The loud music only underscored the thick silence.  The words not spoken vibrated and hummed like a force field, spreading out, passing through walls, pushing up against Jamie's back.

In his frustration and boredom, he had left the oxblood wingback chair and was perusing the titles on the bookshelf that filled the back wall of the therapist's office.  They were mainly psychology text.  There were a few that sounded familiar: The Interpretation of Dreams, Beyond Good and Evil, and The Undiscovered Self.  These titles were printed with gold leaf on leather spines with hundreds of other works that were mysteries to him.  It was a good thing he had no interest in reading any of them, because the whole shelf was a fraud.  Barely one inch thick, it provided an academic appearance to the small room and served only as a backdrop to the staged office.

Taylor Swift sang about never getting back together at an uncomfortable volume.  Traveling from the MP3 player's tinny speakers in the bedroom, through the mike, and out the office speakers, it was shrill and distorted, popping on the high notes.  It was hard to talk over and it reminded Jamie of how he used to smuggle CDs in.  Now she got new albums loaded on her player every week.  One less thing that anyone need him for.

He threw himself down on the chair and the upholstered leather puffed out a burst of air as it took his weight, while the legs slid back with a screech on the vinyl floor.

"Can you at least tell me that you don't want to talk?  If you say that, I'll leave you alone."  He made another desperate foray against her silence, talking forcefully to be heard.  It did no more good than any of his previous ones.  Amy refused to talk.  She wouldn't even come to the window.  She stayed sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, staring off at nothingness.  Her only movements were the occasional shifting of her legs—bending until they pressed against her chest, stretching them out, curling them underneath her so she sat Indian style.

She hadn't done much more than this since Jamie's shift started three hours earlier.  He had become worried about Amy after he met R.J. on his way in.  R.J. was rushing down the hall to grab the elevator Jamie had just vacated.   "Should be a quiet night," the administrator informed him from about five feet away. 

"Yeah, I know the drill.  The full moon starts tomorrow, so no excitement tonight."  That was all R.J. cared about: the hideous changes.

"Yeah, that and she's in a bad mood."  He twisted his mouth into a tight grimace.  There was concern in his expression, but whether it was for Amy or for the words he was choosing, Jamie was uncertain.  "She's in one of her quiet sulks."

This was the first time R.J. had mentioned anything about her mood, and the way he said, sulks, it didn't sound judgmental like he was talking about a sulking child.  It was spoken tenderly, as though Amy had every right to it. 

A sour feeling churned in Jamie's belly.  How bad was it for R.J. to remark on it?  "What happened?"  He spoke little too urgently, letting his desperation spill out.

"She had a rough session with Horus yesterday and still seems shaken up about it."

"Oh."

"I tried to..."  R.J. seemed to think better about what he was he was saying and started over.  "She could use a friend tonight.  Good luck." 

As he spoke his final word, the elevator door began to shut, and by the time Jamie managed to get out a reply, he was alone in the bunker.

When he reached Amy, she was worse than Jamie had feared.  Even on her darkest days, she may not have wanted to talk but she was always eager for company.  What had Horus done to her?  He would get an earful the next time Jamie saw him.

Jamie leaned forward trying to get an angle to see her through the window.  He didn't want to just watch her through the monitor anymore.  A visual connection would be the start of some connection.  She must be feeling completely alone in there.  He decided to reach out to her in a different way.  She always liked hearing about his dog.  The elderly chow that Glen brought with him into their relationship.  She had a soft spot for animals and was always happy when he brought up Bruno and his amusing antics.

"Amy, is it okay if I talk?"  No response.  No words.  No movement.  "Okay then.  Did I ever tell you about the time that Bruno got lost?  We were renting a little house in Sonoma County for a long weekend and brought him along.  Glen had opened up some windows to air the place out and we were settling in and making dinner."  Jamie went on explain how they ate and were sipping wine as the sunset, when Glen realized the dog was no longer in the house.  He must have escaped out a window.  They ended up searching for the dog out on the dark, unfamiliar country roads.  They met up with a local farmworker.  He was a burly young guy that looked like a lumberjack right down to his plaid shirt and wool cap.  They hunted for an hour calling out: Bruno.  Bruno.

"Finally, this big, hulking guy comes crashing out of the woods with Bruno tucked under his arm, folded up in his flannel shirt, and he's yelling..."

"Stop talking to me!  Stop talking to me!"  Amy's hands clawed at her hair as she shrieked through her clenched jaw.  She rocked back and forth and looked like she might topple over at any moment.

"Okay, I'll stop."  Jamie sounded as dejected as he felt.

"Not you.  Her." Amy cried over the music.  Then she fell over on her side and started writhing as though in pain.

"Amy?  Are you alright?"  Jamie was on his feet screaming into the microphone.  "Amy?  I'm coming in there."

