The first night home was the hardest. She missed the hard hospital bed, the scratchiness of the sheets on her skin and the incessantly dulcet tones of the machines that monitored her every breath. It wasnât comfortable, but at least it was proof she was alive. That her body was functioning, her nervous system still in shock that it didnât matter that she struggled to form a coherent sentence. The moonlight was dull over Rosewood as they drove along the winding roads back home. Emilyâs forehead rested against the cold glass window of the passenger seat, her motherâs hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, every single precaution taken to ensure the arrival of her incredibly precious cargo. No music played and they journeyed in silence, the streets where she grew up blurring together as one, wet grey mist lightened only by the sombre street lights. Emily felt unbroken peace in the silence; though the siren still blared perpetually in the empty cavern inside her head. Eventually, they took the familiar turn onto the cobbled driveway. The house was dark, windows covered, and it looked like her motherâs hydrangeas were dying out on the porch, the light drizzle of rain a welcome relief for the crisping stems that littered the perimeter. Emily hadnât asked her mother how long she had been away from their house, how long she had refused to step through a doorway without her daughter behind it. One overwrought expression would snap whatever remained inside of her. Together they sat for a moment. Her hands twitched in her lap, wanting to tuck the loose strand of ink-black hair back behind her ear. Emily didnât want to be touched. Couldnât face the feeling of anything on her paper thin skin, bones still protruding gracelessly from within her. Emily thought she might fold at any hand on her. The amber light from the dashboard clock blinded her as the minutes passed on, but at some point her hands found the handle and she wormed herself out of the sticky leather seat. With her mother lingering just a few feet in every direction, her feet carried her onto the damp porch, the overhead lamp buzzing to life with an obnoxious flicker.
âIs there a way of turning that off?â The words fell out like an echo into the darkening night. Her mother flinched at the unexpected bite, and as she shuffled over to switch the light off Emily found relief from the electric imagery that ran through her. The lights never shut off. The lights in her room. In that room. They hummed and they buzzed and they blinded. Relieved to find darkness again, her body threaded through the hallway as her mother hovered behind her. The house was stifling. It smelt sweet, sickly, and dazzling. The tread on the carpet was muffled as she floated through the hallway. Photos of her family still hung like immortalised characters of a forgotten childrenâs tale, younger Emily beaming up at this Emily through the loving embrace of her fatherâs arms.
âHeâll be here tomorrow,â Pam assured her as Emilyâs eyes lingered over the dashing figure of her husband. âHe took the first flight he could.â
Emily said nothing in response. As marble in her own home, Emily examined the photographs further. She fell on the one she was searching for. She inched closer to it, a flutter stirred in her stomach. Aria, Spencer, Hanna and Alison all smiled up at her with fruitful, youthful joy. The reservoir in the backdrop glimmered under a long since dissipated golden sun. Alison, she remarked, looked windswept and carefree. A memory flickered through her blood stream and left her in a haze of nostalgia. Alison fought for them. The steady rhythm in her chest was evidence of that. The narrow walls of her hallway threatened to close in on her. Her gratitude was unwavering, yet frustration boiled distantly. Her mother had left for the kitchen; left her with the siren, the darkness, and the cold. The raspy thrum of the kettle was unmistakable. Tea; the worldâs most natural cure.
âEmily?â She wasnât sure when she made the decision to pick up the phone, and even less sure at what point she decided to call. Yet certainty pulsed through her. The soft creaks of the aging floors followed her as she paced. âEmily, are you there?â Her mouth was dry as the words processed. Mere days had passed since sheâd heard Alison say her name like that. Since smoke burned her lungs. Since she found the doors to their escape and thought she had died. The smell of ash giving way to lilac and the lingering sweetness of honey.
âAli, â Emily responded, the whisper breaking through the silence that had followed her home. She let it hang in the air. The familiarity of Alisonâs name tumbling out of her mouth was as easy as breathing. âCan you come over?â
âŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚâŚ
Her head spun with anger; at herself, at ever letting Emily and the others slip from her reach. While Emily slept in that hospital bed, she was wedged next to her in the little squeaky armchair they provided for friends and family every moment she was allowed- and several she wasnât. Friends and family. Neither word felt substantial enough. Pam had taken her home that evening, plainly telling Alison that Emily needed to rest. Alison need not follow them- she would take good care of her.
