( TW: mentions of suicide )

SIX WHERE IS MY MIND?

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       THE SECOND HER MOTHER told her what had happened, Esme's world started to crumble. Her surroundings faded away and her vision was solely locked onto something that she would never forget ever again: her dad's lifeless body. His skin was paler than usual, ashen; his arm hung from the side of the stretcher he was lying on, limp, and his fingers were bluish from the lack of oxygen ... from suffocating.

       The air was knocked out of her, and she felt numb, hollow. Her body was paralyzed. The only thing she was aware of was Anita's sobs, and India's pleas, begging their mother to tell her that it wasn't true, that none of this was real, that Usher Deverell was fine... Esme didn't react to any of it. She just stood there, frozen, her gaze fixated on her dad's cold and dead body, her mom's words echoing in her skull, he killed himself, he killed himself, he killed himself...

       She didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. Her dad loved them! He wouldn't leave them. He would never leave them, ever.

       And definitely not— not like this.

       This was wrong.

       That was when it hit her: Dad's gone. Esme choked out a sob. Dad is gone, I'll never see him again. A terrible pain burned in her chest. Usher Deverell was dead. He would never come back, he was gone, forever. Esme would never talk to him again, would never laugh with him again. He would never make her watch an action movie with him again. He would never make one of his Sandwiches à la Dad again... She would never see him again.

       He was gone.

       And it was ... unbearable.

       Esme felt tears running down her face, she felt her throat constricting and sobs escaping, making it almost impossible to breathe. Arms wrapped around her — India's arms —, pulling her into a tight hug, and they cried together. Esme clung to her sister with everything she had, her fingers boring into her back, because she knew, if she let go, she would break, fall apart, into a million little pieces...

       All these emotions — the pain, the grief, the fear, the horror — overwhelmed her, and everything around her became a blur. She knew Hopper was there, and then her sister had sat her down in a car. Sometime during the drive, the tears had seized to fall, but she still couldn't breathe properly. A little later, India guided her out of the car, and now she was here, sitting on a sofa in a room at the police station, with her sisters and her mother. India was still holding her hand, their fingers intertwined.

       They sat in silence, the only noise being the occasional sniffle. Esme had pulled her legs up to her chest, her forehead placed on her knees. India sat next to her, Esme's hand in hers, not moving at all, every muscle in her body taut to the utmost. On the other sofa in the room, Anita had fallen asleep from exhaustion, and her head was resting on their mom's lap. Opal cradled Anita in her arms while she stared straight ahead, her eyes glassy, and her bottom lip trembling.

       The door opened, and an older woman with a small and comforting smile on her face entered the room, two steaming mugs in her hands. She came toward Esme and India. "Here, I made you tea."

       India lightly touched Esme's upper arm, which made her look up, and she blinked at the woman looking down at her. She offered her and India a cup each, and, with shaking hands, Esme took one of them, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug.

       "Thank you," she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

       India didn't say anything to her, just took the mug and went back to staring into nothing.

       "Of course, sweetheart."

       Hopper came into the room. "Flo, please—"

       "'Course, Chief." The woman, Flo, smiled at Esme one more time before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

       Hopper's gaze landed on Esme, who watched Flo leave and then turned to him. But, as soon as she locked eyes with him, she looked down, into the reddish liquid in her mug. She noticed her thoughts spiraling again — he killed himself, he killed himself, he killed himself — and she pressed her eyes shut, trying to silence those words.

       "I'm very sorry ... for your loss," Hopper spoke, slowly, gently. He pulled up a chair, closer to the broken family in front of him, and sat down.

       Esme stayed silent.

       "Thank you," Opal said.

       "Were there any ... signs?" Hopper asked carefully, not wanting to upset her. "Did he act differently in the last few days?"

       Yes, he did, Esme thought, remembering how weird he had acted; first, when he had told her how brave it was to care so much about everyone and how he said, "Not everyone is that brave," and how he came home yesterday, frantic, scared. But she didn't say any of that. Instead, she took a sip of her tea.

       "No." Opal's voice broke. "He—He said he might have to go on a business trip because there was some breakthrough at the lab."

       "When?" Hopper asked.

       "Today. Well— He said it yesterday, he would've left today." Opal took a shaky breath. "When he wasn't at home after I came home from work, I thought— I thought that he had left, but then—" She sobbed.

       "Take your time," Hopper said.

