She wished she could melt away and disappear.
Mark opened the door and sat next to her. He stroked her hair and kissed her cheek.
“Susannah, let’s call the counselor your doctor recommended. Let him help you with this.”
***
The waiting room was too small. There wasn’t enough light, or air. It was a mistake to agree to the appointment. Susannah looked at the door. It wasn’t too late. No, she had promised Mark.
She touched her jaw, still tender, but much, much better. Her fingers brushed the stitches running along her hairline from her ear to her temple. A few more days they would come out and then she wouldn’t look like The Bride of Frankenstein ― at least on the outside.
Her insides twisted around images of little girls, monsters with dead eyes, and bears.
Where had they come from? She had never encountered one, and yet night after she had nightmares of being chased by the animals, barely escaping their teeth and claws. That, more than the panic attacks, persuaded her to try counseling.
The inner office door opened. A small, rounded man with a graying goatee nodded at her.
“Hello, Susannah. I’m Fredrick Roundhouse. Please, come in.”
He stood back and gestured for her to enter.
She glanced at the door.
He waited.
Susannah took a deep breath and slipped past him into the inner office.
It was even smaller than the waiting room. Of course, in her current state of mind even Buckingham Palace would be too small.
“Please, sit.”
She chose the chair closest to the door and perched on the edge of the seat.
“Now, I understand you were brutally assaulted a few weeks ago, and now you are having flash backs, nightmares, and panic attacks ― all normal after a traumatic experience, Susannah, but difficult to cope with alone. So, first, let me ask you a few questions.”
Susannah watched him open a drawer and pull out a large, yellow legal pad. She looked at the door. She could still run.
“I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather not talk about this.”
“I see. That is solely up to you. However, by talking about it you work out your emotions, which will stop your panic attacks and nightmares.”
“This was a mistake. I’ll be fine.”
“I doubt that. Susannah. You won’t ‘be fine’ emotionally until you address the fear, the shame, and the anger of being attacked.”
She shook her head. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Okay, why?”
Why? Because it was now obvious that she would need to talk about everything. Otherwise, there would be too many holes in the story to make any sense of it.
“Because you won’t believe me.”
“About the attack? Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“It’s other things, leading up to the attack.”
“I see. What kinds of things?”
“As I said, you won’t believe me, so there isn’t any reason to even start.”
“I’ve heard a lot of things, Susannah. Nothing you say will shock me.”
“I doubt that. This is something I can guarantee you’ve never heard before, and I bet it’ll scare you as much as it scares me, if you even believe me.”
“Try me.”
What would it hurt? If he didn’t believe her, nothing would change, but if he did maybe he could help sort out all of her feelings.
“All right. It all started with a dream…”
He didn’t say a word during her narrative, and she had to give him credit, not once did he grimace, smile, or look skeptical.
“And this started recently?”
“Yes.”
“And others can corroborate these premonitions with actual occurrences?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
“Just trying to clarify. To be honest, this is beyond my expertise. I can assist with the trauma of the attack and the related issues, but you will need to discuss your psychic experiences with a specialist in that field.” He reached into his drawer and fished out a card. “I can recommend someone…”
***
Rachel set the steaming mug on the table and sat opposite Susannah. “So, he concurred it is a psychic phenomenon, at least the premonitions?”
Susannah nodded.
“Are you going to call the specialist?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was bad enough talking to the counselor.”
“Are you going back to address your other issues?”
“You mean the nightmares and panic attacks?”
“Yes, and the other related issues.”
“I still debating.”
“I see.”
“It’s hard to talk about, Rachel. And, I don’t want to remember any of it, except that the child is safe. But, I want my life back. I want the chance to have a family and I don’t want any more dreams.”
“Understandable. Maybe you’d prefer to talk our pastor. At the very least, he could offer prayers.”
“You and I can pray, won’t that count?”
“Of course it does.”
They joined hands and bowed their heads.
Rachel led the prayer. “Lord, bring your peace and protection to Susannah. Show her the way to heal, forgive, and move on. And, protect the children. Keep them safe from all evil. Amen.”
Susannah raised her head. “Amen.”
“Now what is your plan?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
***
The nightmare began with Susannah trapped in a tree by a horde of snarling bears. The animals circled, stood on hind legs, and stretched upward. At twice the size of the largest Kodiak bear, they couldn’t climb, but even so, her perch near the top of the tree barely kept her out of their reach. One particularly huge animal repeatedly slammed his full weight against the trunk. The tree shook, swayed, and threatened to snap. Her feet wobbled, almost slipping on the thin branch. Susannah tightened her grip and prayed.
The many animals merged into one. The massive creature rose to an incredible height. It glared at her through red pig-eyes and opened a cavernous mouth.
