Angel's Demon

12. Voices-1

12. Voices

Andy was hearing voices again. He’d heard them a lot lately and thought maybe it was a sign that his cancer had come back. Five years ago, he’d been diagnosed with glioblastoma multiforme, the most fatal form of brain cancer. The tumour had been removed, followed by an intense course of radiation. Back then he couldn’t even pronounce the name of his cancer. It came back though, two years later, and he’d been hospitalised in a cancer unit for kids, for further treatment — another operation and more radiation. Only it had been different last time, hadn’t it? He couldn’t remember — apparently it was common to forget traumatic events. All he knew was that he was in remission, which, as he comprehended it, meant the cancer had gone away.

Hello, one of the voices said. Is anybody there?

You woke me up, another voice said. Quit bugging me when I’m trying to sleep.

The awful thing was that the voices sounded exactly like Andy, except he wasn’t the one who was doing the talking in his head.

“Why don’t you both shut up?” Andy yelled out loud.

Andy’s mum appeared at his bedroom door, and asked, “Andy, honey, what’s wrong?”

I heard you, the first voice said.

So did I, the second voice said. Who are you, and where are you from?

Andy placed a hand on either side of his head and shook it violently from side to side.

“Not listening, not listening!” Andy yelled.

Andy’s mum walked over to where Andy sat on his bed and tried to pull his hands away from his head. He yelled even louder.

“John,” Andy’s mum yelled, “I think we have a problem.”

John bolted from the kitchen to Andy’s room, to find Andy yelling and his wife Lilly, struggling to hold his hands. He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and called 000.

“'You have dialled emergency Triple Zero. Your call is being connected,” a recorded message announced.

“Emergency. Police, fire or ambulance?” the operator asked.

“Ambulance,” John replied.

“Connecting ambulance,” the operator said.

“Ambulance,” another operator said. “What is the exact address of the emergency?”

“Home — Six Bluegum Close, Werribee.”

“Six Bluegum Close, Werribee,” the operator replied.

“Yes.”

“What is the phone number you are calling from?”

John rattled off the number. He wondered for a moment if he should give the operator their home number as well. Before he could ask, the operator was posing the next question. “What is the emergency?”

“It’s my son. He’s having some sort of seizure,” John replied. He could hear the operator typing and waited anxiously for the next question.

“Is your son still conscious?”

“Yes. He won’t stop screaming.”

“Has your son had a seizure before?”

“Yes, but nothing like this. There was never any screaming.”

“Do you know what caused his previous seizures?”

“Cancer,” John replied, his voice breaking. “A brain cancer — glioblastoma multiforme.”

“Okay, an ambulance is on its way. Don’t hang up. Please stay on the phone. I need you to keep calm, for your son’s sake. Is anyone else at home with you?”

“My wife,” John replied, the strain of what was happening evident in his voice. “She’s trying to get Andy to stop screaming.”

“Let your wife know that an ambulance is on the way. It’s important for her to know what’s going on as well.”

“Lilly, the operator says an ambulance is on the way.”

“That’s good,” the operator said.

“Should I wait outside for the ambulance?”

“If you wait by the door, ready for them, it will mean they get to Andy faster,” the operator replied, knowing it was probably a good idea to get the distraught dad doing something useful.

“Okay,” John said, hanging up. He then realised he was meant to stay on the line. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?” Lilly asked, as she wrestled with Andy’s hands.

“We got cut off,” John lied. “Listen, will you be all right here? I’ll wait for the ambulance.”

“Go,” Lilly said. “The sooner they get here the better.”

John took off out the front door, pacing up and down the driveway until the ambulance arrived.

Stop screaming, the first voice said, you’re giving me a headache.

If you don’t stop it, the second voice said, I’ll find you and punch you in the nose. No one gives Sarah a headache!

Andy stopped screaming and sat still. The voices had never mentioned a name before.

“Who’s Sarah?” Andy asked.

