Read Online 0.5-The Asylum Interviews: Bronx: An Asylum Tales Short Story by Jocelynn Drake - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jocelynn Drake
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compassion and tenderness, but she hadn’t always been possessed. Most girls lived with their families until they were at least ten or eleven, and didn’t get initiated as a full-fledged Vestal Virgin until they hit puberty. That’s plenty of time to form a bad memory or two. I just needed to find one; a strong one. I didn’t care what it was. A sick grandmother, a dead pet, or even a lost toy.
Aemilia gasped and every muscle in her body suddenly stiffened as her heart went racing off as we neared a particularly dark memory. I didn’t care what it was. I plunged us both in, desperate to wring a few tears out of Aemilia.
My own consciousness was dragged into the memory, enveloping us both. With a shuddering breath, I looked around to find that I was standing in a dark hallway with a young girl who looked to be somewhere between eight and ten years old. Her little hands were clenched before her stomach so that her white knuckles nearly blended in with her white nightgown. I frowned. Was this a monster-in-the-closet memory? I really didn’t want to see a little kid traumatized by some creature that managed to sneak past some basic wards to hide under her bed.
But as soon as the thought occurred to me, I heard the sound of soft crying farther down the hall. Something in my stomach knotted while my brain instinctively screamed to pull out of this memory. I didn’t know what I had called up for Aemilia, but every fiber of my being shouted that this was darker than I had meant to go. She didn’t need to relive this.
Even as my brain was shrieking warnings, I found myself turning toward the noise while the little girl beside me moved to the closed door on my left. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the old iron doorknob. I wanted to lay my hand on hers and open the door for her, but I couldn’t interact with the memory in any way. Hell, I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. The spell only pulled up and kicked off the memory. The person the memory actually belonged to had to end it.
Standing behind the little girl, I looked in the room as she pushed open the door, catching sight of a large man climbing out of a small bed draped with rumpled pink and purple covers. My eyes darted from the man with salt-and-pepper black hair as he refastened his pants, to the bed, where I saw a young, tear-streaked face that didn’t look to be more than a year or two older than the child Aemilia.
“Daddy?” the young Aemilia whimpered.
The horror and revulsion that surged through me was quickly replaced by mindless rage. I tried to lunge forward to grab the man, but I was yanked out as Aemilia shut down the memory as the horror of the image gripped us both. I stumbled backward, my stomach churning. Bent over in pain, Aemilia gripped the back of a chair in an effort to hold herself upright as tears raced down her face.
Staring at her, I realized why she had been sent to become a Vestal Virgin. It wasn’t some great honor bestowed on her. She had her father’s dark, dirty secret that she had to carry. By making her a Vestal Virgin, he was hoping that his secret would be protected, and she did protect it. But there was a loophole. I was willing to guess that she couldn’t protect her own secrets the same way and that’s how I had gotten to the dark memory.
“You pulled free the tears you wanted,” she said in a horrible voice, dragging my thoughts out of Aemilia’s past. “Collect them before I wipe them all away and you’re screwed, because you’re not getting another shot at this.”
With more than a little self-loathing, I pulled a small glass test tube out of my pocket and stepped close to her again. Holding her chin with my thumb and index finger, I carefully collected several tears in the container as they streaked down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry about that,” I murmured, drawing her downcast eyes back up to my face. “I was hoping for something a little more innocuous. You know, lost toy or skinned knee. Maybe
Aemilia gasped and every muscle in her body suddenly stiffened as her heart went racing off as we neared a particularly dark memory. I didn’t care what it was. I plunged us both in, desperate to wring a few tears out of Aemilia.
My own consciousness was dragged into the memory, enveloping us both. With a shuddering breath, I looked around to find that I was standing in a dark hallway with a young girl who looked to be somewhere between eight and ten years old. Her little hands were clenched before her stomach so that her white knuckles nearly blended in with her white nightgown. I frowned. Was this a monster-in-the-closet memory? I really didn’t want to see a little kid traumatized by some creature that managed to sneak past some basic wards to hide under her bed.
But as soon as the thought occurred to me, I heard the sound of soft crying farther down the hall. Something in my stomach knotted while my brain instinctively screamed to pull out of this memory. I didn’t know what I had called up for Aemilia, but every fiber of my being shouted that this was darker than I had meant to go. She didn’t need to relive this.
Even as my brain was shrieking warnings, I found myself turning toward the noise while the little girl beside me moved to the closed door on my left. Her hand was shaking as she reached for the old iron doorknob. I wanted to lay my hand on hers and open the door for her, but I couldn’t interact with the memory in any way. Hell, I wanted to stop it, but I couldn’t. The spell only pulled up and kicked off the memory. The person the memory actually belonged to had to end it.
Standing behind the little girl, I looked in the room as she pushed open the door, catching sight of a large man climbing out of a small bed draped with rumpled pink and purple covers. My eyes darted from the man with salt-and-pepper black hair as he refastened his pants, to the bed, where I saw a young, tear-streaked face that didn’t look to be more than a year or two older than the child Aemilia.
“Daddy?” the young Aemilia whimpered.
The horror and revulsion that surged through me was quickly replaced by mindless rage. I tried to lunge forward to grab the man, but I was yanked out as Aemilia shut down the memory as the horror of the image gripped us both. I stumbled backward, my stomach churning. Bent over in pain, Aemilia gripped the back of a chair in an effort to hold herself upright as tears raced down her face.
Staring at her, I realized why she had been sent to become a Vestal Virgin. It wasn’t some great honor bestowed on her. She had her father’s dark, dirty secret that she had to carry. By making her a Vestal Virgin, he was hoping that his secret would be protected, and she did protect it. But there was a loophole. I was willing to guess that she couldn’t protect her own secrets the same way and that’s how I had gotten to the dark memory.
“You pulled free the tears you wanted,” she said in a horrible voice, dragging my thoughts out of Aemilia’s past. “Collect them before I wipe them all away and you’re screwed, because you’re not getting another shot at this.”
With more than a little self-loathing, I pulled a small glass test tube out of my pocket and stepped close to her again. Holding her chin with my thumb and index finger, I carefully collected several tears in the container as they streaked down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry about that,” I murmured, drawing her downcast eyes back up to my face. “I was hoping for something a little more innocuous. You know, lost toy or skinned knee. Maybe
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