Stolen

by Jalena Dunphy

  “Forget you? I could never, would never, do that to you. I’ll get you out, just be patient.” Gently freeing himself from my grasp, he tells me he has to go, that he has an appointment with the doctor to talk over my release.

  I want to beg him to stay, not to leave me alone again, but this is my freedom we’re talking about, so I relent, tears pooling in my eyes, tumbling down my cheeks as I hug my arms around myself watching him leave.

  “I’ll be back, Jess. I promise,” he whispers before the door locks behind him.

  He’ll come back for me, I know he will, and until then I’ll wait for him to save me from this place, from the nightmare my life has become. I wish I had never woken from the life I had created; I would take a stalker over this any day. A stalker can have a face, a voice, a scent, something distinguishable; something I could fight if we were to come face to face.

  I can’t fight this hospital. It’s faceless, void of a voice that will argue back with me should I scream at it. Its walls hold me in place. There’s nothing I can do to free myself other than to wait for help from someone on the outside, and I will wait; wait for someone to save me from being trapped in this cage, from being forced to watch myself fade into nothingness. Until then, I’ll sleep. Sleep will cradle me safely from harm, and when I wake, I’ll be free, free from my confines, free from myself.

  A few more days go by before I see Bruce again, a few more visits with the good doctor, a few more meals eaten with plastic cutlery, a few more days in Hell. When there’s a knock on the door at noon I know it’s lunchtime. “Come in,” I answer irritably. I hate meal times.

  “You don’t have to sound so happy to see me.” A male voice says.

  “Bruce? Oh my God, Bruce, you’re here! You came back!” I scream as I jump from my bed and into his arms.

  ” I told you I would. Did you really not believe me?”

  He seems upset, but can he blame me? I haven’t seen anyone else since I learned where I was, which has made the fear of being forgotten quite real.

  “I’m sorry. I know you said you’d be back, but I can’t help that I was afraid you wouldn’t.” I admit.

  “Well, I’m here now, and I have some news. Can we talk a sec?” he asks calmly after situating himself in the uncomfortable green chair in the corner of my cell, I mean, room.

  “Of course, Bruce. What have you heard?” The rise in pitch of my voice gives away my hopefulness.

  “I’ve spoken to the doctor,” he pauses for dramatic effect, all the more to amp me up, I think, “and . . . they said they will sign your release forms!” he says excitedly.

  “Really? You’re not messing with me, are you, Bruce, because that would be so cruel of you!”

  “I swear I’m not. They are drawing up the papers as we speak. You should be out of here within the hour.”

  It takes a moment for the reality of his words to sink in. When they do I sprint from my bed to where Bruce is in the chair, bounding on his lap like a lost puppy finding its owner.

  “I knew you’d be happy, but be careful, I’m liable to break with all your weight on me like this,” he teases me after playfully pinching my side.

  “What are you saying, that I’m fat?” I ask after punching him in the gut.

  Stifling a grin, he reassures me that I am not fat, that he was kidding, and to go easy next time on his gut. Rubbing his stomach in an exaggerated manner, as if I really hurt him. He tells me to put down my boxing gloves and get packed up because we are out of here!

  Jumping off his lap, I search the small closet for some street clothes, finding the essentials—a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and some ballet flats. “Can you step out a sec so I can change?” I ask hurriedly not wanting to waste any time.

  “Of course. Just knock on the door when you’re ready,” he says as he’s halfway to the door.

  “Hey, Bruce?” I call for him before he leaves the small room, the room that is no longer my room. Thank the Cosmos for that gift.

  “What’s up, Jess?”

  Throwing myself into his arms, I give him the tightest hug I’ve ever given anybody. He has to know how happy I am and how much I appreciate what he has done for me. Afterward, I push him into the hallway so I can get dressed. He seems slightly taken aback by my show of emotion, but leaves without questioning it.

  “You all set?” he asks after opening the door to my knock.

