by Drake, J. L.
“Lots.”
He nods, scribbling on his tablet again. “Could you name one thing?”
“Scoot.” This makes him laugh.
“Good old Scoot. I swear that cat runs this house. What is it that you like about him?”
I study the doctor for a moment trying to figure out where this psychobabble might be going.
“He is what he is.”
“It’s true, animals don’t judge like people do. They’re trustworthy, loyal companions,” he tilts his head to the right. “Were there any animals where you were held?”
The hair on my neck stands up.
“I’m thinking something that might have brought you comfort?”
“No,” I shoot back quickly, remembering wanting desperately for someone to talk to, someone to trust, someone to be my friend, hell someone or something to love.
“Okay.” Resting his head on his hand, he watches me.
I see his chest rise and fall heavily.
His lips press together before he speaks. “Can you tell me about the night you were taken?”
I hear a door slam shut in my brain.
“Time’s up, Doc,” I say, jumping to my feet. I can’t go there, I don’t want to.
He stands too, placing his tablet on his chair.
“Savannah,” he says.
I stop mid-step to the door.
“I’ve been doing this for thirty years. I’ve seen a lot of patients and heard a lot of stories. You need my help or this will destroy you. If you leave now you’ll be looking over your shoulder going mad waiting for those monsters to take you, that’s no way to live. Take Logan’s offer, stay and be safe, take back your life. Only you can make that choice but you have to want to fight. Don’t let them win.”
I wipe my wet cheeks. His words cut me—everything he says is true and I know it.
“Just think about it.” He opens the door for me.
I walk out and make it to a nearby bathroom where I manage to pull myself together. Looking at my red, glossy eyes in the mirror I know what I have to do. I fuss with my off-the-shoulder green sweater, making it hang correctly over my leggings. It’s funny how my obsessive need to fix myself in case I am being watched by the media comes right back to me. I wonder what else would surface over time.
Chapter Four
Okay, okay, you can do this. I bite my lip and knock on the wooden door, waiting for the command to enter. It comes after a moment and I slide my hand into the sword handle, squeeze and push. Logan is sitting on the couch leaning over the table looking intently at his laptop. I stand, holding onto the door for support. I’m not sure how to even start this conversation.
“Logan?” I whisper.
His head flips up and when he sees me his eyes go wide and soften.
“May I have a word with you?”
His smile runs along his lips as he closes his laptop.
“Of course, Savannah, come in, take a seat.” He points to the couch in front of him. “How was your appointment with Doctor Roberts?”
“Interesting.”
“I can see that. Have you made your decision on whether you want to stay or go home?”
I let out a long breath, okay here it goes, “I-I think I’d like to stay.”
His face speaks volumes though I’m not sure why he cares so much. What am I to him but some head case?
“That’s a smart idea Savannah.” He moves over to his filing cabinet pulling out some paperwork which he places front of me. “Like I said before, if you wish to stay you’ll need to sign a few waivers, an NDA, ahh that is a non-disclosure agreement.”
I nod, glancing at the papers.
“This is a document stating that while you’re here and after you leave you will never give up the location of this house. You’ll never discuss why you’re here with anyone outside of this house. If you leave the property you’ll have an escort with you at all times, that’s for your own protection as well as ours, Savannah, someone could be following you and you could lead them right back to us. Know that you can leave at any time but there’s no coming back—we will not protect you a second time. Do you think you can handle all this, being under this much protection? This many rules? You will be totally isolated from your past life.”
“I’ve already lost seven months of my life to those bastards, if this is what it takes to gain back my life then so be it.”
I read everything carefully, making sure I understand every word. “Pen please.” He hands me one from his breast pocket and I stroke the pen over the black line—Savannah Miller.
He holds out his hand. “Welcome to our house.”
I slip my hand in his noting how small mine was to his.
Something flickers over his face and slowly he pulls away leaning back.
I hop to my feet, not wanting to take up any more of his time plus I need to get some air, I feel like I just signed my life away.
I pause at the door. “Thank you, Logan, for saving me.”
His smile reaches his eyes. “It was my pleasure, Savannah.”
***
I find Abigail waist deep in laundry. She looks beyond stressed and at the same time has a few of the guys asking her a million and one questions, so I leave her be. She doesn’t need to babysit me. I am familiar enough with the house and grounds now to be somewhat comfortable. I walk down to the lake and around the shore—it is becoming one of my most favorite places. Everything is so quiet. Not ‘empty’ quiet the way my prison was; this is different, it’s a comfortable, peaceful place. I don’t feel as lonely because of all the wonderful soft sounds that surround me. Funny how this kind of quiet isn’t really quiet at all. Plus knowing that there are men hidden in trees all around brings a sense of comfort. I miss my father terribly and I miss Lynn even more—I even miss my job but I think living in constant fear would have destroyed me more than the prison would have. Yes, the decision to stay is the right choice for me, at least I hope.
