“I’ll suggest he not call so much the next time I speak to Detective Rannali. He needs to understand that these things can’t be rushed and that it takes time.” His phone vibrates on the desk, and he silences it without checking the screen. “How are things going with the Gregorys? You haven’t really said much about them lately.”
“They’re going good. I feel bad that they have to go through all this stuff, but they seem okay with it for some reason.” It feels late, well past the normal hour I usually spend here. Out the window, twilight has risen and kissed the sky with silver stars. Usually our session ends before the sun fully sets. “Did we run late today? Shouldn’t we be starting the amnesia therapy already?”
“Yes, but Lila just requested that I spend an extra hour with you today before we delve into that.” His phone hums again. This time he picks it up and presses a few buttons. “She felt that with everything going on, you might need some extra time to discuss how you’re feeling.”
“How I’m feeling about what?” Removing my keys out of my pocket, I trace the jagged edge of across the palm of my hand, trying to channel my restless energy stemming from knowing that shortly we’ll be trying to crack open my head.
He sets down the phone and overlaps his hands on his desk. “The fear that your capturers might still be out there.”
“That’s not a new revelation. I’ve always known they were out there.”
“I know, but in a way, the loss of your brother has brought the memory of that back into your life. And the incident with the break-in—it has to be hard to deal with.”
“The police don’t know for sure if our kidnappers were the ones who killed my brother or broke into my house.” A lump swells in my throat at the mention of my brother’s death.
“I also heard you played your first concert.” He avoids my statement. “That had to be stressful.”
“Not really. Playing relaxes me more than anything. Lyric was pretty nervous, though.”
“Lyric, the girl you’re dating?” he asks, even though he knows her. Not only because I talk about her sometimes, but because she had a session with him after William assaulted her.
I nod. “That would be the Lyric I’m talking about.”
He opens a file and glances at a paper inside. “Does she know what’s going on with you at all?”
I nod again. Lyric knows more than most people. Maybe even more than my therapist.
“Do you talk to her about your past a lot?” he asks, shutting the folder.
“Sometimes.”
“About what exactly?”
“Everything I can.”
He meticulously examines my expression over, hunting for cracks in my façade. Like always, I grow uneasy. What does he see? A broken shell of a guy that may never be fixed?
My phone abruptly vibrates from inside my pants pocket, giving me an excuse to look away from his scrutinizing gaze.
Lila: Hey, when is your therapy going to be done? I want to know when I should start dinner.
Me: We should be starting the amnesia therapy soon. It usually only takes about fifteen minutes.
Lila: K. See u soon. And drive careful, sweetie.
“We should wrap this up.” I stand up and stretch my arms above my head, ready to get the next part over. “It’s getting late and Lila needs me home anyway.”
“Alright, lie down on the sofa then.” He motions at the leather couch nestled in the corner of the room near his filing cabinet and the window.
The ceiling has an unpainted spot where the plaster shows through. I don’t know why, but whenever I lie down, I always find myself picturing it caving in and the sheetrock raining down on me.
The doctor turns on some mellow music, a symphony of violins. Then he turns on the camera, sits down in a chair in front of me, and clicks on a timer.
“Close your eyes, Ayden,” he begins with a droning tone. “You’re in a safe place, where no one can hurt you. Now, let your mind relax.”
Like always, I fleetingly feel like I’m falling.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Then I crash into a wall.
You can’t think about it.
You aren’t allowed.
There was a reason for your amnesia.
You think we’d let you off that easy.
You think we’d really let you go.
Don’t think too much.
Or you’re going to lose control.
We’re going to come after you.
Dark eyes . . . thin bodies. . . . yellow teeth . . . blue and red lights flash as sirens get closer to the home. Someone is banging on the door, shouting, “Open up!”
My sister lifts her head and there’s life in her eyes for the first time. My brother is curled up in the corner, though, thin, frail, so close to death.
Our capturers flee, but not without an impending warning.
“No one escapes,” a woman whispers as she stabs her fingernails into my hands. “We’ll come back for you.” Her face . . . blurred . . . but the pain . . . is excruciating.
My eyelids spring open to the patch on the ceiling. The room is quiet, but my heart thunders like a storm inside my chest.
Dr. Gardingdale waits patiently at my side with pen and paper in his hand and hope in his eyes that I’ll tell him I remembered the identities of the people.
“I saw a few images, but everyone’s faces are blurred over, and honestly, none of what I’m seeing makes sense,” I tell him as I sit up and plant my feet on the floor. As usual, the room twirls around me in hazy colors and shapes. “They threatened us, though, when we left the house. Said they’d come back for us.” Invisible fingers wrap around my neck and my oxygen supply dwindles. “You should probably tell the police that. Or I will.”
He nods his head at the camera. “They’ll see this when I give them the video tomorrow.”
I massage my aching chest. “Did I say anything aloud to you by chance?”
He sighs heavily. “Unfortunately no, which I find strange, especially considering you’ve been sleep walking and talking so much at home. It’s like your mind opens up after the sessions.”
“Is that common?”