  “Um, yeah! I’ve been set to go since I woke up in this hellhole!” Laughing at my enthusiasm, he tugs me along the long hallway, giving my hand a comforting squeeze before we step out into the mid-day sunshine.

  Barely a foot outside the main entrance, I freeze, taking in the feel of the sun on my skin. I must look like a drowning girl who just came upon the shore, able to breathe comfortably once more.

  The door swishes closed behind us, breaking me from my trance. “Sorry. We can go now.”

  Bruce pulls on my hand when I start to walk away. “No need to be sorry.” He reassures me. “Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Thanks, but really, I’m ready to go.”

  “You sure?” His brows furrow with concern, as if he’s afraid he’s rushing me.

  “Stop worrying so much,” I say while pulling his hand to get his feet moving. “Let’s get as far from here as humanly possible. You wouldn’t by chance have a private jet that could take us to Paris or something, do you? I’m serious when I say I want to get as far away as possible!” I drag the words out, affirming the seriousness of them.

  “Sorry, I don’t, but I do have an SUV with a full tank of gas and tinted windows to hide you from the world. I would say that’s even better than a jet, what with the possibility of air sickness and all,” he exclaims with a shrug and a wink.

  “Ya know, you are absolutely right. Who needs the hassle of air travel when you have the option of staying on good ole planet earth?”

  “Well, damn, I was going to suggest a trip on a space shuttle since I happen to be good buddies with an astronaut, but if you’re good with your feet staying planted to this boring ole planet instead of propelling through space . . .”

  “Shut up!” I yell. “You do not have the ability to get us into space; even if you did, I wouldn’t go with you.”

  “Wait? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks curiously.

  “You would hog up the whole space ship. If I’m going to space, I don’t want to get stuck sharing a small space with a big old goon like you!” Clutching my stomach, I bend at the knees trying desperately to calm the laughter almost violently overtaking me. Damn it feels good to laugh. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever laugh like this again.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he says with a shake of his head. “Now get into the car before I make you walk home.”

  Those are the magic words to calm me down. I refuse to be left here or to have to walk all the way home, although I would if that’s what it took to be free from this place.

  “So where are we headed?” I ask after I notice he drove past the street that would take us to my house.

  “There’s a place I want to take you before I take you home. Is that okay with you?” he asks nervously. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden?

  “I don’t care where you take me, so long as it isn’t anywhere near the loony bin.”

  The drive is quiet, but with Bruce, that’s okay. I thought when I was released into the real world I’d want as much noise as possible after being locked up all day with nothing but the sounds in my head, but this is calming. Everything with Bruce is always so calming.

  Twenty minutes go by before Bruce makes a left turn onto a gravel road. I don’t see anything for a few moments until there are fewer trees lining the road and the view of a park and just beyond that a pond come in to focus. There isn’t anyone around that I can see. It’s beautiful here.

  “This is amazing, Bruce. Where are we?” I ask curiously.

  “You don’t recognize it?” he asks with concern
.

  I think about it for a minute before responding to his question. “It seems vaguely familiar,” I answer as I look out at the pond, “but I can’t remember ever being here, so I don’t know how that would be possible.”

  Turning my attention from the view of the pond past the windshield toward Bruce, I see a sadness in his eyes unlike I’ve ever seen on anyone before. “Why do you look so sad, Bruce?”

  Evading my question he tells me to follow him, that he wants to talk to me, but that it would be better down by the water. I follow nervously, having no doubts that I’m not going to like this talk.

  “Do you remember anything after Cass’s funeral, or I guess I should say what you thought was Rogan’s funeral?” He corrects himself.

  There’s a lump in my throat that I can’t speak past so I shake my head instead.

  “I picked you up from the church, and I brought you here, hoping it would calm you down.” He pauses to let me process what he’s just said, but it’s useless. I don’t remember any of that, which must be what my face is portraying based on his disappointed expression.