“Andy,” Lilly said, “who are you talking to?”

I am, the first voice said.

“The voice in my head, Mum,” Andy replied. “She says her name’s Sarah.”

Lilly started to cry. She thought he’d been behaving odd lately, but never in her wildest dreams did she think it might be the cancer. He’d been back for tests every three months since he went into remission and they always came back negative — the cancer had not returned. Gina may have been dead, but that didn’t mean her miracle cure was fading, did it? It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t.

“Don’t cry, Mum,” Andy said, taking her hand in his. “It’ll be okay.”

They both turned their heads in the direction of the door when they heard it open. John walked in, followed by two paramedics. They checked Andy’s vital signs, and asked a lot of questions, before the four of them — the two paramedics, Andy, and Lilly — headed to the ambulance. John would follow them in the car.

Given Andy’s history, the ambulance headed straight to the Children’s Hospital, where he could be given the best possible treatment. There would be the usual CT and MRI, before a diagnosis could be made. It would be a nerve-racking time for Andy’s parents, but Andy wasn’t worried anymore, not since one of the voices had given him a name. If he was going to die, they would have tormented him to the end, not revealing who they were … well, one of them, at least.

While Andy was shuffled off for tests, Lilly dug around in her handbag for her mobile phone. She still had the phone numbers of the other mothers whose children had been terminally ill. The keypad suddenly felt too small, as did the screen. Her vision was blurred from the tears she had shed. She wiped her eyes with a tissue and blinked twice, trying to restore her focus.

Lilly called Aly’s mum first. She thought to herself how odd it was that she’d saved the numbers under the names of the children, rather than their mothers. It had seemed important at the time to remember their names, as if that act would keep them all alive.

A computerised voice answered Lilly’s call with, “You have reached the mailbox of …” and a human voice said, “Sandra.”

Lilly hung up and dialled the next number. The phone rang out. Wasn’t anyone going to answer their phone? She glanced at the time — eight forty-five. School-run time. No wonder no one was answering. She sighed and slipped the phone back in her bag. She’d try again later.

All the tests showed no cancer, abnormalities or growths. Andy’s problem was considered psychological. As such, he was referred to a psychologist. John and Lilly were relieved to know it wasn’t cancer, yet worried about battling an invisible threat to their son’s sanity. The doctor they had spoken with said that hearing voices wasn’t necessarily a sign of mental illness, but what else could it be? No normal person heard voices. Then again, Andy wasn’t exactly normal — he was their miracle child.

John drove them home. It had been a long day and they were hungry and tired. Lilly rang for pizza. While they waited for it to arrive, Andy went for a shower, to try and wash the hospital smell from his body. His parents couldn’t smell it, but it had invaded Andy’s nostrils, just like when his best friend Ethan let one rip and fanned it in Andy’s direction.

“When’s Andy’s appointment?” John asked.

“Thursday at three,” Lilly replied. “I’ll have to pull him out of school a little early.”

“Did you want me to take some time off and come with you?”

“Can you afford to take time off, John?”

“I’ll take it as leave without pay. Mark will be okay with it once I explain what’s happened.”

“Let’s not make too big a deal out of it,” Lilly said. “Andy will start to worry if you take time off work. You know what he’s like. He’ll think he’s going to be diagnosed a nutcase. Why don’t we wait and see what the psychologist has to say? If she thinks it’s serious, then you can ask for time off.”

“You’re right, Lilly. Cool, calm and collected as usual.”

Lilly snorted, “I wish. I might look calm on the outside, but inside I’m falling to pieces.”

The doorbell rang and John went to pay for the pizza. Andy was dried and dressed in his pyjamas — ready for bed after dinner — before John had closed the front door.

Everyone helped themselves to pizza. Andy picked the prawns off his slice and popped them on his dad’s plate. His dad ate anything, even those salty fishy things they sometimes had on pizza. Luckily his mum had told them to hold the anchovies today.

