by Liz Coley
I think he started breathing again. “So you’ll be a sister.”
“Yeah. But Mom’s so old, everyone’s going to think the baby is my accident, at least everyone who doesn’t know us.”
“Oh. Uh.” He fished around for a reply and apparently gave up.
It was painfully quiet for a moment while both of us wondered how to go on from here. I had an opening to tell him what I wanted to tell him, but I just couldn’t do it to his face. I lay down on a sofa with my head on the armrest, staring at the grain in the redwood planks high above my head.
My voice quivered just a touch. “See, I have a lot of unexplained time to account for.”
I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.
“You were missing,” he said. “I know. Your parents were still here in town. I told you I read all the old newspaper articles and YouTubed all the news reports.”
Right. “When I first got back, I couldn’t remember anything. Not a single thing.”
“How … awkward,” he offered.
“Totally. But I do remember some of it now,” I said, fixing my gaze on the faraway ceiling. “The truth is, I was kidnapped.” I held up my scarred wrists. “And I was obviously held captive, at least for a while.”
“Stockholm syndrome?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
“When the captive eventually identifies with the captor and doesn’t try to leave.”
I wrenched the silver wedding ring off my finger. It wasn’t that I wanted to honor that lie, but somehow I still needed to see it on my hand. Maybe Abraim was right—it was a syndrome. “Read this,” I said. “It’s so creepy.”
Abraim was silent.
Crap. It was too much, too weird, too soon. Yes, Abraim was very silent.
So was I, while I waited for him to get up and leave and never speak to me again.
But he didn’t. He came over and kissed me upside down, leaning over the couch. His eyes were moist. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
“Oh. I think so. Yeah.” My eyes went all swimmy too. His tenderness touched me deep in the center of my fast-beating heart.
He knelt next to me so he could see me better, his hand cradling my cheek. “How did you not go crazy? How did you survive? How did you not kill yourself? You must have the strongest will to live.”
My mouth crumpled a little. Did I dare tell him? Now?
While I searched for the right words, the music swelled in a particularly emotional way, and the next thing I knew, Abraim had slipped both arms around me and tugged me into a fierce hold against his chest. His voice crackled. “I wish I could have saved you. I wish I had known where to look.”
“No one did,” I whispered. “But thank you.” My arms went around him, too, and then we were surrounded by music and soft leather, and he was kissing me, and I was kissing him. And the wonder of it was that it felt new and good. I felt like I’d never been kissed before, except by this sweet, gentle, protective guy who wanted me even though he knew how damaged I must be.
Tears of happiness trickled from the corners of my eyes. He tasted the saltiness and sat up with a questioning look on his face. “What?” he asked. “I’m sorry. Too much?”
I smiled and wiped my eyes, which kept on streaming anyway. “I’m just so happy, so lucky,” I said. “You’re too good to be true. I’m afraid of waking up.”
He flushed, with a pleased grin, and I pulled his head down to mine to demand more happiness, more luck. Time evaporated as we explored the curves of each other’s lips, cheeks, throats with soft kisses.
The mantel clock chimed eleven, and he pulled apart from me. “Oh dear. So late. I should probably go before your employers return, because, Angie, if you look at me like that for much longer, I’ll have to kiss you again and again, and I am afraid of what they might walk in to see.”
“Oh. Our date … I’m sorry.”
“Now you’re the nitwit,” he said. “I wouldn’t trade tonight for a movie and popcorn. Are you kidding? But how about tomorrow we get together for pizza and maybe something weird, like bowling?”
“I bowl about a ninety-five, at least I used to,” I warned him. I wrenched myself out of the groove I’d worn into the couch.
“Uh-oh. If you’re that good, I’m in trouble.”
I refrained from pointing out that I was that bad. “You want to pick me up at six?”
“Delighted to,” he said. As we walked to the door, he had an arm around my waist. His jacket hung on the coat-rack, and after he shrugged into it, he leaned over me and gathered me into his arms again for one more good-night kiss. Somehow, it lasted until the clock chimed eleven fifteen, at which point, I was dizzy and breathless.