       For the next few seconds, Opal tried to calm down, to stifle her sobs. "I went into the garage because I needed something — I can't remember what — and then I— I saw him. He was just — hanging there—" She broke into tears, her sobs filling the otherwise silent room. Esme looked up at her mom, seeing Hopper put a hand on her shoulder, and Opal grabbed it, holding onto it, accepting the comfort he was trying to give her.

       Esme felt tears burning in her eyes once more, and she averted her gaze. She couldn't look at the distraught expression on her mom's face, at the utter desperation. To prevent the tears from falling, she drank from her tea. She didn't want to cry anymore, she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She had to be strong. She had to put on a brave face. For her family. For her mother. For India. For Anita. She had to.

       A little while later, Hopper offered to drive them home, and they all stood up and left the room, Hopper carrying a still-sleeping Anita. All the deputies turned to look at them, and Esme shrunk in on herself. Hopper said that Opal had to fill out a form before they left, so Esme went ahead, passing by all the deputies, and leaving her mom and sisters alone with Hopper.

       The cool night air hit her right in the face, and she started to shiver almost immediately. But she didn't mind. The cold distracted her from the unbearable pain in her chest and from the haunting words echoing in her brain. She walked a few steps along the side of the road and took deep breaths, and, for the first time in ... she didn't know how long, but it was dark now ... she felt some sort of piece. Just for a second. The street lights shined down on her, and Esme watched her shadow on the floor next to her, and she tried to form animals with her fingers so the shadow would look like a dog or something.

       But then, all of a sudden, a chill ran down her spine, and Esme stopped playing with her hands and her shadow. A feeling she couldn't quite place filled her stomach, but she knew it felt ... wrong. (But also familiar?)

       It felt as if somebody was watching her.

       The street lights started to flicker.

       Frantic, Esme looked around. And then she saw it. Her eyes caught sight of something down the road, and Esme felt her stomach churn. There, about fifteen meters away, was a shadow. A tall and slim shadow, with elongated limbs and long claws... Panic made her heart race, and her hands became clammy. It was him. The Midnight Man. It was him. It was him.

       She stumbled back, scared that he would kidnap her again, just like he did three years ago. But, now she knew that he was real, she knew what he wanted to do, and she decided that he wouldn't succeed. He wasn't going to take her again. No. So, she turned around and ran back to the entrance of the police station. She'd be safe in there, she thought. Before she could go in, though, she crashed against someone. A shriek escaped her.

       "Hey, hey, it's just me!" India said, grabbing her upper arms.

       Esme froze, looking at her older sister, her eyes wide with fear. "He's here," she breathed. "He's back."

       India frowned. "What? Who?"

       "The Midnight Man!" Esme whirled around to where she had seen him. "He's right behind—" The shadow was gone. "... me." She looked in every direction, but the Midnight Man was nowhere to be seen.

       "Esme, there's nothing," India said. "You probably just imagined—"

       "No, no, no, no, no. He was there, I know what I saw—!" She choked out a sob. "I know what I—I saw! I swear I—" India pulled her into a hug.

       "It's OK. He's gone now." Esme shook her head frantically. "He's not here."

       India stroked Esme's hair, trying to calm her little sister. Her gaze drifted to the place where Esme had seen him, the Midnight Man, and she ignored the uneasy feeling gnawing at her intestines, the feeling that told her that there was some truth to Esme's words. She ignored it...

       ... For now.

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       ESME SPENT THE NIGHT alternating between tossing and turning, crying and sobbing, and being scared. Seeing the Midnight Man had shaken her, frightened her to the core, and she couldn't get the picture out of her head. The shadow, the long and misshapen limbs, the claws... It was burned into the insides of her eyelids so she saw him every time she closed her eyes. It brought back every memory of that night, every emotion, every ounce of fear she had felt when the Midnight Man had taken Anita, when she realized that her little sister was gone, right before he took her as well, lifting his clawed hand toward her face...

       She turned around in her bed, trying to stop herself from thinking about it, but it didn't work. It never did... She thought that nightmare was over, that the Midnight Man would never come back, that she just had to live with it, with the memories, the— the trauma of it all. But, no, he came back, making the worst day of her life even worse. She saw him. She felt him. That feeling... It was so ... familiar, it was like she was transported back to a specific place in time when she had felt the same thing, but she couldn't remember the moment. Because the night the Midnight Man had kidnapped them, she didn't feel that, the only thing she had felt then was fear.

