Gently, she prodded the left side of her face. It felt painful to the touch, like her nerve endings had been scraped raw and left exposed. The eye behind the patch oozed and ached. The simple act of walking created enough of a breeze against her skin to cause her pain. Adding to it was the coffee burn on her left hand. Blisters had formed between her wrist and knuckles. The skin taut from swelling. The pain burned deep into her flesh as if the bone itself was on fire.
Easing a bottle of water from the fridge, Augusta removed the cap and gulped half of it down before pouring the rest over her hand. A hiss of pain found its way through her gritted teeth. The water offered some solace, soothing the burn briefly before the heat of the wound burned through the water’s gentle caress. She tossed the empty bottle on the floor and snatched another full one from the fridge.
Water in hand, she made her way to the desk and eased onto the chair. The computer showed a black screen. At her touch, it flared back into life. The answer, she felt, was there. She just needed to find it.
The wall phone began its shrill ringing again, mixing with the pounding at the door, creating a mind-boggling cacophony that only seemed to grow with intensity as well as in numbers. A piercing wail of sirens lent their voice to the din.
Determined to keep searching until she found her answer, Augusta ignored the demanding force on the other side of the door. She returned to the website, pouring over it in search of any clues about how she could rid herself of the Other. Halfway down the page, she remembered the e-mail she’d sent. At the thought of it, the Other began to awaken. It wriggled in her skull like a worm after a heavy rain, working its way back into the fertile soil it needed to survive.
Augusta managed to pull up her account before the Other forced its way back into the forefront of her mind, but she got no further. The Other pushed hard. Augusta snatched up a sharpened pencil from the desktop and thrust it into the red, oozing skin on the back of her hand. A wail of agony burst from her throat. The Other shrieked in her head, eliciting another scream from Augusta. Hand tightly fisted, she pounded at her skull, trying to relieve the building pressure beneath it.
The pounding at the door gave way to splintering wood. The door was forced open and her Aunt Shirley rushed into the room. In her wake, a mass of firefighters and policemen entered, eyes shifting from side-to-side taking in the destruction. Bright light poured in through the opening, prompting Augusta to throw her right arm up to cover her face.
Aunt Shirley, draped in a ragged house dress patterned in flowers and zipped to her chin, gasped at the sight before her. The normally immaculate home looked like a violent row had occurred. Pieces of furniture were toppled, an end-table lay in pieces on the floor, empty bottles were strewn about, and everywhere she looked blood dotted the floor. When her eyes lit upon her niece, seated at the desk, tears sprang to her eyes.
“Augusta, what’s happened to you?” Shirley rushed forward to the girl’s side.
Head bobbing gently, Augusta turned to focus her good eye on her aunt. She struggled to find her voice.
“I’m not in my right mind,” she whispered. “Help me get it out.”
“Oh, Augusta,” Shirley said. “We’re here to help you.”
Behind her, EMTs scurried into the room, a gurney rolling between them. Shirley squatted down beside her niece, her knees popping in protest. Alarm registered on her face at the extent the of young woman’s injuries.
“Honey,” Shirley said, tears burning her eyes, “who did this to you?”
Augusta focused a bleary eye on the older woman, her right hand tapping at the computer screen. Her left hand, dripping blood and ooze from its wounds, opened and closed spasmodically. Slowly, it inched closer to the woman’s throat.
“I can’t stop it,” Augusta said, weariness and agitation in her voice. “I can’t get the Other out.”
Her left hand leaped forward. Augusta’s body followed, her face inches from her aunt’s as the fingers clasped onto Aunt Shirley’s housecoat collar, twisting it sharply. Shirley gave a strangled cry as it tightened around her windpipe making it hard to breath.
“Augusta!” Shirley croaked, grappling with the fingers at her throat.
Recognition dawned in her niece’s eyes. Using her nails, Augusta dug into the burned flesh of her arm, drawing blood from the wound and a scream of pain from her throat. The fingers loosened then released their hold. Shirley flopped backwards onto the floor, the hem of her housecoat flopped up her thighs exposing her knobby knees. Two policemen rushed forward, grabbing hold of Augusta’s arms. Aunt Shirley scrambled to her feet and moved quickly away. They dragged Augusta to the gurney where she fought briefly against them as the paramedics strapped her to the bed.
“Aunt Shirley!” Augusta cried, as they wheeled her to the ambulance. “Make them take it out! I’m not in my right mind.” Her cries melted to tearful giggles, repeating over and over, “I’m not in my right mind.”
The slamming of the ambulance doors silenced the cries. Sirens wailing, the vehicle sped away. A firefighter placed a gentle hand on Shirley’s shoulder.
“Will you be alright, ma’am?” He asked.