The Inheritance
by Trisha Ridinger McKee
Mandy sat in the lawyer’s office, her hands clasped together and knees shaking. She was an orphan now. If that term qualified at 28 years old.
When her mother had passed away two years ago, Mandy had been paralyzed with grief for months, and after that, she somehow managed to muddle through the days in a mournful fog. It was only in recent months that she had come out of that mist, the clouds that lingered around her dissipating enough that she could glimpse the sun.
And now her father was gone. His passing was not as traumatic, and although shock kept her silent and still, she was not bogged down with grief. She simply wanted the aftermath to be over.
Her father had been a stern man, emotionally unavailable and disapproving. There was no desire on Mandy’s part as she got older to attempt to bridge the gap. There was that gut feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she was in his presence. The feeling that there was something off with him, something sinister.
That feeling was what made this part so difficult. She knew what was coming.
The lawyer stumbled into the room. He was a short man, shaped like a box with fat fingers and body odor. He huffed to his desk and sat down before he even made eye contact. Finally, after a frantic gulp of water, he started. “You’re the sole beneficiary of Russel Patrick Colinns’s estate. He left his house and car. A little in savings. And of course, you get his files. We can transfer ownership right now, if that works for you.”
She knew, despite the last sentence, that she had no choice. The files would be transferred to her whether she wanted them or not. It was the curse of an inheritance. She could not refuse it. What she did with the files was up to her.
Leaving the lawyer’s with a bit more money than she had when she first arrived and the burden of the files, Mandy sat in her car and tried to think of what to do next. A shopping trip, maybe, or lunch with a friend. No, she could not be around anyone right then. They’d inevitably ask about the files.
Sometimes people found the files exciting, anxious to dive into a part of family history. Mandy remembered when she had inherited her mother’s files. She had been one of those anxious to dive in, thrilled to see her mother as a young girl.
Mandy had only ever accessed her own files, so viewing someone else’s memories was a jolt. Instead of reliving the memory she chose from the files, she felt like an invisible bystander watching the replay.
Diving into the catalog of her mother’s memories, Mandy had chosen one from when she was a young girl on a day that was color-coded red… for emotional. Nothing had prepared Mandy for witnessing her mother get beaten as a child. She missed her mother fiercely, and seeing her as a little girl terrified and in pain evoked a powerful longing to see her one last time with an understanding and appreciation that had not been there before.
That was the curse of the files. She remembered her own mother inheriting her grandmother’s files. The first few days, she had locked herself in her bedroom and sobbed.
Mandy became careful about which memories of her mother’s that she retracted. She had been a loving mother, soft-spoken and patient, so Mandy felt safe enough to choose memories that collaborated with that image. Soft colors, such as lilac and beige.
But Mandy’s father was not such a safe bet. He had been elusive, sometimes quick-tempered. She had learned to avoid him at an early age. The man had left when Mandy was a young teenager, only returning sporadically for day visits until he disappeared completely. And she had been relieved when he left, a darkness she could not explain lifting. So, why would she want to investigate memories she knew would cause havoc? The little she knew was warning enough.
There was always surgery. A quick in-and-out procedure that would remove her inheritance. She could be free of his memories, cut loose from knowing anything she did not want to know.
It would be a controversial decision. Many people believed removal was blasphemous, disrespectful to the memory of the dead. Inherited files were considered a gift for the mourning. And also, a key to family mysteries.
Mandy knew better. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.
“You haven’t watched one memory?” her friend Elaina asked incredulously, setting down her spoon. “When I inherited my parents’ files, I became obsessed. I mean, it’s one thing to have your own files to sift through. Your own memories are familiar, and I’ve watched mine over and over. This was so new and scandalous.” She bent toward Mandy and lowered her voice. “Did you know my mom danced on stage at a bunch of concerts? Groupie.”
Mandy forced her lips up in a ghost of a smile. Elaina did not understand. Many would not. Memories were to be cherished, linking one to their loved one’s past. Keeping them alive.
But Mandy had no desire to keep her father’s memory alive. After a few weeks, she gathered enough nerve to peruse the catalog. The amount of black throughout his life, the color of severe distress or dark energy, told her more than she wanted to know and sealed her resolve to do away with the files.
The cloud that had been hanging over Mandy since she had inherited the files lifted when she scheduled the surgery for the following month. The receptionist had asked all the necessary questions. Was she being forced to remove the files? Would she like to take advantage of the free counseling in the weeks before removal? Was she willing to sign the waiver stating this was her own decision, and was she aware that once the files were gone, there was no way to get them back?
