Word of the day: Vision
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Leslie rubbed Marty’s back as he rubbed the spot on his finger where the splinter used to be. The area was tender and sore to the touch, but nowhere near the insanity-inducing pain he had been experiencing. A trip to the ER took care of that. Now, they sat on the sofa facing a couple of glasses of wine on the coffee table.
“What’s to talk about?” His tone mixed sarcasm with dread. “Shall I start with the voice I heard telling me to cut off my hand or the fact that I was legitimately going to go through with it. What’s next? Visions of demons taunting me while I sleep?”
“Don’t say that out loud,” she whispered. “Mason might hear.”
Marty leaned into her. “Jesus, if I hadn’t been able to get in touch with you…” He drifted away from finishing that sentence. The unspoken horror was enough to paint the picture.
“I know.” She sipped her wine and thought of the awful possibilities. How would she have reacted had she found Marty after he had used that cleaver on himself? The image chilled her blood and made her body ache.
“Am I going crazy?” he asked her.
“No.” She put her arm around him. “No, honey.”
“I heard a voice, Leslie. I heard a goddamn voice as clear as I’m hearing yours now.”
She had no response to that. She believed Marty heard something, but could it have actually been a voice?