Ephram Brown has started to see her. His dead mother follows him everywhere, a disapproving, disappointed look on her face. She speaks to him in quiet whisper when he walks down the street, when he's sleeping. He can't keep her voice out of his head. He hasn't slept in days, not since she started sitting beside him, holding out her bloodied hands in desperation as he tries to sleep. He can't keep food down anymore, his stomach rejects everything. Somehow, his grief has infected him and now she is haunting him.
He is late for school again, his legs not cooperating with the bike he was forced to leave a mile from school. He goes to detention for the second time this week and welcomes the silence it brings. One of the regulars in the class notices his uncontrollable shaking, a side effect of his anxiety. She slips him a note and he meets her at lunch. She tells him about a store on the outskirts of town where he can buy liquor to calm his nerves. She offers him several swallows of her own supply and surprisingly, it helped.
Ephram starts to leave straight from school and go to his bedroom. He covered his windows with black sheets and never turns on the lights. He would drink the alcohol and let it rock him to a sporadic, restless sleep. A swallow for breakfast, a few for lunch and Ephram could almost ignore his mother's voice in his ear, her breath on his neck.
Colin stops Ephram a week after he starts drinking daily.
"Ephram, man, what's up?"
"Nothing. Just another day," Ephram replies.
"Ephram, what's going on with you? You look like hell," Colin says, lowering his voice and stepping closer to his friend.
"Should I say thanks? Thanks," Ephram answers, indifferently.
"Man, you're my friend. You seem to have a hard time believing it, but it's true. What's going on?" Colin asks, not noticing Amy approaching.
"Nothing. It's just another day," Ephram repeats, nodding to Amy before continuing into the school.
"What's up with him?" Amy questions.
"I don't know, but something's up," Colin replies, draping an arm around her shoulders.
"He's really pale. I wonder if he's feeling okay," Amy thinks aloud.
"I guess there's nothing we can do if he won't talk about it," Colin replies, leading her into the school.
Andy Brown is worried about his son. He knew better than to open his teenage son's door, but he bumped against it when he was carrying his laundry down the hall and it bounced open. The windows were covered and the overhead fixture's bulb is lying on the dresser. He tentatively steps inside and glances around. He spots several empty bottles of whiskey beside the impeccably made bed. Ephram's pillow is rumpled beside the empty bottles. He hasn't had a conversation with his son in several weeks; he has been too busy with his patients. Andy steps back into the hallway, closing the door again. He decides to go downstairs and wait for his son.
"Ephram. Where are you headed?" Mattie, the girl that introduced him to the liquor store calls after school.
"Home."
"You're still shaking, kiddo. Why don't you come hang out with me a while? We'll see if we can't find something to help you out," Mattie smiles.
Ephram shrugs. He puts his bike into the back of her truck and climbs into the cab.
Mattie takes him to an abandoned farmhouse across town. There is a mattress made up with fresh sheets and covers. She lights the room with candles and has a battery powered stereo set up.
"Your house?" Ephram questions.
"No, I'm one of the rich and famous around here. This is sort of my clubhouse. My folks are never home, but my 'nanny' is a bitch. Always giving me drug tests and calling the school to make sure I'm there. This is my haven," She admits.
"Nice," Ephram replies.
She pours him a tall glass of whiskey and mixes it with a shot of Coke. He drains the glass gratefully as she turns away from him.
"You into drugs?" She asks.
"Not really. Never had the urge," Ephram replies.
"They help," She says, turning around. "I don't know what your issues are, and honestly, I don't care, but you seem like a pretty cool guy. I have a lot of my own issues that I don't really want to talk about. Come over here and check out my selection."
Ephram goes to stand beside her and silently examines the varied pills she has stashed in small glass jars.
"No coke or heroin, that shit is dangerous. I keep Valiums, percocets, Vicodin, darvocets, painkillers and tranquilizers mainly. I've got some Xanax and Klonopin if you're into that kind of stuff," She sighs. She lights two cigarettes and hands one to Ephram. He accepts it and inhales deeply. He was a smoker in New York but hasn't had a cigarette since moving to Everwood.
"So?"
"So what? I told you that I wasn't into drugs," Ephram replies.
"I guess I didn't believe you," She smiles.
"I don't trust them. If they make me happy, then I'll just be more depressed when the high is over because I was actually happy for a minute," Ephram says.
"They make the voices stop. They make me all fluffy inside. I can sleep with them," Mattie explains.
"They make the voices stop?" Ephram asks, his eyes locked on his mother's form across the room.
"They make them quieter. Nothing makes them stop. Just try this, a Valium. It'll give you a good time, even for a little while," She promises. He swallows it and chases it with a gulp of whiskey.
Mattie and Ephram sit on the bed, drinking whiskey and playing cards in silence for hours. Once the sun sets, she leans over and kisses him deeply.
"Mattie, what's this?" Ephram asks, when she releases him.
"It makes me happy. I know you don't love me, Ephram, and I don't love you but this makes me happy." She kisses him again.
Ephram rolls off her later, sweaty and exhausted. He is dizzy and breathless as he dresses.
"Thanks, Ephram. I'll see you tomorrow?" Mattie sighs, curling up in the wrinkled sheets.
"Just another day," He replies, tying his shoes. He rides his bike, pushing his exhausted body to the limit to make it home before ten. He doesn't expect his father to be home, but he doesn't want to risk a confrontation. His mother's voice is shrill in his ear as the cold air chills his fevered skin.
Andy is waiting on the front porch when Ephram rides up. He parks his bike.
"Where have you been?" Andy asks, keeping his voice level.
"Out. It's only ten," Ephram replies.
"I think we need to talk, Ephram."
"What did I do?" Ephram asks, the Valium wearing off. He holds onto the porch to conceal his shaking.
"Nothing, Ephram. I'm worried about you," Andy replies, seeing something frightening in his son's eyes.
Ephram turns, glancing at his mother's ghost hovering beside him.
"I'm fine," He answers, looking back at his father.
"You're lying. You're pale, you've lost weight and you have bags under your eyes that look like bruises. The school called today, your principal says you've been in detention five times in the last two weeks. You're skipping piano practice…"
"I don't want to play the piano. I can't…" Ephram starts to speak, but decides that it will only encourage his father's interrogation so he shuts up.
"What?"
"Nothing. Go on," Ephram says.
"I can't help you if you don't talk to me," Andy says.
"I don't need any help," Ephram retorts, quietly.
"Ephram. Ephram, look at me," Andy says.
Ephram reluctantly meets his father's eyes.
"Talk to me," Andy urges.
Ephram sees the same pity and disgust in his father's eyes that he sees in the ghost that is haunting him.
"Don't look at me that way…can't you see it's killing me?" Ephram snaps, looking from his father to his mother's face. "I don't know what you want me to do! You never used to look at me like that…" He says to his mother.
"Ephram," Andy gasps, concerned that his son is not looking at him during his rant.
Ephram realizes that he is talking to his dead mother in front of his father and closes his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
"Wait…" Andy starts after his bolting son and catches up to him outside his bedroom. "Ephram, wait."