Episodes

“When Chris and I were teenagers, you used to give us these pills,” I whispered, trying to maintain the strength to keep going. My father’s tone was anything but friendly when I’d mentioned them, but reliving the memory of that night created a need for answers. “They were some trial you were working on, but then once we turned eighteen, they just vanished. What were they?”

My father cut into his steak slowly before dipping it into a runny egg and staring at me, “I think you are mistaken sweetheart. Maybe all of the stress you’re under has you imagining things.”

I felt my brows pinch together, “No. I used to have these episodes. I remember hearing someone in my head. Almost like an inner voice, but it sounded different. When you put me on the meds, the voice stopped.”

“Enough, Rosalind,” my father’s voice held a harsh edge to it as he carefully set his fork and knife on the napkins next to his plate, “I’m not sure what you are talking about. Voices and medications,” he shook his head,