       But, also, there was something off about it, about the feeling of wrongness. Yes, it was familiar, but something was slightly different, something that Esme couldn't explain, she just knew that it was a little different. It was like— like the Midnight Man was there, but also not, or not ... completely.

       God, this didn't make any sense.

       And then, the thoughts about the Midnight Man were washed away by a flood of sadness, and she got overwhelmed by the memory of what had happened today, why they had been at the police station in the first place, and Esme started to cry. Within a minute, the sound of her sobs started to fill the silence of her room, and her whole body was convulsing, her chest aching.

       She heard her dad's laugh in her mind, saw him as he tried to teach her how to dance when she was little and when she could still touch people, felt his light touch on her knee or her arm when he tried to comfort her after a bad day... He'll never do any of that again, she thought. She would never hear him laugh again, she would never get the chance to properly hug him when she would finally have her touch under control and wasn't scared she would make him see his worst fear anymore...

       Her sobbing became hysterical, and she struggled to breathe.

       It was an endless cycle. If she wasn't thinking about her dad — she would never see him again —, fear of the Midnight Man would creep up on her, and, just like that, her thoughts would go down a rabbit hole, and it was almost impossible for her to find a way back out.

       Around 4 a.m., Esme decided that she couldn't be alone, she didn't want to be alone. So, she got up and tip-toed to India's room, opening the door quietly. She didn't want to wake her, she just wanted to cuddle close to her, and maybe find some piece of mind, some comfort. But, as she stepped into the room, India suddenly shot up, making Esme jump slightly. India turned on the light, and, upon seeing Esme, sighed.

       "It's you," she breathed, sounding relieved.

       Esme frowned, confused, before it dawned on her. "You— You thought it would be the Midnight Man," Esme said. "You believe me."

       "'Course I do," India said. "How could I not?"

       "So you ... saw him?"

       India shook her head, her brows furrowed. "No... But I could feel him. His presence."

       Esme nodded, understanding. She closed the door behind her then and sat down on India's bed. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She could feel a lump forming in her sore throat, and she swallowed. "Is he really back?" she asked with a shaking voice.

       India shrugged. "Seems like it."

       Esme looked at her quizzically — or bewildered, more like. Why wasn't she scared to death, like Esme was? How she said that — "Seems like it." — she sounded so ... unbothered. Like, yeah, I'm scared, but it's fine. Absolutely nothing was fine! The Midnight Man was back, and their dad was dead (he killed himself), so how was India not freaking out? How was she so calm about this? Again, Esme felt tears stinging in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling and pressed her lips together, trying not to cry again.

       Within one day, her whole life had gone to shit!

       "Um... Should we— Should we tell Anita?" Esme asked.

       India shook her head. "No. She's already worried enough as it is — with Will and ... and Dad."

       That was when Esme started crying again, and she curled up in a ball, burying her face in her arms that hugged her knees. India moved to take her in her arms, but as soon as Esme felt her touch, she flinched, and India froze, looking at her with a pained expression on her face.

       Immediately, Esme felt bad. "I'm sorry—"

       Normally, she never minded hugging her sisters... But today was just different...

       "It's OK. I get it." India gave her a weak smile before she stood up. She went over to her bookcase and pulled out a thin book that Esme recognized. Her breath hitched in her throat. "How about I'll read something to you? To distract you from your thoughts..." India smiled at her, knowing that Esme tended to overthink. Then, she held up the book, and Esme saw tears glistening in her eyes. "What do you think about The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?"

       Tears streamed down her face as a memory resurfaced in her mind — their dad had read that book to them when they were little, every evening before bed, and later, when he didn't have that much time anymore because of work, India read it to them.

       Esme smiled at the memory, and she nodded. "OK."

       India smiled softly, too, and then settled back down on her bed. Esme lay down as well, keeping a distance from her sister, not touching her.

       "Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy..."

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       WHEN YOU WAKE UP, there's always this one moment where you don't remember anything. One moment of complete obliviousness. Just one single glimpse of relief, before everything comes rushing back to you, hitting you like a brick. And the pain's worse than ever because it comes so suddenly and, just now, you felt at peace. But then, from one second to the next, that peace is gone, and all you can feel is pain and despair, and you pray that it stops, but you know that it won't because nothing can change the fact that it happened...