As she answered each question honestly and confidently, Mandy felt empowered. She would not be trapped in her father’s identity. The responsibility over his memories and whatever he may have done was not hers to bear. The receptionist had advised against opening too many files, as doing so would make the extraction much harder.
Mandy resisted the urge to insist that would not be a problem. The less anyone knew, the better. Except Randall. They had been dating for over a year, and she found herself confiding in him, as he was now her person to go to with victories, heartbreaks, and confessions.
He lowered his head and stared at her over his reading glasses after she purged the situation. Moments later, he stirred in his chair and set down the book he was reading. The ultimate gesture to show he was listening. “It doesn’t seem like there’s an issue, Mandy. You feel uncomfortable with being a carrier of your father’s memories, so you are taking care of that issue.”
That was the response she had expected. Randall was sensible, and she knew he would give her practical encouragement. But then he tilted his head and pressed his lips together before adding, “But still… aren’t you curious? I mean, he was your father, and you have a right to know if there was something nefarious in his life. No matter what, it’s over now. Can’t be used in court.”
She nodded, taken aback by his question. Curious? No, she was terrified and ashamed. The files were inadmissible as any type of evidence due to memories being unreliable. Sometimes memories were filed incorrectly due to drug use or mental breaks or trauma.
“I know there’s no danger of being caught up in some criminal case. But no, I’m not curious. I want nothing to do with that man or however he lived his life.”
Randall drew back, his eyes narrowing. “You aren’t as removed from this as I thought. Mandy, you’re very reactive regarding your father. Maybe you should dive in and face whatever unresolved issues you have. The files are the best way to do that.”
She changed the subject and later begged off from spending the night. Disappointment surged through her body. She had thought of all people, Randall would understand, and she felt betrayed by his reaction.
But he had not yet inherited any files. He only had his to manage, and he was never one to go through and view any memories. Randall claimed there was no use in going back and visiting his past.
She guessed that going and revisiting another person’s past was a different matter to him. Or was it the dark thrill of it all? Morbid curiosity?
Once home, Mandy showered and tried to scrub the knowledge of those files away. With her thoughts still tangled and emotions overwhelming, she crawled into bed and let sleep overtake her. It was not a graceful, gradual sleep. Mandy crawled into her bed, shut her eyes, and felt herself falling into a darkness that seemed to get deeper and deeper.
The ride into slumber unsettled her. It was a solid leap, as if she had been pushed into another realm, a dark and silent world. The thought to open her eyes, to reach for consciousness, did not occur to her. Yet she was aware of being in a dream state.
Time was unmeasurable, so Mandy did not know how long she was in this limbo before tumbling into a tunnel of voices and colors. Her body spun during its descent, and then she was upright and standing in a small room she had never seen before. A mattress pressed against one of the walls covered in chipped green paint. Dressers with broken handles flanked the bed, and the carpet was threadbare and stained.
She heard a familiar voice and turned. Her father loomed over a woman, his hand pressed against her throat as she struggled and wailed at him and the wall behind her. Her face was a shade of red that Mandy had never before seen on a person, and her eyes bulged until finally, her movements stopped.
The stillness after the woman’s panic terrified Mandy as she stood rooted to the spot, watching her father keep his hand in place for a few seconds longer, his arm shaking from the effort. Finally, he released his hold, and the woman’s body thumped to the ground, folding unnaturally.
This was a dream. Mandy knew it was a dream, yet she held her own breath, afraid that her father would notice her presence. Either some unknown force or sheer terror left her unable to move. She braced herself for an explosion as he realized he had just killed someone, but instead, he stared at the lifeless form and grinned.
This was a memory, Mandy realized. Somehow, she must have triggered the files. This vision was too sharp and used too many of her senses to be a dream. Panic collided with relief. The worst had happened, and yet, now she knew that her father could not see her–
Just as that thought reassured her, Mandy’s father swung his head in her direction, his lips curling even further over his stained, chipped teeth.
“Mandy,” he croaked, straightening and turning away from the dead body. He took a step towards her, but she was rooted to the spot, her feet not moving even though her brain screamed for her to run. “Mandy, someone’s at your door.” He stopped walking and screamed, “SOMEONE IS AT YOUR DOOR!”
Mandy sat up in bed, a scream dying on her lips. The sheets were drenched with her sweat, and she had to work to breathe. Once her heart slowed down, she realized someone was pounding on her front door.