I watched him drive off before going in to check on Sam. He’d rolled onto his back and thrown off all his covers. I tucked him in, smoothing the binding of his plaid blankie between my fingers. The silkiness was hypnotic, and I watched him breathe his baby breaths in and out, the rise and fall of his tiny chest.
The sound of the garage opening startled me, and I hurried back to the kitchen to greet the Harrises.
“Oh, Angie,” Mrs. Harris said. “I so apologize for how late it is. The night just got away from us.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “We had a big night here. Sam took his first real walking steps.”
“Oh! Wonderful!” She gave me a hug. “How fun for you. Did you hear that, dear?” she called as Dr. Harris came in from the garage. “Our little guy is up and running.”
“Hey, hey, hey!” he cheered, giving Mrs. Harris a hug. “I can’t wait to see him in the morning. TG it’s Saturday tomorrow. Shall I walk you home? Did Ginny tell you? We were having so much fun dancing to the moldy oldies, the time just got away from us.”
The clock chimed one in the morning like an exclamation point on his apology.
One? Wow. Somehow the time had gotten away from me, too. Had I actually fallen asleep on my feet by the crib side?
Saturday morning was supposed to be a day of sleeping in, waking up refreshed. But when Mom came and woke me for the third time at two thirty, my eyes still felt like they’d been sandpapered. I didn’t drag my butt out of bed until she threatened no late babysitting ever again if I couldn’t handle it. Considering the crisp new hundred-dollar bill in my wallet (double time after midnight, Dr. Harris explained, as he’d pressed the overpayment on me), I wanted to prove I could handle it. Besides, I’d been asleep for more than twelve hours. I should be bouncing out of bed.
I greeted the afternoon by opening my curtains. I had to push my rocker aside to reach, and my stomach flipped as it dawned on me—the rocker had moved. In the night. On its own. The blanket that usually sat folded on it was rolled into a tight sausage-shaped bundle. Deep tread grooves were worn in the carpet. I touched the seat, and to my horror, it was still warm.
Holy crap. The mad rocker. She wasn’t one of the others. She was her own person. And she was still with me.
POSSESSION
YESTERDAY LYNN AND I HAD TALKED ABOUT CUTTING BACK to one day a week, both of us thinking that most of the hard work was behind us. Guess we were wrong. Way wrong. I needed her now.
My heart pounded with the realization that as exhausted as I was, as heavily as I should have slept, the mad rocker still had the power to wake up my body and take over. And that was unacceptable.
Mom called again from the top of the stairs. “Are you actually out of bed, at long last?”
“Yes. Down in a minute,” I grouched.
“You said that last time.”
“I’m up!” I yelled.
“Dad’s out in the garden, cutting back the roses. Maybe you could help him,” she called. Like that would make me enthusiastic about getting out of bed. “It’s a beautiful day,” she added in a singy way.
Maybe for her. She was still on an emotional high from yesterday. But not for me—everything had shattered overnight. I had to consult with Lynn, privately, where Mom couldn’t overhear. Between Dad, the baby, and Chri
stmas, she had enough on her mind. Telling her I wasn’t as well as we thought I was—No. Not yet.
So when she retreated to the kitchen, I grabbed the upstairs phone from Dad’s den. Safely behind closed doors, I called Lynn’s emergency patient contact number.
She answered immediately. “Is this Angie?” Right. Caller ID.
“Hey, Lynn. I have some news.” My voice came out soft and strained. “Remember the trouble I used to have with the mad rocker?” It was a rhetorical question, but I waited anyway.
“Sure I do, Angie. Of course.”
“And remember how none of the alters ever confessed to doing it, even though we were pretty sure it was Girl Scout? Well, guess what?”
“It wasn’t,” she said. “Of course.”
“Bingo. It wasn’t. Because it’s someone else. I lost time again, Lynn. Last night. I lost almost two hours—and that’s just when I was awake. She stole my whole night’s sleep. I don’t know what to do.”