       ... This was how Esme felt when she woke up the next morning.

       When her consciousness slowly came back to her, Esme didn't feel anything, her mind was blank, and it seemed like it was just an ordinary day. That was when she panicked. If it was just an ordinary day, she had to go to school, so why didn't her alarm go off? She shot up. Immediately, a sharp pain shot through her skull, her vision becoming black for a second. She hissed and fell back into the pillows, her ice-cold fingers starting to rub her temples. Then everything came back, came crashing down on her, and Esme froze.

       That was it, that one moment of obliviousness — gone.

       She remembered everything...

       Her dad was gone. (He killed himself.)

       The Midnight Man was back.

       And Esme burst into tears. Her headache instantly got worse from crying, but that couldn't stop the tears from falling. The only things on her mind, the only things she cared about right now, were her dad and the Midnight Man. Mostly her dad, though. She missed him. So much. She didn't know what to do without him. She couldn't live without him. Her dad was always there for her, always listened to her, always helped her, with everything. And now he was gone.

       Her crying turned into uncontrollable sobs.

       She needed her dad.

       Minutes passed, then hours, before the tears finally dried up. Her head was heavy, and the headache made her skull feel as though it was being split apart. She needed water. She had to drink something. And she had to check up on Anita, and India— Where was India? This was her room, Esme was in her bed, but India wasn't there... Wouldn't India check up on her?

       With heavy limbs, Esme dragged herself out of bed (careful not to move too fast, because she was sure she'd fall unconscious if she did) and to the bathroom, where she immediately downed a cup of cold water. She looked up from the sink into the mirror hanging above it, and she gasped, seeing her reflection. She thought yesterday she had looked bad (because of the lack of sleep), but today was worse. Her skin wasn't just white, it was almost ... grey and transparent, like it was rotting... You could see the blue veins shining through her skin... The bags underneath her eyes were darker than they had ever been, her eyes were red and puffy from crying so much, her lips were chapped, and her hair was greasy.

       She looked awful. And she thought, there was really nothing pretty about grief, about crying. It was ugly. It was hideous. Not like it was always described in books. You couldn't romanticize this, this terrible reality in which Esme lived. This was just ugly.

       Esme tied her hair into a high ponytail and brushed her teeth before she went downstairs into the living room. She expected to see her mother and her sisters, but no one was there. Her gaze wandered to the grandfather clock — 3 p.m. (She really had cried for hours.) Then, she entered the kitchen, but they weren't there either. She furrowed her brows. Were they all upstairs? No. India definitely wasn't upstairs, she would have seen her — obviously she wasn't in her room, neither was she in the bathroom, nor in the library (the door had been open when she walked past it, and she could see inside — no India).

       An anxious feeling settled in her stomach. Where was India?

       Esme went back upstairs, to Anita's room, and she knocked quietly.

       Silence.

       Esme knocked again, this time a little more forceful.

       "Go away!" Anita yelled.

       Esme flinched.

       For a moment, Esme didn't know what to do. But it didn't sit right with her to just leave Anita alone to deal with this on her own... "Anita, please—"

       "I said, go away!"

       Esme's eyes began to sting, and she bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from crying again.

       "If— If you need anything..." Esme trailed off. Anita didn't want her help, not right now. And Esme didn't want to make her feel worse.

       So, nodding to herself, she walked away from Anita's room and to her parents' — no, her mother's — bedroom. Opal had once told them that they could always come into their (her!) bedroom, they didn't have to knock, which was why Esme grabbed the doorknob and wanted to open the door. It didn't budge. She tried again, but it was locked. She frowned. Esme couldn't remember that the door had ever been locked...

       "Mom?" she said and knocked on the door.

       No answer.

       "Mom!"

       She heard shuffling from inside the room, and Esme thought that her mother would open the door, but that didn't happen. "... I'm fine," her mom said, her voice breaking.

       A lump formed in Esme's throat. "Can you— Can you come out?" Esme asked weakly. "Anita won't come out of her room, and I don't know where India is, and—and I don't know what to do—" She cut herself off as she felt tears threatening to fall again. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the door. "We need you, Mom."

       For a moment, it was quiet. Then, "I'm sorry... But I can't."

       Esme's heart sank.