“It’s hard to say.” He removes his glasses and cleans them off with the bottom of his shirt. “This therapy—hypnotherapy as a lot call it—isn’t something performed that frequently. And your case is extremely complex.” He slides his glasses back on. “But, Ayden, if this doesn’t start working . . . I . . . there might be some other treatments you might consider trying . . . they’re a bit more experimental and have risks, though.”
My brows furrow. “What kinds of experimental treatments?”
He pushes his feet against the floor, wheeling his chair back toward a printer. Then he collects a thin stack of papers and hands them to me.
“Shock treatment.” Words jump out at me from the pages. Ice cold water. Injections. Electricity.
“They’re risky procedures,” he explains, looking as though he doesn’t really want to be discussing this with me. “I honestly don’t believe it’s a great idea, but I want to give you the choice. I think that’s important. Just like I know it’s important to you to find out who killed your brother.” When I don’t respond, he sighs. “You can throw them away if you want to. I just want you to be informed. Since you’re still a minor, though, I can’t do anything without your parents’ consent, so you’ll have to talk to your parents.”
“I’ll be eighteen in a couple of weeks,” I tell him, even though I want to throw the papers away.
Some of the treatments are appalling. But as I think of my brother lying dead in his own blood outside that home that stripped us bare, I fold the papers up and stand up to leave.
“I better go. It’s getting late.”
“Ayden,” he calls out. I pause, twisting around. “Remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m here. Even when it’s not a session, you can always call me.”
I bob my head up and down then exit
the office, pretending his words don’t affect me as much as they do. But the fact that I have people in my life who care about me still gets to me and makes me feel warm and cold inside. Warm, because it’s amazing to have people in your life rooting for you. And cold, because it’s terrifying having people in your life, putting themselves in harm’s way to help you.
My thoughts drift to my brother who probably had no one in his life. Who died all by himself.
“Why were you there?” I whisper to myself as I enter the crisp night. The moon is crescent in the dusky sky and a haze conceals most of the stars. “Was it because they had you against your will?”
A depressing thought occurs to me. I might never get the answers to those questions. I might never know what happened to my brother.
But I can still find out about my sister. If I can find her.
On my way to the car, I check my email on my phone, hoping there’s a message from Rebel Tonic. Almost three weeks later and still no word from him, I’ve pretty much lost hope that he’ll ever get back to me. More than likely he played me, and like a sucker, I fell for it.
No new messages so I stuff the phone away and speed up across the vacant parking lot. The sole lamppost that usually lights up the area has burnt out so I can scarcely make out the outline of my black BMW. As I find my way through the dark and approach the vehicle, I pat my pocket for my keys but can’t find them. Wondering if I left them in the building, I flip around to head back inside. Mid turn I notice something in the trees lining the property. Movement? A figure moving? I can’t quite tell.
I dodge to the right and skitter for the door. It has to be a dog or something. No need to get paranoid. With everything that’s happened over the last couple of months, my mind’s just playing tricks on me.
Then I hear a bloodcurdling scream reverberate from nearby.
Fuck, dogs don’t scream.
Freezing, I scan the trees, the closed stores across the street, and the office building, but I can’t see anyone or anything around. I jog for the door, my boots thumping against the pavement. As I reach the curb, I hear another scream. This time the noise fractures my heart into a thousand pieces.
This time I recognize the scream.
“Sadie?” I frenziedly whirl around again. Branches snap and leaves rustle. I fumble for my phone as I inch toward the tree line, prepared to dial nine-one-one if needed. “Sadie, are you in there?” I call out as the tips of my boots reach the border of where the parking lot shifts to a shallow forest. I squint through the darkness, but it’s pitch black. Too fucking dark.
Darkness settles
a heavy quilt
suffocating.
I can’t breathe.
Whisper the words,
They say,
Whisper them and we’ll free you.
Whisper.
Whisper.
Whisper
that you worship us.
Belong to us.
That you’ll do anything for us.
We’re coming back for you.
I swipe my finger to unlock my phone and illuminate the screen. Then I aim the light toward the forest. A screech echoes from amongst the thick leaves then a figure zips from the trees at me. I stumble back, clumsily drop the phone, and darkness smothers me.
Find the fucking phone.
Footsteps rush around in soft pitter-patters.
I collapse to my knees.
Find the fucking phone.
“Ayden, Ayden, Ayden,” a low chant echoes around me. “You think we’d let you get away that easy?”
Ayden, Ayden, Ayden,
do you hear us calling your name?
Feel the cuffs around your wrists.
We own you now, Ayden,
there’s no getting out, even when you leave these walls.
Ayden, Ayden, Ayden,
Do you see what we can do?
Do you see the blood that stains the ground?
If you leave, we’ll come after you.
“Ayden, Ayden, Ayden.” Whispers mix with the wind. “We have her. Your sister. And we’re coming for you.”
“It’s just your imagination.” I cover my ears with my hands. “You’re just remembering again. Nothing is happening . . . Nothing . . . There’s nothing out there.”
