by Judith Price
“I’m okay. Let’s just finish.” Jill said, zombie-like.
“There’s an additional report about the condition of the house they found you in that day. The house would have been condemned if any health inspector had been allowed in. But they found something very disturbing in the main bedroom. Apparently, where your mother and male visitors would sleep ,they found something under the bed. It was a large black cloth suitcase. Inside, was a blanket soiled with urine and feces. Your mother confessed that this was where you slept.” Jill gasped in horror when Erin read, “when she was bad, very, very bad.”
Thirty-seven
Jill rubbed her hands and kneaded her fingers, trying to comprehend what Erin had just read to her. Her jagged nerves made her jump when the phone on Erin’s desk rang. “Excuse me.” Erin stood, walked around the desk, and picked up the phone on the third ring. “Dr. Wildeman.” She sounded annoyed. Erin looked over to Jill and then to the clock on the wall. “Okay, five minutes. It’s all the time I’ve got right now.” She placed the receiver back into its cradle. “I have to leave for five minutes. I’ll be right back. “Erin walked to Jill and placed her hand on Jill’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Jill. I’ll be here for you.” Have some more coffee.” Still holding Jill’s file, she turned and left the room closing the door behind her.
Stunned, Jill stared at the closed door. Her hands held a slight tremor and she knew something was horribly wrong. How could this be a file from her childhood? Jilleda. Jilleda. Something pricked Jill’s memory. Grams. Grams, what is happening? Then she thought of the last thing Erin had told her about her childhood home. Her bed was inside a suitcase. A flash of memory hit her hard. She remembered the house. She remembered that dark, gruesome box, the suitcase. Her house. She remembered being squeezed into it like an accordion. “What …” Jill jumped up and began to pace. Her life was unraveling. Thoughts. Memories began to intrude her consciousness without her permission. As Jill paced—back, forward, back, forward—she felt as if she were being pulled into hell. Then, another memory burst through.
***
Sunrays scorched the stubbly grass where Jill sat, next to the gravel driveway. Little Jilleda picked up a dandelion seed puff and blew on it, attempting to blow the ball into the stale hot air. Her mother had only put on shorts and no shirt, so she could cool off in the makeshift sprinkler. On the porch sat her mother and him. “Father.” He coughed, then took a drag of his cigarette before gulping down more of that smelly drink that looked like apple juice.
“Come on over to see your father, girly girl,” The gruff man growled. He was scary. He was a big man with hair curling on his chest, poking through his sleeveless white undershirt. Even the hair in his armpits was curly. “I said now!” He demanded.
Jill’s mother slapped him on the shoulder and slurred out her words. “Leave that whiny girl alone.” She attempted to stand and almost fell down the stairs before retreating into the house.
“Add some ice this time,” he grumbled in Mary Anne’s direction.
“Shut up!” she sniped back.
His fat head turned and his yellow teeth held his upper lip, stuck on the grunge when he grinned. “Come sit on your father's lap and give me a hug,” he said as he slapped his knee, slurring. Jilleda slowly moved towards him.
He snapped his cigarette in her direction, barely missing the top of her head. He gargled a laugh and began coughing and choking. After a few sputters, his smile changed from that of a drunk hobo to that of a mean man. His right eye narrowed and the side of his mouth crinkled tight, sneering. “Now look what you made me do. You’ve been bad, very, very bad, girly girl. Turn around,” he shouted. Little Jilleda froze. “I said turn around.” She slowly turned around, her back facing him. “Eww-eee, now that’s some cute little ass.” Little Jilleda began to tremble when the ‘father’ snuffed up phlegm and spat. She flinched as the wad flew past her. “Me’s going to have some of that.”
The ‘father’ struggled, attempting to stand just as Mary Anne stumbled out the door. “Quit bothering with the little twit,” she said, handling him a fresh cold drink. “You can have me.” Then she looked over at Little Jilleda. “Now go inside before I take a switch to you, child.”