  “You stripped out of your clothes,” he continues on with a story that feels like it’s about someone else, “jumping into the pond, swimming for what felt like hours. I sat right here on the shore waiting for you, waiting for when you’d be ready to talk about what happened, but you just kept on swimming.” His voice drops low, sounding as if he might cry, as if this story pains him deeply to recollect.

  “I’m sorry, Bruce. I don’t remember any of this,” I admit, though I wish I could say otherwise if only to relieve his suffering.

  With sympathy in his eyes he reaches for my hand, holding it gently between his own. Whether reassuring me or him, I can’t tell, but I don’t pull away because I need all the reassurance I can get right now. Why is this so hard for him to talk about, to tell me about?

  “I was about to come into the water and drag you out, you had been out there far too long. That’s when I realized I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t spot you anywhere. I ran up and down this shoreline screaming your name, but you weren’t responding. I don’t know how I lost you. Maybe if I had been paying better attention, if I had just been watching you closer . . .” his voice trails off, his hand holding tighter to mine.

  “What happened, Bruce?” I ask in a whisper, not really wanting to know the answer.

  “You—you . . . I—I tried to find you, you have to believe me. I did everything I could to find you.” His voice is panicked. He’s sobbing.

  “Bruce, please, just tell me what happened. It’s okay, I’m here now.” I reassure him the best I can.

  After a few deep breaths he tries to continue, but his words come out mumbled from the sobs choking him. The few I can make out say it all . . . drowning, suicide, almost couldn’t bring me back, breakdown.

  I feel empty as I stare down at a hunched over sobbing Bruce. A man I’ve known as being the strongest person in my world has been made weak by me, by the actions I had taken. I tried to commit suicide? I can’t believe that. I’d never do that or at least I thought I never would. So that is what led me to the hospital, led me to create a life filled with guilt, pain, suffering and unbearable loneliness?

  “Did I die?” I ask calmly, though tears are flowing freely down my cheeks.

  “Yes, but I brought you back. I’m so sorry, Jess. I knew you were upset, but I didn’t realize the extent of it. I never should have let you go out alone. This is my fault, all my fault,” he cries.

  Pulling strength from someplace I didn’t know existed, I comfort him the best I can. “Bruce, I don’t remember any of this, and to be honest I hope I never do, but what I do remember is waking up safe and protected. I’m alive because of you. You took care of me, you got me the help I needed. You have nothing to feel guilty about or to apologize for, I should be the one apologizing. I can’t believe I’d do that.” My words trail off as if they are as exhausted as I suddenly am.

  Light is beginning to fade, the air is getting cool, and the cicadas are starting up their tune. No words have been spoke aloud these past few hours between Bruce and me yet my mind has been anything but silent. Question after unanswered question go unasked. I don’t know if I’m ready for the answers, but I know I can’t live in a delusional world any longer. It’s time to wake up for good.

  I can’t be sure who suggested going back to the SUV, but we’re here now, the interior light switched to a steady ‘on’ as the night surrounding us grows darker.

  Life is happening right now, not life in the hospital or a life I created in my mind, but real life, my life, and I’m living it because of the man sitting in front of me and yet he carries so much blame for the choices I’ve made. I have to make him understand this isn’t his fault. “Bruce, look at me, please.” I beg.

  Finally, his eyes heavy with grief, stare unwaveringly into my own, causing a shiver to run up my spine for the briefest of moments. I can handle this. I have to handle this. I silently remind myself in an attempt to control the emotions his eyes are inflicting upon me.

  The old me might have run instead of enduring this pain, but the new me plans to be stronger than the girl I used to be, if not for my sake than for all those around me who’ve had to endure pain because of me and the choices I’ve made.