       The words felt like a punch in the gut. I'm sorry... But I can't. Esme didn't know how to react. Her mom wouldn't help her... She— She wasn't there for them. That— No! That wasn't possible. She was their mother! She had to help them! Tears welled up in her eyes, and Esme felt anger bubbling in her stomach. And, fuelled by rage (something Esme had never felt before), she hit the door with her flat hand. A loud bang! echoed throughout the silent house.

       She felt the urge to scream at her mother, to tell her that she couldn't do that, she couldn't just abandon them, not now. But she reminded herself that Opal was grieving, too. She lost her husband, the love of her life. Esme didn't want to imagine what that felt like... So, she bit her tongue, and just walked away, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water, her hands shaking — from grief, from exhaustion, or from anger, she didn't know. She was about to sit down when the doorbell rang.

       Immediately she thought, India? And she rushed to the door, opening it, and— she faltered.

       "... Hi," Dustin said, unsure. Esme frowned at him. "We, uh, heard what happened..."

       "We wanted to check up on Anita," Lucas said.

       Esme looked back and forth between the boys, still thinking, Where is India?, before she shook herself out of it and let the two in. "She's in her room," Esme said, her voice hoarse. "But, um... I'm not sure she wants to see anybody..."

       The boys nodded and went to the living room where the staircase was. Esme followed them. It was nice to know that Anita had friends that wanted to make sure she was OK... Before he went upstairs, Dustin turned around once more, and then Lucas did too. "... We're sorry," Dustin said.

       Lucas nodded. "Yeah."

       Esme forced a smile onto her lips. "Thanks," she said, her voice barely audible.

       The boys ran upstairs.

       Esme went back into the kitchen and sat down at the counter, drinking a sip of her water. It made her uneasy, not knowing where India was. Usually, she would at least leave a note, or she'd call, or something, to tell them that she was fine. God knew this family couldn't take the uncertainty of not knowing where one of the sisters was... It made all of them panic. And now, India had left and didn't tell anyone where she went. Esme felt her stomach twisting into knots. And she couldn't help but think, Dad would know how to make me feel better.

       All her life, Esme had been closer to her dad than to her mom. She didn't know why, exactly, but her dad just got her. Her mom didn't, not most times. But her dad did. He just needed to look at her, and he'd know if something was wrong — sometimes he could even tell what was wrong, that was how well he knew her, understood her. He could see right through her. And now he was gone.

       Esme buried her face in her hands.

       Why did this happen? How could this happen? Her mom always said that everything happened for a reason, but what was the reason behind this? If God was real, how could He let something like this happen? How was she supposed to live like this, without her dad? How was she ever supposed to move on from this? She couldn't imagine that this pain would ever go away... It felt like there would always be this hole in her chest, and it wouldn't heal, ever, it would keep bleeding, keep hurting. How could she go on when it would always hurt like this?

       What did she do to deserve this? Why did God let this happen?

       Then, she remembered something. Something her mom had said a few days ago. "Bad things happen, we can't control that. But the Lord gives us the strength to get through it." Esme looked up, and she had a realization. An epiphany, even. The Lord, her faith, could give her the strength she needed to get through this. She just had to believe in it — in a future where it wouldn't hurt so much anymore.

       That was it. The epiphany. If she believed she would get through this, then she could.

       Well, that was easier said than done...

       God, she wanted her dad!

💀

       DAY HAD TURNED INTO NIGHT, and neither her mother nor Anita had left their rooms yet. (Lucas and Dustin had left about half an hour after they had arrived.) Esme had started to clean and tidy the house, to distract herself from the thought of, I won't see my dad again. The library upstairs, her room, the dining room, the kitchen, those rooms looked as good as new after she'd finished with them. Now, she was in the living room, gathering all of her mom's and India's magazines and placing them on the shelf, arranged by colors.

       India hadn't come home yet, and Esme tried to convince herself that she was fine. She had to be. Otherwise, she would've felt it. She would've felt it if something happened to her — if the Midnight Man took her...

       She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She shouldn't think like that. She had to stay positive. Even if it was difficult, she had to. Somehow.

       Esme picked up the next stack of magazines, ready to sort them into their proper places, when she felt it. Her heart stopped, and Esme went rigid. The magazines fell to the floor. A feeling of intense dread overwhelmed her, knocking the air out of her lungs. It felt like a hammer struck her heart.

       And, instinctively, she knew.

       Something happened to India.

       Something was wrong.

things are going down...

let me know what you think!