Little Jilleda turned and looked at them, confused. She didn’t understand why she was a bad girl. As she walked past them a large hand grabbed her butt cheek. She heard him growl, “You’re next, girly girl.” Terrified, she wanted to hide. He was always scary when he was drinking that apple juice. But they were sitting over her hiding spot, under the porch. She ran into her mother’s bedroom and saw her ‘house’. She whimpered and ran into the bathroom. Inside the dingy room was the pale blue porcelain toilet with the cracked plastic seat that pinched her when she sat on it. Across from it was the blue tub overflowing with dirty clothes. She heard them coming in now, banging into the hall walls in her direction. She looked around, then climbed into the bathtub, smothering herself with the clothes, and hid.
“Let me take a leak first,” he gargled phlegm. Jill closed her eyes. They were squeezed so tight, she thought she could make him disappear. Make her disappear. The sound of the toilet seat hitting the lid made her flinch. Soiled clothes that smelled like stale fish made her hold her breath. The sound of the steady stream hitting the water in the toilet bowl changed as he stumbled, sprinkling urine onto the ruddy floor. She heard a sigh, then a zip, and then she heard him turn around and stop. Her body stiffened.
She waited, but nothing happened. Was he still standing there? Was he watching her? She did not know. It wasn’t until she heard the thumping and the moaning screams on the other side of the wall that she knew he was gone. She pulled herself up and lifted her little leg over the side of the tub, grasping the edge with both tiny hands, and went to the only safe place she knew. Under the porch.
***
“Ahhhh,” Jill screeched aloud. Still pacing, she balled her fists, trying to fight the memories that were being pushed back in her consciousness, forcing her to leave life as she had known it, forever.
“No. No. No.” Jill hit the side of her head. Jill’s chest squeezed hard as she tried to breathe. Her heart jumped inside her chest as if it were on a pogo stick. Sweat dripped down her face as fear ripped through her.
***
At the end of the hallway, in the last room on the right, sat Agent Tracy Olsen. Dr. Wildeman entered and closed the door of the small room, behind her.
“How’s the patient?” Agent Olsen meowed like an angry cat.
“There’s some pretty rough information in this file.” Erin elbowed the file tucked under her arm and moved towards the briefing table. The metal chair scraped as she pulled it out, sat down and placed the file on the table.
Tracy pulled an evidence bag out of her brown leather briefcase. Inside was a mirror-framed picture. “It’s McGregor’s mother. It was found in the cave tucked inside a drawer.” Dr. Wildeman studied the delicate Persian cloth underneath the picture. “It has blood splatters. Only trace amounts, but it’s definitely blood. We believe it’s from one of the victims. We’re running it against them all now. There’s a place cut out that’s completely surrounded by blood splatters. By the condition of the walls in his killing cave, it appears the sick fuck would hang this on the wall when he killed his victims. Like a shrine or something.
Agent Olsen continued. “Well, I’ve got the results.” She handed a piece of paper to Dr. Wildeman. The letterhead read, “Kona DNA Labs” in navy blue font. “It confirms my suspicions.” Dr. Wildeman’s jaw clenched as she read the paper. “It’s just a preliminary finding.” Agent Olsen stated. “We’ll get the full report in a few weeks.” Dr. Wildeman looked at Agent Olsen then back to the paper.
“But McGregor’s file has no information about any of this and Jill was told her mother was killed by a drunk driver.” Dr. Wildeman said, confused.
“Which we know is not true, doctor. Jill was taken from her mother at age four because of alleged abuse.”
“Confessed abuse by her mother.” Barked Dr. Wildelman. “She admitted putting a little girl to sleep in a suitcase. She put the little girl in a suitcase and pushed it under the bed.” Dr. Wildeman shook her head down in despair.
“After her grandparents took her off the reservation, there was no need to investigate further. Are there any pictures of Jill’s mother in the file?”
Dr. Wildeman flipped through little Jilleda’s file again. “No. Nothing.”
“Did you read my report, Dr. Wildeman? I sent it over to your office this morning with those sealed files.”
Dr. Wildeman looked at Agent Olsen squarely and said. “No. What report?”