Susannah snapped on the bedside lamp and looked at her clock, three in the morning. Unwilling to face the possibility of another dream, she slipped out from under the covers, tiptoed out of the room, and down the stairs to the kitchen. She filled a glass with water, drank, and refilled the glass. From the kitchen, she went to the den, sat in her chair and picked up her book. She read until she could no longer focus on the page, turned out the light, and went upstairs. With each step, she prayed for sleep, a black void she could sink into until morning.
Chapter Seven
Susannah studied her reflection closely. Over the course of the last few months, the bruises disappeared, the post-op pain was gone, but not the nightmares. They were intensifying. She had survived each encounter with the monstrous creature so far, but with each dream, the violence escalated. If she failed to win, what would happen then?
She turned away from the mirror. Part of her did want help, but another wanted drugs, anything to make it all go away. Another part wanted to run, but that wouldn’t work either. She couldn’t run from herself.
So, that left her with only one choice, more counseling. She went downstairs and dialed her doctor.
His assistant answered. “Dr. Baum is with a patient, but I’ll ask him for a referral and call you back.”
“Thanks.” Susannah ended the call and laid her phone on the counter.
The garage door opened. Buddy barreled into Mark. He set his brief case and a brown sack on the counter, bent down, and patted Buddy.
Susannah sniffed the air. “Wow. That smells good.”
“I didn’t think you’d have dinner ready this early, so I stopped and grabbed some chicken and salad.”
“How come you’re home so early?”
“I was caught up enough I didn’t feel I needed to stay.”
He grabbed
her and nuzzled her ear. Susannah giggled and squirmed away.
Mark went over to the pantry and looked in. “Do we still have that bottle of wine?”
“I believe so.” She walked over and gently shoved him aside. “Go change. I’ll find the wine and set everything up.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling well enough?” He touched her face near the scar, now hidden beneath her hair.
“I’m fine. Okay, better.”
“Have you decided what you’re going to do about a therapist?”
“Yes, I’ve called Dr. Baum and asked for a referral.”
“Not going to use the one that the last one offered?”
She shook her head. “No. I want a counselor, not a physic scientist.”
“Okay, then why the glum look?”
“The last one didn’t work out too well. How do I know another will?”
Mark gathered her into his arms. “Honey, I know Dr. Baum will know of someone that will be a good fit.” He kissed her hair. “I know this is hard for you, but don’t you realize seeking help is a very brave thing? It takes a lot of courage. Don’t let others’ perceived opinions ruin your chance to heal.”
She nodded and mumbled a halfhearted agreement.
***
Susannah leaned her elbows on the table and watched Rachel take a tray of cookies from the oven and set it on the counter. “Can I help?”
“Pour coffee?”
Susannah nodded, walked over, and pulled mugs down from the cupboard. She filled two mugs and carried them to the table.
Rachel set cookies on two plates. One plate she laid on a tray with two glasses of milk and carried it into the family room. A few minutes later, she was back with the empty tray. She picked up the second plate and set it on the table in front of Susannah.
She sat opposite. “That should keep the cherubs quiet for a few minutes, that and one of their favorite movies. How they can watch the same one over and over is beyond me.”
Susannah laughed and then said. “I don’t know either, but I remember we did the same thing at their age. Drove our parents nuts.”
Rachel smiled. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Susannah took a cookie and bit into it. “Oh wow, Rachel. These are good.”
“The recipe sounded good.” Rachel took one, took a bite, and nodded. “Yeah, I think this one is a do-again.”
“Dr. Baum called with his referral.”
“And?”
“A psychiatrist specializing in victims of abuse.”
“Sounds like a good match.”
“I wasn’t abused, Rachel. I was assaulted.”
“You don’t think abuse victims suffer assaults?”
“Well, I guess you’re right.”
“So, when is your first appointment?”
“This afternoon.”
“I see. Want someone to go with you?”
“I’d love that. Mark offered too. But I’d better just go myself. I am sure I won’t be very good company afterward.”
“No one expects that, Susannah. We just want to help.”
Susannah reached over the table and patted Rachel’s hand. “I know that, and I do appreciate it, but I may need some alone time afterward.”
Rachel nodded. “That I do understand.”
***
Susannah twisted her hands and looked around the small waiting room. It was too small. There wasn’t enough air, not enough light. Was it too late to back out?
The inner office door opened. “Susannah, come in.”
Dr. Sekelsky was younger than she anticipated, somewhere in his early forties, she’d guess. Light brown, tightly curled hair, slender face ― and kind eyes.
“Please, come in.”
Susannah stepped through the door and stopped. Rather than the small room with stuffy, utilitarian furniture she expected, the room was large, with floor to ceiling windows facing a small private garden. Bright light poured through the glass, illuminating the cream-colored leather couch, oversized chairs, oak bookcases, and plants. Mark would like all of the plants.
Dr. Sekelsky motioned for her to sit and closed the door. Susannah perched on the furthest end of the sectional. He took a chair opposite the couch.
“I understand you were assaulted a few months ago after interceding with a child kidnapping, and now you are experiencing nightmares, panic attacks, and other symptoms.”
“Yes.”
