Detached
Fiction by Seth O'Neal
I choke on empty syllables. Failing to speak your name. But you’re still there, aren’t you? Since birth we’ve shared one body. One heartbeat. You’ve always been able to hear my thoughts, and I yours. Do you hear them now sister? Even in death? If my thoughts conjure your name, will you answer?
Theodora.
Carrie? Where am I?
Muddy tears paint my face black. How could you leave me? We’re supposed to do everything. As one.
Silence.
I’m alone.
Carr…Carrie?
Theo. Please. Talk to me.
Sweet sister. Don’t be scared. Breathe with me. In. And out. Just like we’ve always done.
I miss you, Theo. I can’t do this.
Theo?
The room sways around me. Emptiness creeps inside my ear with a muffled whisper. I can’t feel my—
Huh? What happened?
You passed out.
Theo? How is this possible?
Huh? Are you okay?
But I—You’re—you’re dead.
Dead?
Just now. We were. I was talking.
To whom?
You.
You’re having a bad dream.
Dream…
Surgical Lights.
Scalpel.
Apart.
My eyes pry themselves open.
What time is it?
Carrie. Please. Help me.
Tell me what to do.
Find me. Save me.
Where Theo, where?
Inside.
Inside what? Help me help you.
It hurts.
Freezing hands grab my arms and pin them down, searing my flesh. Upholstery buries itself beneath my nails as my bony fingers claw at the couch. The walls hurl my agonizing screams back to me. Make it stop. Make it stop!
Help me.
Theo, please. You’re hurting me. I’m begging you.
Join me. Together.
How?
You know how. You’ve always known.
And you’ll stop?
Yes, sweet sister. I’ll stop.
I love you, Theo.
Carrie. Wake up. Carrie?
Where are we?
Home.
Seth O'Neal writes dark poetry and fiction from North Carolina’s Outer Banks. A musician and horror enthusiast, he frequently composes original scores to accompany his work. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Brian’s Bookcase, Exquisite Death, SCAB and Belladonna’s Garden.