Thirty-eight
Erin opened the door and stopped. She stared at the ball of mess on the couch. Jill sat in the fetal position rocking, staring blankly ahead. Snot dripped onto her upper lip. Erin moved towards her and placed the evidence bag and file onto the coffee table. She sat down beside her and placed her hand on Jill’s shoulder. Jill shuddered at her touch.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, Jill, but knowing the truth is half the battle. Things will start to piece together. And when you come through this, trust me you will, your life will make sense. Things will make sense.” Erin handed a tissue to Jill.
Jill blew hard and nodded. “I just don’t understand why this has happened and why to me?” “It’s not you, Jill, it’s a condition of the brain. Psychogenic amnesia. It’s common when the brain tries to protect itself from impairment caused by trauma. We see this in children of abuse, in soldiers who come out from the war in Iraq—Afghanistan.
“I know this isn’t going to help right now, but it will begin to help you. Twenty percent of the population has been abused at some point. Sexually abused. And all indications from medical examinations in your file suggest that you were not. In some weird way, that doesn’t seem logical. Your mother protected you from that. Although sexual abuse victims need extensive therapy, neglect—especially emotional neglect—can sometimes be worse.” Erin took a breath and continued. “Jill, you are safe now—and as an adult, much more equipped to deal with this type of trauma. I can prescribe you with medication to help you cope, to help you sleep.” Erin looked over at her desk, distracted.
“There has been a great deal of advancement with repressed memories and PTSD. New therapies are available. Usually after repressed memories begin to surface, PTSD can creep in. There are varying degrees of it. It depends on you, Jill, how your level of trauma affects your ability to cope. You will probably never forget what had happened to you, and you may not fully remember everything. But I promise, if you can learn what to do and how to handle these returning memories, then, like I said, that’s fifty percent of the battle to overcome any lingering PTSD symptoms.”
Erin looked again at her desk and then walked towards it. She needed to find the report that Agent Olsen said was delivered with the files and she thought she saw it sitting in her in-box. She needed to confirm what Agent Olsen had told her. After all, it was the most professional thing to do. As she walked towards her desk, she didn’t seem to notice that her leg had brushed against Jill’s files just enough to expose the framed picture inside the evidence bag. She was still consoling Jill as she reached her desk and picked up the unopened file. “I just have to review something,” Then distracted again, she said, “Would you like some water?”
Jill blinked at the picture that had slipped out of the file. Her chest began to tighten and suddenly everything happened in slow motion as she leaned over and picked up the crinkling package. The sound made Erin turn around.
Erin watched as the picture trembled in Jill’s hand. “Jill, I, ah …”
Rage splashed onto Jill’s pink cheeks. “Where did you get this picture?” She barked.
“Jill, I don’t think you are ready …”
“Ready, are you kidding me? Ready for what! You’ve just read to me horrors that happened to Jilleda Doli. Horrors that happened to me. And now you have this picture and you say I’m not ready?”
Erin stole a quick glance at the folder of Jilleda still on the coffee table. Jill snatched the file and opened it. “Jill, I think it’s best I talk to you about this first.” But Jill wasn’t listening. She didn’t care. She was too busy reading the DNA report.
Erin walked over and took the file and report from Jill’s frozen hands. “I wanted to read this file first.” Erin held up the green folder. “I needed to be sure before I told you.”
Jill stammered looking directly into Erin’s eyes, and held up the report. Erin looked forlorn when Jill said, “Matthew McGregor is my half-brother?”
Epilogue
Five Weeks Later
Snow banks surrounded the base of the giant sun room. “Thank you,” Jill said to the woman in white. Her white shoes squeaked on the sterile floor as she nodded, turned, and walked away. Jill picked up the warm cup of chamomile tea and took a sip.
“Beautiful afternoon,” Eric said awkwardly. He stared out the glass walls then looked back, past the red-checkered flannel tablecloth and watched Jill nod. The sleeves of her moss green sweater draped her hands as she took another sip.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Jill said solemnly.
“They’ll extend your leave of absence as accrued vacation time. No one needs to know where you are,” he said glancing around the room. Several tables like theirs sat empty.