  I swallow down the panic rising up my throat, summoning the Cosmos to help me get through this day, before I attempt to say what I need to say. “Bruce, I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin, but first I want you to know that I don’t blame you. Please don’t carry that guilt with you. I know what it’s like to feel guilty for something that was out of your control. These past few weeks have enlightened me on the drastic measures we as human beings will sometimes take to ease our guilt.

  “My guilt led me down a road I wouldn’t wish anyone to travel, especially not you, but I fear that’s exactly what’s happening. You’re letting this guilt eat you alive. I’m going to be fine, Bruce. It’ll take time, of course, but I’ll get there, so please, let it go, let the pain go, for me.”

  I’ve said all I can say. He has to decide if he’s going to listen to me or not. I can’t force that on him, just like no one could force me to face my own truths. I see a barely perceptible nod as he turns his eyes back to the pond in front of us. I suppose that is enough of an answer for me, for tonight at least. He and I have a long journey ahead of us if either of us ever wants to be right in the head again.

  “You have questions?” he asks a few minutes later. I feel bad making him relive what has obviously been a painful time in his life, but I do have questions. Lots and lots of questions.

  “I do.” I answer honestly. “Can I ask them? Are you ready to answer them?” Please say yes. Please say yes. I need these answers like I need the air I’m breathing. I silently beg.

  “I’ll answer as many questions as I can,” he says, though I can clearly see he wishes he didn’t have to. Maybe he thought he could bring me here and I’d remember it without any help from him. Maybe he was hoping for that. I hate making him suffer, but I need the answers my brain doesn’t seem willing to reveal to me.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I contemplate my first question. “Is Cass really dead, and is Rogan really alive?”

  “Yes, and yes. Cass went home with Luke the day he was killed, but you couldn’t process that, which is what eventually led to your breakdown.”

  “How did it happen? Do you think she suffered?” I choke on the words, the thought of Cass in pain too much to handle.

  “When I found Cass, her body was lying over Luke’s, as if she had tried to protect him from being shot. She was shot in the back, but I think it was fast. So, no, I don’t think she suffered. She was a good person. You should be proud of her,” he says softly.

  I know she was a good person, the best person I knew, that’s why this is so wrong. She shouldn’t be dead. “Wait a minute,” I say as I process his comment that he’d been at the scene. “You were there?”


  “Yes,” he says disappointedly, obviously upset that I can’t remember. “That was how I got involved in the case. After I broke the news to your mom, she came with Rogan to the station so I could get a report from him about what had happened that day with Luke and his uncle and anything else he might know.

  “After I spoke with him your mom asked if I could tell you about your sister, she said she didn’t think she had the strength to do it, especially since she knew you would take it hard.

  “I came to your house that same day, and when I told you . . . well, suffice it to say, you didn’t take it well. You stormed out of the house. Rogan texted your mom that you were with him, so we waited for you to return, hoping you would feel like talking, but when you came home, you went to your room and stayed there until Cass’s funeral.

  “Your mom tried to get you out of bed, I tried, Rogan tried, your friends came over, and they tried, but you wouldn’t listen. You were inconsolable. The day of the funeral was the day everything happened. I picked you up outside the church after you . . . well, after . . . after . . .”

  “After I ruined my sister’s funeral, and broke down like the nut job that I am?” I finish for him.

  “You were going through a lot, and your mind just wasn’t capable of handling it all.” He tries to comfort me.

  “I appreciate you trying to make me feel less crazy than I really am, but let’s face it, I’m as fruity as a fruitcake and hated just as much.”

  “Hey! No! I will not let you do that! No one hates you, no one blames you, and no one thinks you’re crazy. We all cope in our own ways, yours is just a bit more eccentric,” he says with a smile.

  “Thanks a lot, jerk.” I scold, but feel slightly better after hearing his words.

  “I brought you here that day.” His tone is serious once more as he continues with the sad story that is my life. “When we got here I thought we’d talk, that maybe I could calm you down, but you stripped out of your clothes and dove into the water. I followed you, and waited. That’s when it happened.