I feel a tug on my hair, strands getting ripped out, then nothing. With a deep breath, I lift open my eyelids. Nothing but darkness and trees and I lower my hands from my ears.
“Ayden.” A voice slams up from behind me.
I stagger to my feet and spin around, only to find Dr. Gardingdale standing there with shock frozen on his face. “Where did you . . .” I reel back around. The area is silent. The trees still. As if nothing happened. “I don’t . . .” My mind races a million miles a minute.
What the hell just happened?
Did I just imagine it?
Or was it real?
They said they’re coming back for you, like they did when you were pulled out of that house. Is this it? Are they returning to me? But then, why taunt me instead of taking me? Why scare me, rip out a chunk of my hair, and break into my house to take my knife? Is this part of the ritual? And what is the ritual for?
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he surveys the parking lot then the forest. “Did you see something out there?”
I face him and shift my weight so the trees are in my peripheral vision. Then I give the doctor a recap of what I think I just saw, trying to explain to him the best I can.
“It could have been a homeless person or some kids messing around.” He scratches his balding head as he stares at the trees and shrubbery. “Both have caused commotions around here before.”
“But they said my name.” I lower myself onto the curb and drop my head in my hands. “Or at least I think they did . . . Maybe that was just part of a memory surfacing. Maybe the amnesia therapy was delayed or something.” I grip the back of my neck. “I don’t know though. I thought they pulled my hair. And it actually hurts right now.”
“Pulled your hair?” A pucker forms at his brow. “I think we should at least report the incident to the police, just to be on the cautious side.” He sits down on the curb next to me. “I wish you’d have told me how bad the memories were—that you were having a hard time grasping reality while they are happening.”
“It’s never been that bad before.” I raise my head and stare out at the cars on the road ahead of us.
“It might be wise if I prescribe you something,” he suggests. “Just until you get a better grappling with remembering.”
“I’m not taking drugs,” I reply in a clipped tone. But after seeing my mother turn into a monster when she was doped up, I made a vow never to use drugs of any kind.
“It’s just a mild sedative that you can take if you have another episode.” He pushes to his feet and cautiously moves toward the trees. “You don’t have to take it all the time, only when needed.” He bends over and scoops something up before returning to me. “Let’s go inside so we can report this.” He hands me the object he picked up—my phone. “Then we’ll call Lila.”
I follow him back inside his office, take a seat in the chair, and listen to him recount what happened to the police. Everything that “allegedly” or “possibly” happened. I agree with him to an extent. I’m not positive of what was real after I heard the scream.
The sound could have easily triggered a nerve and sent me to the most vivid places in my mind. Places I never knew existed. But then again, it could be the same person who broke into my house.
One thing I am sure of. I know what I heard. That scream rang familiar to my sister Sadie’s. I know her scream well. Heard it day in and day out while we were locked up.
As I wait for Dr. Gardingdale to finish the police call, I check my email again. The screen is cracked from dropping it onto the asphalt, and I have to press each button at least five times just to get into my inbox. I open the app and hold my breath as I scroll through the messages. My heart stops when I reach
the fifth line down in my inbox. A message from Rebel Tonic. I open it, praying that he’s been able to find her.
Sorry it took me so long to get this to you. For some reason there was no record of a Sadie Stephorson social service’s records. I did manage to track an address through her school records, but it took a long time since there are so many districts. The last place she was listed living at was 40499 Faring Lake Ave. Street in San Diego. Hope that helps and good luck.
P.S. Remember to delete this message from your email when you’re finished.
I do a map search on the Internet for the address. It’s fairly close to where I am now, on the route home if I take the long way.
I do exactly as he instructed. After I type the address in the note section of the phone, I delete the email. Then I wait very impatiently for the doctor to finish up his call.
After he chats with the police, he calls my parents to update them on what happened. When he hangs up, I receive a text message.
Lila: Ayden, Dr. Gardingdale is going to walk you to your car. Lock the doors and drive straight home. And if you see anything that’s suspicious, call me.
I’m getting ready to put the phone away when another text comes through.
Lila: Better yet, just stay there. I’ll have Ethan come get u.
Me: I’ll be fine. It’s a ten minute drive.
Lila: Just check the backseat, okay? Sometimes people can hide back there.
Me: You’ve been watching too many horror movies.
Lila: Maybe so, but u still need to.
Me: Okay.
I close up my phone then the doctor walks me to my car, telling me that the police will probably be in touch with me sometime tomorrow after they’ve done some investigating around the area. He waits near the curb as I check the backseat, climb in, and turn on the engine. Then he starts for the door as I drive out of the parking lot and onto the nearly vacant street.
My fingers thrum restlessly as I steer past stores, houses, and gas stations. The closer I get to the address the more jittery I become.
Ten minutes later, I near the location of the address. I’m not positive what I’m even going to do when I arrive. Knock on the door? I wasn’t even supposed to take the detour let alone leave the vehicle. And it feels wrong to put myself into danger by getting out of the car at night in some strange area. I should just drive by then maybe return during daylight. Perhaps bring Lyric with me.
Unraveling You Series: The Complete Set Page 28