A dream. It was just a dream. She had heard the knocking, and it had infiltrated the dream.
But that feeling of dread returned when she glanced at the clock. It was the middle of the night. Who would show up at this hour with no notice and frantic knocking?
The porch light spilled onto a woman her age, and as sleep slowly left her senses, Mandy realized the woman looked familiar. After a few more seconds, she remembered Greta, a friend from high school she had not seen in years.
“Greta!” She threw open the door in shock, still disoriented with fragments of her dream stubbornly clinging to her. “Are you okay? It’s the middle of the night.”
The young woman had always been beautiful with shiny black hair and piercing blue eyes, but right then, she looked older than her years. “I have to talk to you. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.”
After making coffee, she sat down and faced Greta, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her tangled hair. “Okay, what are you doing here? Are you in danger? Should I call someone?”
Greta took a sip of coffee as she shook her head. “No. But I… I just learned that your dad died. As soon as I saw, I came here to talk to you.”
“Oh. Why?”
She remembered the many sleepovers with Greta, the shopping trips, the phone sessions. They had been as close as two best friends could be, but she knew that Greta had only met her father a handful of times. Mandy’s dad had not been around enough to be a memorable fixture to those around her.
Greta’s wet eyes never left Mandy as she said, “Because I’ve been waiting for years for him to die.”
Her words came out hard and caught Mandy off guard. “You’ve been waiting for my father to die?”
“Mandy, do you remember when my mother died?”
That was not something one could forget. They had been sixteen years old, just two children who thought the world was fair and tilted in their favor. One hazy summer morning, that safe world collapsed around them when Greta’s mother was found brutally murdered.
Ice cold terror crept up Mandy’s back. All the black marks in her father’s file, the dream depicting violence, and her own suspicions burned her throat and threatened to erupt, but she swallowed hard and worked to keep her expression blank. “Of course, I remember, Greta.”
“Well, dad inherited her files, and he claimed he couldn’t watch. He said it would do no good as without solid proof, the police could not do anything. He was afraid of learning who the killer was and knowing the person was still free. I was too young to insist that he watch. When he died, mom’s files died with him. And my brother got dad’s files. Mom and dad were on the brink of divorce because she had been seeing other men. One of those men…”
“Dad?”
She nodded. “My brother couldn’t get too much information, but he saw mom out with him a few times. I’m assuming you inherited your dad’s files.”
“Greta, I did inherit the files, but I’m getting them removed. I didn’t really know my dad and–”
“Listen, please!” Greta jumped to the edge of her chair, her hands clutched on her lap. “This is the only way I can know. Your dad was… well, he had a reputation.”
Mandy bristled and looked away. She knew what people thought of her father. She’d had the same thoughts. “I’m sorry. I can’t help. I’m getting the files removed, and I’m not supposed to open any until then.”
“That’s bullshit, Mandy! You know it is. It won’t do one bit of damage if you open a file or two! Please! All these years, I’ve suffered from not knowing. This could finally give me peace.” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch that stung Mandy’s ears.
The images from her dream were still vivid, not faded as most dreams became once awake. The woman had not looked familiar, and Mandy remembered Greta’s mom as a tall brunette with distinctive features. Handsome features.
No, the woman in the dream had not been Greta’s mother. But then again, that woman… had been a product of a dream. A nightmare.
Just as that thought calmed her, the edges of her vision blurred and her stomach plummeted. She heard angry voices from a distance, as if in the next room, but then they started getting closer, her vision narrowing.
“You have to leave,” she cried out, and Greta jumped. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
When Greta tried to plead with her as she got to her feet and made her way to the front door, Mandy avoided her gaze and merely shut the door once she stepped out. As she secured the lock, the voices drowned out all other noise, and her vision went dark.
The darkness swirled around Mandy, and she was once again falling through a tunnel. The voices followed, wrapping themselves around her and squeezing out any breath or voice that remained.
After several moments, Mandy found herself in a small, dark room with the only light peeking through a narrow window near the ceiling. At first, she tried to turn to find a way out, but her body was locked in place, and when she went to open her mouth to scream, nothing happened. She was frozen.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and she saw her father arguing with a woman. A spark of recognition snagged her attention, and studying the short, auburn-haired female, she realized it was Abby, a teenager that had babysat her a few times when she was young.
Forcing herself to pay attention, Mandy realized she could smell oil and grass and her father’s stale breath. The air moved around her when Abby ran past, and Mandy’s father grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her back. Mandy could taste the fear mingling with evil in the air.