Lynn’s soothing voice had just as much effect over the phone. “We can deal with this. It’s going to be okay, Angie. Don’t panic. Do you need to see me before our regular time? Can your Mom drive you in for an extra session? Today? I can meet you any time. The only thing I had planned was Christmas shopping, and, of course, that can wait.”
“I’ll check. Can you hang on?”
I ran downstairs, trying to think of a reasonable excuse to tell Mom why I needed an emergency session. Inspiration struck on the landing, so by the time I got to the kitchen, I was ready. “Mom, can you please take me in to see Dr. Grant? I had an awful nightmare last night. That’s why I didn’t sleep well. It brought up all sorts of scary thoughts, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“You poor thing,” Mom said. “Of course.”
We hopped into the car half an hour later, my hair dripping wet from the shower. I could tell she wanted to ask me more about the dream, so I made up a story about being stuck inside a cocoon with the air running out. My chest did feel tight and breathless with anxiety. That much was true.
“Haunted!” I told Lynn. “That’s how I feel. I’m an old house with a spirit still rattling around in the attic.”
She gave me a gentle and sympathetic smile, her specialty. “Any clues at all?”
I wracked all the corners of my brain. Spit it out, I told myself. No more secrets. But the memories I’d absorbed didn’t cover this. If there was another alter, Girl Scout and Tattletale didn’t know her. The literal doorway of communication Girl Scout used to share with Little Wife convinced me that Little Wife hadn’t known about her either, although come to think of it, Little Wife had mentioned being sent away and replaced for some time. That was suspicious. Very suspicious, because now I knew Girl Scout wasn’t the one who replaced her. How did I know? Because I held no memories at all of that time.
And Angel—he’d said something weird. What was it? Called forth by one of the other alters, he said, when the man did something so unforgivable. Which led me to ask, what could be more unforgivable than what he’d already done to me?
I knuckled my eyes till swirly patterns covered the insides of my eyelids. I reached and explored inside, while Lynn waited patiently. At last, I found the wisp of a possibility. “The Lonely One—that’s all I know,” I told her. “Angel said he was called forth by the Lonely One. I didn’t hear it with capital letters when he said it, though. I guess I just thought he meant one of the others. Little Wife, I guess, since she complained when the man left her alone.” I pictured his beautiful face and gleaming whiteness. A lump rose in my throat. There was only silence where his presence used to be. The emptiness turned my stomach queasy. “It’s too late, Lynn. We can’t ask him. He’s totally gone.”
I flumped over my knees and hugged them, feeling small and weak without him. “We screwed up.” Tears dribbled onto the carpet.
Lynn patted my back in a sort of maternal way, but more awkward. “I’m sorry, Angie. I thought we were doing the right thing. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the heart of this, one way or another. It’ll just take more time without Angel’s help. Do you want to try a hypnosis session?”
“Maybe Monday. Can we just talk?” I asked. “I really, really don’t want to go away from my head right now.”
So we talked about whether I missed Little Wife and Angel. And I suppose from the amount of tears that ended up on my sleeves, the answer was yes.
Kate caught up with me right after my Earth Science exam. “You look horrible,” she said, in the way only a best friend can. “Trouble in paradise?” She motioned with her head to where the guys were exchanging one set of books for another at their lockers.
“What? Abraim? Trouble? No. He’s great. That’s great. We’re great,” I stuttered. “We saw each other twice this weekend.”
“Make any progress?” She elbowed me with a wink.
I blushed, remembering the feel of his warm hands on the small of my back, darting under my sweater to explore as we kissed good night. I could still imagine every fingertip tracing gentle circles.
Kate took one look at my expression and snorted a laugh. “Never mind. You already answered.” She glanced back to see the twins heading our way. “Is that why you look so exhausted? Too much loooove?”
“I wish,” I whispered next to her ear. “The mad rocker is back.” She’d spent all Saturday and Sunday night dragging me out of bed, torturing my body, which should have been in bed resting up for exams.
“What? I thought that was all taken care of.”
“Me too.” I couldn’t help heaving my shoulders dramatically. “But no. Apparently, my demons from the past aren’t done with me. I’m still possessed.”