âRight.â her breath was hot against the car windows as she raced on concrete to Emilyâs house âhowâs that working out, Pamâ She dug the metal pedal further into the floor but still it felt slow, monotonous- did the car not understand that Emily needed her? She needed her now. To be needed by Emily was one of the greatest privileges of her life. Eventually she parked up outside the Fieldsâ home. Darkness draped the house, save for the soft golden hue emanating from the bay windows. Through the heavy curtains she could make out Emilyâs silhouette. Sitting. Waiting. Looking for her. Their eyes caught through the gap, and Alisonâs lungs tensed with the contact. There was no smile on her face, she sat too still. As if bracing for impact. Ali paced across the grassy front, and the door opened for her before her risen fist even had a chance for contact.
âAli.â Her knuckles were sharp as she steadied herself on the withered door frame, waiting for Ali to cross the threshold âthank youâ The vibrations of her voice were steady. Too steady.
âOf course.â Emilyâs stillness knocked something out of her, the disarming light behind her eyes was dimming slightly. Even since this morning as they said goodbye in the hospital car park. âyouâre not wearing socksâ she noted, still hovering between the porch and the hallway. Emily shook her head slowly
âI like feeling the carpetâ she looked away, her gaze sheepishly adjusted to her bare feet below. A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth âplease donât laugh at my toesâ As she said it her grip on the doorframe loosened. Ali didnât move right away, her eyes were scanning Emily as she wrapped herself with her tender, thinning arms. Under the whirring of the white hospital lights, covered by robes and tubes, it had been easy to ignore what the dollhouse had done. Her heartbeat increased dutifully as she took in the feeble form in front of her. The road to recovery would be long and twisted. There was a heavy swallow, her jaw twitching slightly.
âAs if I could ever laugh at you, Emâ She found strength once again, ignoring the strikes of nausea that attacked her thinking about the damage caused âsofa?â She asked, finally moving freely into the hallway. Emilyâs toes sank slightly into the carpet as she followed Ali into the room that held so many whispers. Memories seeped from itâs walls, of 5th grade laughter and Christmas lights and birthday cake smeared over the sofa on Emilyâs 14th birthday. Red rose across her cheeks as she remembered the fleeting, childlike kiss that followed. Ali sat down first, and through a few moments of hesitation Emily joined her. A wild fire blazed in the space in between them.
âAlisonâ Pam reappeared, armed with a tray of tea and biscuits âI didnât know we were expecting youâ Steam rose from the teacups, curling like restless ghosts, clouding her vision as she assessed the intimate tableau.
âI asked her to comeâ there was a stagnant silence âpleaseâ Her tone softened. Unwilling to deny her of anything, Pam busied herself finding a third mug.
The night passed in listless frames. Eventually Emily found sleep as her tea turned cold, untouched on the mahogany coffee table. Alison ignored her own exhaustion as Pam drifted away in the armchair beside them. Watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest helped her to pass the time. Her head twitched slightly and a small furrow was etched in between her eyebrows. Ali dare not think about what was embossing itself in her head. They were almost touching, as she fell asleep Emilyâs hands finally unclenched. There was a pull towards Aliâs, and the inches of space left between them was enough to iron her wrought nerves. Their fingers touched as the sun began to disrupt the darkness. Emilyâs eyes still sealed shut; Ali didnât even notice their bodies pulling closer together as her fight to stay awake failed. Pam flinched as the sun decorated her sleeping figure, jerking awake as if an alarm reverberated around the heigh ceilings and buttermilk soaked walls. She unpeeled herself from the chair she had contorted herself into overnight. The tightening in her jaw eased as she watched her baby somewhat rest. Emily had been so cold as she slept in that pathetic bed frame the hospital passed off as comfort. Though her body was rigid, it had loosened slightly. Pam wasnât naive enough to assume it was solely the four walls of home.
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