Her senses were working. Her body was not.
“I told you, I want to go home!”
“Listen here, you whiny bitch,” her father snarled, his face inches from Abby’s. “You’re not going home until we make it clear. You saw nothing, right?”
“I didn’t. I saw nothing,” Abby sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
“I don’t believe you. Say it like you mean it.” His snarl loosened into a smile, his yellow, chipped teeth still showing.
Mandy tried to force her mind to take her somewhere else, anywhere else, but it was as if she had no control. She could not move this scene away or imagine a different location, friendly people, happy thoughts. It was unlike any dream she had ever had.
As she tried to create a storm of images, her father stopped talking mid-sentence, his head swinging toward her. His gaze locked with hers, the whites of his eyes red and his pupils almost non-existent.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His mouth hung open, as if his jaw was unhinged and maggots flew out with every hissed word. “You worthless piece of shit. Just like your mother.”
His flesh-torn fingers clutched her arms and pressed into her skin, and red spots appeared in front of her as the pain shot out to every nerve. Once her vision cleared, she saw the flesh melting off her father’s face in bloody chunks, exposing bone.
Just when she thought she would pass out, her mouth opened, and a blood-curdling scream scraped her throat.
Mandy regained consciousness curled up against the front door. Slowly, she sat up and looked around, relief overwhelming her.
Another dream. Another outrageously vivid–
Her upper arms throbbed, and glancing down, Mandy blinked a few times as if that would clear the red imprints on her skin. They remained, small round marks in the shape of fingers. She sat motionless as she stared at the proof of her vision until the marks faded enough that she could convince herself it was her imagination. Just an overlap from an intense dream.
But the vibrations from his voice against her cheek, the heat from his decaying mouth, and the overall terror clung to her, and Mandy forced herself to stand up and go to her laptop.
Memories of Abby were vague and foggy. Mandy had been so young… she could not remember when or why Abby had stopped coming by. As she got older, she merely assumed Abby went off to college or moved. It never occurred to her to ask about someone she barely remembered.
The laptop screen threw back answers that Mandy had already guessed. Abby had gone missing, and authorities labeled her a runaway due to an unstable homelife. Every few years, there would be a brief article with updates of various locations she had supposedly been spotted in, and then there were no further updates.
Abby had been forgotten… if she had ever really been remembered.
This had to be a coincidence. Maybe as a child, Mandy had seen something she repressed. Her files had a few darkly marked places that she had never dared to view.
Sure, that was it. Her father’s death dredged up emotions and memories that Mandy had long forgotten. In dreams.
As she tried to convince herself, Mandy realized she was rubbing her sore arms.
Penny patted Mandy’s shoulder. “Oh, what a gift to be given. I take one of my mother’s files every morning to watch and be inspired. It’s my meditation.”
There was nothing to do but smile. She imagined Penny’s mom had files filled with light rose and yellow. She wished people could exchange files so others would understand. Not everyone lived such a beautiful life.
“Thank you, Penny. It was good running into you.” She paused as an ear-piercing scream accompanied with manic laughter came from somewhere in her mind. Flinching, she pressed her fingers to her temples. “Sorry. Dealing with a migraine. Anyways, tell the family I said hi.”
There was no missing that look of pity, revealing Penny’s true intentions of boosting her own ego. Mandy rolled her eyes, no longer caring about public niceties. If Penny had to use her to feel better, she was digging deep. Feeling good through comparisons to Mandy’s life was too easy.
With a desperate, silent wish that she did not run into anyone else even slightly familiar, she sat in the waiting room for another twenty minutes. The screams and taunting voices, evil sounds ricocheted around her as she sat, and staying still took everything.
Finally, she was in front of the doctor, the same one who had recently agreed to her surgery.
“I need the surgery now,” Mandy demanded before the doctor shut the door.
He raised his bright blue eyes through thicks of faded skin and dropped his gaze to her chart. “I’m sorry. We have a list of–”
As her vision began to blur at the edges, she cried out, “It’s an emergency.”
This time, he set her chart down and studied her, his tongue darting out between fleshy lips. “Tell me.”
“I’m having nightmares. Of my dad and what he might have done. And I know it’s because I’m worried about the files.”
He sat across from her. “Tell me about these nightmares.”
“Well, they feel so real. Vivid. I think I’m getting one soon because my vision is… blurring. I can hear voices.”
With a heavy sigh, the doctor got to his feet and picked up her chart, his gaze no longer meeting hers. “Those aren’t dreams. Those are memories.”