“Wow, that sucks. I wish there was something I could do to help.” She gave me a helpless, sad smile. “Maybe we could go running later? That always clears my head. I mean … oh, how stupid. I didn’t mean—”
If only it were that easy. “Shush. The guys.” I waved her to silence before they were close enough to hear.
Ali planted a kiss on Kate, regardless of the PDA rules. Abraim raised his eyebrows at me, kissing me only with the light in his eyes, but I felt my lips tingle, all the same.
“How was your exam this morning?” he asked.
“Easy,” I replied. “Hardly interesting enough to keep me awake.” A huge yawn burst from my mouth. “Thank God I’m done for today. Two harder exams tomorrow, though. World Civ and English. I’ve got pages of vocab to review.”
“Need a ride home?” Ali asked. “We’re done too. We could take you.”
I glanced at the hall clock. “My mom’s picking me up in an hour. I’ve got somewhere to go.”
Kate patted my arm and made meaningful eye contact. “Have to exorcise?”
My chest clenched, and for a moment, it felt like I was having a heart attack. “Ah.” I gasped in pain. My vision started to darken. My head swam. My knees buckled.
Kate’s grip tightened, holding me up. “Ange, what’s the matter?”
Abraim’s arm came around me from the other side. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Don’t let me hit the floor if I faint,” I muttered to him. He held me tight against his chest while I caught my breath, concentrated on holding on to myself. The pain vanished as suddenly as it had struck. My eyes refocused on the worried faces of Ali and Kate.
“Whoa, that was weird. Sorry, guys. I just got a muscle cramp and couldn’t catch my breath.” Sort of.
The boys threw me alarmed and sympathetic looks, and Kate dived into her purse for an ibuprofen. That was fine. I let the misunderstanding go. A chest cramp would be much harder to talk my way out of, and anyway, it had stopped.
My friend cluster insisted on driving me straight home, and Abraim pressed my hand quietly in the backseat. His dark eyes told me he still had questions for me but wouldn’t bring them up in front of his brother. Before I got out of the car, he pulled me tight and kissed me on the lips, the first time he’d done that in front of anyone else. “Call me
later,” he insisted. “When you’re back from the gym. I need to be sure you really are okay.”
Mom took her usual seat in Lynn’s waiting room and picked up a magazine she had read cover to cover several times already. For God’s sake, the woman worked in a library. She could have brought a new book to pass the time. Then again, she probably couldn’t concentrate anyway, sitting out there wondering what went on in the room. Lynn was sworn to secrecy, and I wasn’t volunteering details, even though most of Mom’s salary went to paying for my therapy.
“I have a plan,” I announced to Lynn. I plopped down on the couch. “All you have to do is get me started.”
We’d done so much hypnosis and guided imagery that it was ridiculously easy for me to lose the office and slip into my head, into the special place where I’d met my alters. Lonely One must be nearby, and I suspected the one logical place to look for her.
I took myself back to the cabin porch, the sunny blue and yellow porch, which looked undisturbed. But the door, the door that only Angel could use, was cracked an inch. I’d never seen it left open before.
Cobwebs spun across the opening wavered in the morning breeze. My hand reached up and pulled the doorknob. The door swung outward with a creak and a crash against the cabin. There was motion inside. A shaft of sunlight pierced the interior darkness, lighting up a hunched figure in the middle of the space. A rhythmic sound reached my ears—rocking, rocking. Runners on a hardwood floor.
I stepped into the gloom. A low oil lamp burned on the floor in the corner, casting a long, flickering shadow on the far wall.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice hardly above a whisper.
Her head unbent. Our eyes met, at last. So this was the Lonely One, my mad rocker. Tears stained her cheeks. Her face was my face, twin of the one that greeted me in the morning, but yellowed by the weak flame.
She held a bundle in her arms and raised it toward me. Did she want me to have it? I moved a step forward, took the soft bundle. A blanket. An empty blue-and-white-checked blanket. Strangely familiar. It collapsed in my hands and fell to the floor.
“Who are you?” she sobbed in an echo of my voice. “Where’s my Angel?”