"No."  She slammed her palms against the floor and raised her head up to look toward the window.  "Stay away from me.  I'm a monster."

"No, you're not."

"I am."  She squirmed down on her belly and covered her head with her arms.  "I am."

"You're not well.  I'm coming in."

He was on his feet and heading out of the office.  The speakers crackled with an agonizing moan.

***

Shh.  Calm yourself, dear one.

"I'm not listening to you anymore."  Amy pressed her face against the cool white tiles.  The headache that had been building all day was reaching a fevered intensity.  Ylva's voice kept scratching away, picking a deeper hole into the center of her skull.

We both know that isn't true.

Ylva's gentle whispers had become screams in her head.  Somehow speaking the woman's words to Horus had energized her—fully unleashed her from her distant confines and she poured into the cell filling the space with her furious presence.

When that man had spoken to her from the other side, Amy thought at first it might be a fabrication of the delirium spinning her head.  Amy?  Amy, are you alright?  The words barely penetrated the roaring turmoil filling her ears. 

But the voice was real.  She reached out for it like a lifeline, hoping to drag herself out of the churning seas threatening to drag her under to some sickening abyss of complete despair.

"No."  Her voice was a weak croak.  No, she wasn't alright.  She was far from alright.

"What's the matter, Amy?"  The question boomed through the room like a voice from above.

"It won't stop."

"What won't stop?"

Shh.  Don't listen to him, girl.  He's the enemy.  We will make him pay for what they have done to us.  We will make them all pay.

"No, I don't want to."

"Don't want to what?"

They shouldn't keep us prisoner here. They must learn the cost of their insolence.

"They have to keep me here.  I'm a monster."

"Amy?  I can't hear you.  Can you speak up?"

No, they are the monsters.

Amy pressed her hands over her ears and shook her head back and forth.  She hummed to try to block out the noise.  All the noise.  The tempest, and the screaming, and the man's voice going on and on.  She sat like that for a long time until she realized that it had grown quiet.  The man was gone.  Ylva had stopped.  There was only a drone in her ears like the sound of the ocean in a seashell.

There was peace.  Until Jamie came.  Then it started all over again.  And there was no sign of it ever stopping.  She cranked the music up hoping to drown out Ylva's incessant prodding.  But nothing stopped her voice.  It still kept at her like a hive of bees buzzing their hate and anger in every inch of her head.

The clacks and metallic grinding of the outer door being opened penetrated the din.  He was coming.  He shouldn't come.

Ylva laughed.  It was a creaking sound like a frozen tree branch in an arctic wind.  Now is our chance, dear one.  He is weak.

"He's my friend."

I'm your only friend.  He is one of them.  He is prey.

"No."  When she started speaking it was just a despondent little squeak, but the word drew itself out into a ghastly wail.

Feeling overcome with nausea, Amy raised herself onto her hands and knees and her body began to shake. 

She shook off the frail form that was imprisoning her.  Raw power surged through her limbs and she felt truly herself again.  She rolled her shoulders and her muscles ripple down her long sleek back.

A wisp of tantalizing scents escaped into the room when the door cracked open.

She licked her lips and stretched out on the floor.

 "Amy?"  Oh!"  An alarmed intake of breath masked the exclamation.

The aroma that she didn't think could get any better took on a rich note of fear.  It was humid and raw—thick and meaty. 

Amy whimpered.  It was the sound that her friend Carrie's dog had made after it was hit by a car.  It was a lost, helpless, dying mewl.

"Are you alright?"  There was a step.  It was halting and hesitant but it was a step toward her and away from the safety of the door.

That's it.  I'm just a doggie.  Just like that stupid, little mutt you like to tell me about.  There is nothing to be afraid of.

She whined again.

"Amy?  Can you hear me?  Are you sick?"

That's right, come a little closer.

***

Author's Note:

I wonder how many of you are cursing me right now.  I'm sure you'll have thoughts, so let me hear them.

Chapter 10 starts next Friday and the pace switches up a bit as we segue into the ending, with nine short parts.

A note on the music: I had a song planned out for this chapter, but after writing this last part, it seemed too tacky to use. So I went with Escondido. Some of you may remember that the song from chapter one was one of theirs. So this is a reprise of sorts. I almost used the same song but went with this one, which was a bit more mournful and fitting with the mood of the scene.

On another subject--sorry to bother all you kind folks with this, but I'm finding it harder and harder to get the word out on Wattpad. Messages to all followers seem to disappear into the void of cyberspace, so--My earlier work, Mr. 8, is now published and available for sale. I would like to ask anyone who has read it here on Wattpad to trudge over to Amazon or Goodreads and leave a little review. Reviews are the most effective way to get it discovered by people outside Wattpad. I can't tell you how much I would appreciate it.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mr-8-David-J-Thirteen/dp/1620156199/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23607905-mr-8