Frustration rolled through her body. “No! I’m not opening any files.” She flinched as she heard her father screaming her name in between slurred curses.
“I understand. But the files are malfunctioning. Sometimes, if files are particularly… intense… they malfunction. Especially, if you are storing more than one lifetime of files. That’s why there’s a limit of three sets of files. Overload.”
“But in these dreams, my father sees me and comes after me. These would be memories I was never in.”
The doctor nodded, still avoiding eye contact. His hands shook slightly, and sweat rolled down his round face. “Yes. A side effect of the malfunction. The memories get… skewed. I know it can be terrifying, but you have to try to remember these are just memories.”
“Can be terrifying?” Mandy cried, hopping off of the examination table. “The guy committed murder and then came after me! I had marks on my arms after this… memory.”
He waved his hands in front of his ducked head. “Please, I don’t want to know someone else’s files. That’s unprofessional.”
“Then fit me into your schedule and get these files out!”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. Once the files malfunction, there is nothing we can do.”
Those words struck her just as another woman’s scream pierced through her skull, leaving her with a pounding that made her lose her breath. “Then what can I do?”
The doctor inched toward the door, the sweat now dripping off of his jaw and onto his collar. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing that can reverse the damage. This isn’t common. Only in truly intense files, and if you had warned me about this, we could have gotten you in earlier. I’ll cancel the surgery. I’m sorry.” He slammed into the door frame in his rush out of the room.
The woman fought with every last breath, her fingernails digging deep into Mandy’s father’s face. Ribbons of red appeared on his cheeks as he continued to laugh and plunge the knife into the woman’s body. Over and over.
Just as he whipped his head up and noticed Mandy, she snapped back to reality, sharp, unbearable pain flashing throughout her stomach and chest.
“Mandy! Open up. I am not leaving until we talk.”
Greta.
She had been avoiding her texts and calls and dodged her when she followed her to the grocery store. That had been quite the task as the voices were demanding all of her attention. The horror show in her mind distracted her enough that Greta almost caught up to her.
“Please, my mom will be worried about me. Please.” The pleading in her head followed by her father’s sadistic laughter made her pause on the way to the door. The pounding was intensifying to the point that her vision was wavy, and like one of those old-fashioned televisions, another broadcast kept interrupting. She saw the front door and then saw her father looming over yet another woman, her face twisted in terror. That faded out, and once again, the door was in front of her, vibrating with each knock.
Face to face with Mandy, Greta froze.
“Well, come in.”
Failing to hide surprise, Greta stepped in and gave her a quick sideways glance. “You’re not looking good, Mandy.”
“It’s been a week.” She waited until Greta’s gaze stopped bouncing around and rested on her. “The files are malfunctioning. So, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t access specific files.”
Greta’s face was expressionless, except for her eyes that held a spark Mandy recognized.
And counted on.
“The good news is that the malfunction releases files sporadically. I saw your mother in one. Briefly. But she was….” She tilted her head up and focused on breathing. Although she had planned this out over and over in her head among the noises of torture and dark glee, having Greta in front of her weakened her bravado. “She was screaming. Crying for you. Your brother. Her life.”
Greta’s lips were almost non-existent as she pressed them together, her eyes wet and red. After several moments, she nodded. “So, it was your dad?”
“He killed your mother.”
Her features darkened, transformed, and years of rage boiled to the surface. It was the reaction Mandy had expected… and wanted.
Her vision blurred, and she saw her father in front of her, snarling at her. He faded in and out, and Mandy couldn’t fully decipher who was in front of her until she heard Greta speak.
“I waited years to get my revenge. That monster took my mother. My mom was an amazing person and would have done anything for anyone. She loved sunsets and romantic comedies. She stayed up late and slept in on weekends, and we would watch movies. He took that. I knew it in my gut. I wish I would have just done this when he was alive, but since I waited until too long, I have to take the next best thing.”
Greta’s hand shook as she reached into her purse and pulled out a gun. Instinct took over, and Mandy gasped, but then she heard another scream and someone else begging for her life, and calm washed over her.
“Hurry,” she pleaded as her vision blurred even more.
Mandy could not endure another scene of horror, of watching her father torture and kill and destroy lives. Through the growing shadows, she saw Greta aim the gun at her, and she shut her eyes, wishing for sweet relief.
“I’m sorry,” Greta whispered.
I’m not. It was Mandy’s last thought before the ecstasy of darkness swept her away.