“The group?” Jill queried.
“Jen and Malcolm are still fighting over who’s viewing is more accurate. Mitch … well, Mitch is Mitch. He asked if I’d heard from you. I told him you were enjoying your vacation in Banff, Canada.” Looking out the window again, he said, “It is a beautiful place here. And since the facility is outside the US there will be no record of your … ummm, stay.” Eric looked back at Jill. “How are you doing, Jill, really?”
“They keep wanting to give me medication to help me cope better. I’ve refused each time they’ve asked.” Jill took another sip then placed the cup back down. “I have a great doctor though. She’s helped me through the ‘episodes’.” Jill finger-quoted. Eric’s eyes lowered slightly. “Its like getting drop-kicked in the gut each time a new memory surfaces. But I am getting better at deflecting the impact.”
“I knew you’d pull through this, Jill. You are a strong woman and I don’t just mean externally.”
“Yeah, but I can’t take all the credit. My rage outbursts and panic attacks would come and go on a whim. They started using EMDR therapy.” Jill noticed Eric’s glassy look and continued. “Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. It’s used quite a bit with war veterans for PTSD. You’d get a kick out of seeing how it works.” Eric leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table.
“It’s basically moving lights. I follow the lights movements with my eyes only. The doc would ask me questions about my new memories and then she’d start the lights moving again. It seemed that with every pass of the lights, more detailed information about a particular incident would work its way into my consciousness.” Jill leaned back and sighed.
“Like hypnotherapy?” Eric asked.
“I don’t think so … I, I don’t know, maybe.” Jill shrugged. “But I can tell you that my mother was a very nasty, evil person. Some of the things I’ve discovered have been pretty horrifying. But with the therapy,” Jill sounded upbeat, “it’s like the feelings that go along with being abused are somehow replaced by a sense of well-being.” She sighed. “I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s working for me. I haven’t had a panic attack in over a week.”
“Well that’s all that matters, Jill. If you are happy, I am happy.”
“I know it was my choice to come to a facility like this and I am glad I did.” Jill smiled.
“Jake called me yesterday asking about you.”
“He’s out of the hospital?” Jill queried.
“Just.” Eric stated. “I guess thirteen days in a coma could keep a man horizontal for just as long. He was lucky they found him when t
hey did.”
“Thanks to McGregor, you mean.” Jill snapped.
Eric gave Jill a now-now look. “He took the deal, Jill. You can’t blame him. Besides, by sparing McGregor the death penalty for giving up Jake’s whereabouts … well, I am sure Jake was happy about it. Lucky for him that shed was heated, otherwise he would have been found dead.”
“Who would have thought to look in that part of the storage shed?” Jill shook her head playing with the ends of her sleeves.
“He doesn’t remember much after he was hit over the head. I asked him if he thought he might have been moving about in the caves. He didn’t know, but didn’t think he was mobile. And he said he couldn't see.” Eric stated.
“My doctor thinks that I could have imagined it, as it is part of what can happen when repressed memories begin to surface. Paranoia.” Jill said it as if she didn’t believe herself. Then she thought of Matthew McGregor. Her half-brother. She felt the sting of her grandparents’ betrayal for not telling her the truth. That seemed to hurt much deeper than knowing that she had the same blood–evil blood–from her mother. “So, when will it be done?”
Eric gave Jill a puzzled look. “We don’t have television or Internet here.” This was Jill’s main request when looking for a facility. After the leaks to the press that McGregor was her sibling, she needed to cocoon herself from the circus. She’d recalled the headlines too many times. “Sister gets tortured by her unknown half-brother … Victim related to the Iceman … Did Special Agent Oliver really not know him?” It was all too much for her to digest.
“There won’t be a trial now. Just formalities of the paperwork for his guilty plea.” Then Eric reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Enough of McGregor. He’ll be locked up for years. Look, I brought you something.” Eric placed the old leather pouch on the table. Jill looked at it then back at Eric. “I know the reason you checked yourself in here was because of your last viewing session.”