“Do I have to go to school tomorrow, Mum?” Andy asked.

“Yes, you do. The doctor said there was no sign of the cancer and that there was no reason you couldn’t go to school,” Lilly lectured him. It was a tiny white lie. The doctor hadn’t said anything about school. “If your dad is going to work, you have to go to school.”

Andy looked at his dad hopefully. John shook his head, indicating this was one battle he didn’t want to get involved in.

“Fine,” Andy said, resigned to having to go to school. “Can I at least keep the hospital bracelet on?”

“Sure,” Lilly said.

Lilly picked up Andy at two-thirty on Thursday. He talked non-stop until they arrived at the specialist rooms, then he went quiet.

Lilly fished around in her handbag for Andy’s referral, before they reported to the receptionist.

“Hi,” Lilly said, thrusting the referral at the receptionist. “Andy Sampson has an appointment at three to see Sarah Williams.”

“I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork,” the receptionist replied, handing Lilly a clipboard, some forms and a pen, in exchange for the referral. “Take a seat and bring them back when you’ve filled them in.”

Lilly and Andy sat down. Andy browsed through the magazines while his mum filled out the forms. He glanced at the paperwork. There were more questions on the forms than had been on the maths test he’d had that morning. Andy was glad he wasn’t expected to fill them in.

Once the paperwork was completed and returned to the receptionist Lilly picked up a magazine to flick through. It was five past three. Lilly knew specialists quite often ran late. She couldn’t remember how many times over the year she’d waited in rooms similar to this one to see one specialist or another.

“Andy Sampson,” a woman said.

Andy and Lilly both stood up.

“Hi, I’m Sarah,” the woman said. She looked straight at Andy. “You must be Andy.”

“Hi, Sarah,” Andy replied. It was barely a whisper.

Are you talking to me? one of the voices in his head asked.

Andy’s eyes went wide. Presumably it was the voice called Sarah. He hadn’t heard the voices since Monday.

Sarah, the psychologist, had already turned towards Lilly, and hadn’t noticed the change on Andy’s face. “And you must be Mrs Sampson.”

Lilly extended her hand and Sarah took it. “Call me Lilly.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lilly. Is this your first visit to a psychologist?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, it is,” Lilly replied.

“Okay, what happens is that Andy and I will go into my office for a little chat to get to know each other. After that, if he wants you to come in, that’s fine.”

“Oh,” Lilly said. She’d always been with Andy for all his appointments.

Hello? the voice in his head said. Are you still there?

“It’s okay, Mum,” Andy said, trying hard to ignore the voice. “I’ll see you shortly.”

Andy followed Sarah. He looked back quickly to see his mum standing there, bewildered. She’ll be okay, he told himself.

There were no chairs in Sarah’s office. It was weird. Everyone was expected to sit in beanbags. Andy didn’t mind. They didn’t have beanbags at home, so it was something different. There were also lots of bright and colourful posters on the walls.

Where are you? the voice asked.

“Cool office,” Andy said.

“Thank you,” Sarah replied.

Okay, you’re in an office, but where? the voice asked.

“How long have you been a psychologist for?” Andy asked.

“Nearly eight years. Would you like to see my qualifications?” Sarah asked.

Bummer, the voice said, they think you’re a nut job.

“Shut up,” Andy whispered.

“Pardon me? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Sorry. Mum says I mumble a lot. Um, no I don’t think I need to see your qualifications. You look trustworthy enough.”

“Thanks, Andy,” Sarah laughed. “I’ve been told I have that sort of a face — a trustworthy one.”

Oh, so it’s okay for you to talk to me, but I can’t talk to you, the voice said.

Andy rolled his eyes.

“You don’t think I have a trustworthy face?”

“What?” Andy asked.

“You just rolled your eyes.”

Andy looked anywhere but at Sarah, though the rest of him remained quite still.