Dr. Sekelsky slid his finger down his note pad. “I see your attacker was never arrested.”
“Correct.”
He set his notes aside. “Okay, let’s talk about what happened.”
Susannah grabbed her stomach and fell forward. Her chest hurt. Her skin felt clammy and cold. It was hard to catch her breath.
Dr. Sekelsky waited.
When the panic attack passed, Susannah sat up and dared a glance at him. He looked at her without accusation, or pity, only compassion.
“Susannah, I promise you this. One day you will no longer feel this intense pain. You’ll have the memory, but not the pain.”
She didn’t believe him, but nodded anyway.
“Let me give you an example. Let’s say you are riding your bike along a country road and a car comes along, swings too far onto the shoulder, and hits your bike. You fall and break your arm. The driver doesn’t stop to help. He just drives away, leaving you on the side of the road, hurt, frightened, and angry.
“A year later you drive by the same spot. You remember the accident. You remember how it hurt. You remember how angry you were, but you don’t feel the pain or the anger.”
Susannah offered a weak smile. It would never happen. The terror and the pain would remain forever locked in her heart and memory ― along with the nightmares.
“Now, I have a book I want you to read.” Dr. Sekelsky handed her an oversized, soft covered book, Surviving Sexual Assault and Other Violent Crimes.
“Susannah, all survivors have common reactions ― and issues. Their stories,” he pointed to the book, “will help you sort out your own experiences and feelings.”
She took the book from him. “Thanks.”
“Let’s make an appointment for next week…”
Susannah drove straight home, took the book upstairs, tucked it into the bottom drawer of the dresser, underneath the swimsuit she never planned to wear again, and walked away.
Mark was home early again. This time he brought Chinese.
“I didn’t think you’d feel like cooking after your counseling session. How’d it go?”
Susannah shrugged. “Not bad. Didn’t cover much today, but I go back again next week.”
“Good. Maybe this one will find the magic key.”
“Maybe.”
They watched one of their favorite classic movies while they ate. After picking up the containers and the few dishes, they settled back in the den. Susannah started a new novel, a lighthearted growing of age story set in a time when the world still seemed innocent and safe. Mark read some trade magazines and watched the local news.
At ten o’clock, Susannah could no longer concentrate and set her book down. “I’m going up to bed. Are you staying up a bit?”
Mark nodded. “I’ll finish the news and then I’ll be up.”
She kissed him and went upstairs. Moments later, she was asleep.
***
Once again, Susannah faced the massive creature in her dreams. Tiny pig eyes glared at her. She pressed her back against a solid rock wall and willed an opening to appear. It swung a paw the size of a compact car. She dodged and charged underneath, toward its soft underbelly. With superhuman strength, she grasped the bear around the neck and squeezed.
The monster fought back, raking her back and legs with claws sharp as scalpels. Insensitive to the pain, Susannah increased her pressure on the beast’s throat. The animal weakened. The powerful swipes took less and less of a toll on her flesh. The animal collapsed and lay still.
Susannah opened her eyes, rolled over, and lo
oked at her alarm clock, again three am. She slid from bed, pulled on her robe, and snuck down to the living room. She eyed the furniture and then shook her head. She’d promised Mark she wouldn’t. Instead, she went out onto the back deck, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The shaking stopped. Her heartbeat slowed.
She glanced at the sky. No moon, and coupled with a colder atmosphere, the stars shimmered with an incredible intensity. The tiny lights extended toward infinity, or was it eternity? Would her current state last the rest of her life? Was this the inferno she was told she’d walk through? For what purpose? Children were still being kidnapped and exploited. Her suffering had not diminished those crimes. Brian Falun still walked free, right along with all the other pedophiles. So, what good was all the sacrifices and suffering?
The old Indian appeared beside her. “Starfish, Susannah.”
“Starfish?”
“Yes, remember the story?”
She nodded. “The one about the young boy walking the beach after a storm, tossing starfish back in the ocean. And, a man walked up to him and told him how useless it was. He’d never save them all. But, the boy held up a starfish and said, ‘But, it matters to this one.’”
“Yes, Susannah. Remember, Megan’s, Bobby’s, and little Mary Jane’s, lives matter. Each one, just as your life matters.”
“Does it?”
“Of course it matters, Susannah. Do what is necessary to heal.”
He disappeared.
Heal? And exactly how was she to do that?
She moved back into the house, walked down to the den, and curled into her chair. How did other victims cope? Did they have compulsions to move furniture in the middle of the night? Did they watch old black and white movies until daylight? Did monstrous bears terrorize their dreams?
The book Dr. Sekelsky gave her was supposedly stories about other victims. Maybe it would help.
Susannah crept back into the bedroom and carefully retrieved the book from the drawer. She tiptoed back down to the den, snuggled into her chair, and opened the cover.
You are a survivor, a victim of physical and mental carnage, none of which was your fault.
And Then Came A Lion (Lions and Lambs Book 1) Page 6
