Ice Heart © 2024 J.A. Fuller
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in Australia
Cover and internal design by Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd
First printing: July 2024
Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd
www.shawlinepublishing.com.au
Paperback ISBN 978-1-9231-7133-6
eBook ISBN 978-1-9231-7145-9
Hardback ISBN 978-1-9231-7157-2
Distributed by Shawline Distribution and Lightning Source Global
Shawline Publishing Group acknowledges the traditional owners of the land and pays respects to the Elders, past, present and future.
J.A. fuller
For Noah, my four-legged writing companion
1
Siara
‘I’m just worried.’ My mother’s voice barely makes it through the crackling speaker of the phone. ‘It’s been a year now… and we just hope you’re not still thinking about the things she said.’
The knot in my stomach tightens. I scoff into the phone but find myself unable to deny her. Even if she’s right, she’s making a bigger deal of this than necessary. If Dad was home, he’d get it. He’s the one who usually quietens her loud thoughts – neutralising her when she becomes too ‘worried’.
It’s not like I don’t understand her concern, madness runs in the family – or so I’ve been told – and unfortunately for me, it apparently didn’t skip a generation like it did hers.
My silence must fuel her concern. ‘Have you found it yet?’
I continue my search down the street, eyes eventually falling on a pair of rusted metal numbers, the same pair I was dreading to find. ‘Yes. Just now.’
‘Oh, good.’ My mother pauses, reading my silence for what it is; hesitancy. ‘Siara, we just want to make sure you’re okay.’ I hear a small sigh on the other side of the phone. ‘But if you really don’t want to go…’
An unexpected groan originally intended as a silent profanity escapes between my lips before I have the chance to stop it. Perhaps even more unexpected is the painful empathy that has been breathed into me. How do they do that? How do mothers find that one small weak spot in your resolve and fill it with guilt instead? The same guilt-fuelled obligation drags my feet to the stone steps. Should I go in? I mean, talking is the exact reason I’m here.
If I hadn’t mentioned to my parents about what happened in that room, would they still have sent me to a shrink?
Skipping up the clinic’s steps, my breath catches. A small, shadowed creature waddles through the flowerbed to my right, no bigger than a child’s palm. Its stout arms clamber for the stalk of the largest flower, eventually resorting to a strenuous jump. Once secured, it ascends, climbing its way to the very top and slipping into the unbloomed bud.
A cold, nauseous feeling freckles down my face, residing in the pit of my stomach.
Yes, I think my parents may have still sent me here.
I avert my eyes from the creature’s own, dissociating as if I may be daydreaming. Frowning, my grip tenses around the phone pressed to my ear.
‘Siara?’
‘No. I mean yes – I’m still here, I was just–’ I shake my head, daring not to look back to the flowerbed. ‘Distracted. I’m going in now – I’ll speak to you later.’ I push the door open and an array of beady eyes land on me.
‘Okay, dear. Your father wants you to call him when you get out, okay? Don’t wait too long. The time difference is quite a stretch.’
‘Okay, Mum.’
Despite the broken speaker, there’s no doubt her voice can be heard in the silent waiting room. ‘And, Siara, don’t forget to update this new lady about your hallucinat–’
With a frantic push, I end the call.
My heart makes acquaintance with the nausea in my stomach. Releasing a staggered breath, I glance up towards the people waiting in the padded armchairs. Maybe they didn’t hear her. Most look away uncomfortably. Or maybe they did. One older lady maintains her stare, turning away as she peers back down through her glasses at the book in her lap.
Mortified, I check in at the counter and take a seat, absorbing myself into the secure embrace of my phone screen. I swipe left and right, each completed level in the game relieving a little bit more anxiety than the last. As soon as I feel my breath start to steady, my name is called from the other side of the room and my moments of peace are gone. A tall lady with frazzled silver hair and rainbow earrings pokes her head out of her office, giving me a small wave as I peel myself off my seat.
