feeling that she's looking right through me. "You made them all up."

"No!" She slams her hands down on the table, and I jump. "They're real!" Her eyes search mine and she constantly shifts her gaze between Danny and me. "I hear them! I can feel them!" She wraps her arms around herself and her long fingernails dig into her skin. "I want them out!"

I glance at Danny, begging him with my eyes to do something, but I don't know what. And I don't think he does either.

"Tanya..." Georgia mutters under her breath. "...need to call Tanya..."

A shudder passes through me, a sick feeling settling in my gut.

"Georgia —"

Her eyes widen beyond belief and she slaps the table. "Get out!" She shrieks, and using her hands, she scratches her ears. Hard. She begins to bleed.

"Oh my God!" I shove my chair back. "Georgia, stop!" I turn to call for someone, but an orderly has already rushed into the room. He runs over and grabs Georgia's arms to restrain her. She yells at him and begins to kick. Another orderly comes in and takes a hold of her other side.

"Get out!" She continues to scream as they drag her from the room. "Get out of my head!"

The pulse in my ears is still beating hard when Danny taps me on the arm. I look up at him and he's blurry. I wipe at my wet eyes and shake my head.

"Come on," he says gently. "I'll drive you home."

As we walk the hallway to the front entrance, I somehow gather the courage to ask the question burning in my mind. I look over at him and ask, "Have you been here before?"

He doesn't reply at first, and I wish I could take it back. But after he sighs, he nods. "Yeah. When I was ten, my mother was admitted. Multiple times. Because of the, uh..." He gestures between us. "Ghost thing."

I look down at my feet. "Is that why you believe? Because you believe her?"

When I glance over, his jaw is clenched. "I thought so."

Before I can pry further, we reach the front desk. Barb the receptionist takes our passes on our way out. The entire walk to the parking lot is silent. As I get into the passenger seat of his Jeep, I wonder what I should say. I don't know if either of us can handle a silent drive after what happened.

At the first stoplight, Danny taps the steering wheel with his fingers. Then he glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Who's Tanya?"

My insides coil and I doubt I could've hidden my reaction even if I tried. I think he knew I recognized the name when Georgia said it. "Tanya is Georgia's aunt. The woman who raised her."

His eyes widen. "Her aunt raised her?" The light turns green, and he drives. "I mean, it's not like we talked much about family, but I had no idea."

I nod and stare at my lap until I begin to feel carsick. "She was around three when her mom left her on Tanya's porch. Tanya had no kids, and Georgia said she didn't want any. But she showed Georgia as much love as she could. But that house..." I can close my eyes and still see it. "It was hectic."

"Hectic?"

I smile. Not because it's amusing but from nostalgia. Okay, and it's a little amusing. "I'm sure this wouldn't surprise you, but her aunt sold palm readings and psychic readings for a living — all from her two-bedroom trailer."

He laughs. "You're right. I'm not surprised."

"Tanya was the one who told Georgia she was gifted." I shake my head and look out the window. "I think part of her believed it, even though she tried so hard to fake it for the Internet."

"So..." He takes a few seconds before he continues. "Are you going to call her? Tanya, I think?"

My stomach does a flip again as if I had drunk sour milk. "Tanya is dead."

Danny does a double-take, and for a moment, I think he's going to swerve and hit another car. Thankfully he does not. "What? Are you serious?"

I nod, still bracing myself on the dashboard. "Georgia was the one who found her." That's another thing I can picture when I close my eyes, but I don't want to. "She overdosed in the bathtub."

He sighs deeply. "Damn."

"The police ruled it a suicide, but Georgia was so insistent that Tanya wouldn't do that. But she said it was the spirits."

"Something tells me you don't mean alcohol."

I shake my head. "She said Tanya angered many spirits and entities in her profession, and toward the end, she was very paranoid that something was coming for her." I pause for a moment, wondering if I should say this or not. I decide to. "To me, I always thought that Tanya angered people, AKA her customers. So, if anything, it would have been that."

We both fall silent after that and neither of us speaks for a few blocks. Until I realize something.

"That was three months before we started the channel," I say lowly.

He looks over at me. "You think she wanted to talk to her? To get answers?"

I run my hand through my hair. "But why would she want to fake it then?"

Danny glances in the rearview mirror. "I hope we get to find out."

In my handbag, I feel a vibration against my leg. I pull out my phone and it's a local number that isn't saved. I accept the call.

"Hello?"

"Is this Claire McKinley?" A male voice asks. I don't recognize it off the top of my head.

I nervously peek over at Danny, who's giving me a curious look. "Yes, who's calling?"

"This is Brent Matthews. I'm Seth's older brother. Something happened to Seth —"

Have you ever heard something so terrible, your eardrums pop and all you can hear is static for a solid minute? It's as if your body doesn't want to hear anymore, so it cuts off the source. The second Brent begins that sentence, my eardrum practically explode in my ear and I can barely hear him. He goes in and out, but the only substantial thing that comes through makes me sink into my seat.

"Seth is dead."

Current word count: 22,800