***
Poor Abigail was still pumping out laundry when I returned several hours later. She looked exhausted so I decided to help her out.
I make my way into the kitchen and open the freezer pulling out a mountain of steaks. I look at the calendar that Abigail referred to every night and see that there will be fifteen attending tonight’s dinner. I set out the meat to thaw while prepping the toppings. I wrap large potatoes in tin foil and chop enough carrots to feed a small army. I cut the bottoms off the asparagus and drizzle oil, salt, and pepper over top. While the oven heats I peel and chop apples, tossing them into three large casserole dishes with cinnamon, sugar, and a little butter, putting an oat crumble over top.
It shouldn’t surprise me that the BBQ is so huge—what isn’t huge around here? But nonetheless it is very intimidating to light. I manage to fire it up finally and start the potatoes without setting the house on fire.
Within an hour the kitchen starts to smell lovely. I pull out the three apple crisps, setting them aside to cool.
“What is that smell?” I hear someone yell which is followed by heavy footsteps. “Good God, my mouth is actually watering!” Mark Lopez, the guy from last night comes around the corner. “Hello Savi.” He grins looking around. “Are you cooking? Please tell me what the heavenly smell is.” He takes a seat on a stool opposite me at the island.
“Apple crisp.” I point to the desserts on the counter.
“Well fuck me sideways…she speaks.” He raises a playful eyebrow.
“She does,” I shoot back with a smirk. He cracks me up.
“Yes, yes, I’ll think of something maybe I’ll order a pizza—” Abigail stops short when she enters the kitchen, hanging up her cell phone. “Savannah?” She looks shocked.
Oh no, maybe I crossed a line doing this perhaps I should’ve stayed away. This was her thing to do.
“I’m sorry.” I see her lips turn into a smile.
“Savannah speaks now.” Mark grins up at her.
She walks by giving a playful smack to the back of his head
. Taking in the kitchen with a look of amazement at all the food, her eyes dance over at me.
“You did this?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m sorry if I stepped over a line. I was—”
“Sorry? Oh dear, don’t be sorry.” Her cheeks flush. “Thank you for doing this, this is so kind of you. You have no idea what a relief it is that someone noticed I need some help around here.” She leans in and gives me a huge hug.
I stand stiff at first but can’t deny the warmth I feel toward her. My arms slowly wrap around her, embracing the affection. I feel a small chip of cement break off around my heart.
“If you guys need a moment I can leave,” Mark laughs. Such a male thing to joke at an emotional moment.
“Go wash up. I know you boys just came from training,” she hisses, shooing him out of the kitchen.
Mark sticks his finger in the sauce, popping some in his mouth.
“Yum!”
“Don’t make me come after you.” She gives him a stern look.
He laughs all the way down the hallway.
I am starting to see she’s the mother of the house and they all respect her.
***
I start to feel self-conscious when everyone sits down for dinner.
They all begin complimenting me on how great the food is when they find out that I made dinner for Abigail. Everything is piled on plates in the center of the table and they all take turns helping themselves.
Logan enters and takes a seat, apologizing for being late.
Then York comes in and sits a few seats across from me. He winks at me as he takes his seat. Christ he’s unsettling.
Some people make small talk through dinner mostly about the hockey game that is on tonight. I’m more focused on eating, baby steps I keep telling myself. I poke at a piece of potato, feeling full. I know I have to force myself to try to eat more, but my stomach seems to be shrunk to the size of a pea.
“Burke wasn’t the psychopath,” York says in an argument with his buddy across the table. I know what they are talking about right away.
“Who cares, it’s just a movie.”
“Tommy Desimone was the psychopath,” I interject, making the entire table stop and stare.
York gives me a strange look.
Yeah, that’s right, creep I have a voice. “Umm, Tommy was crazy, not Burke.” I look at his friend. “And it was actually a book first called Wiseguy by a crime reporter named Nicholas Pileggi, published in January, 1985. Five years later it was made into the movie Goodfellas.” I suck in some air. I haven’t said this much at one time in a very long time, it feels good.
“Oh!” Mark laughs pointing his knife at York. “You just got schooled!” The entire table bursts out laughing. York watches me while I struggle with the fact I just opened my mouth in front of so many people.
“There was no question. Jimmy could plant you just as fast as shake your hand. It didn’t matter to him. At dinner, he could be the nicest guy in the world, but then he could blow you away for dessert.” He quotes the book, clearly showing off to me how he already knows all about the novel. I secretly wonder if he is threatening me for embarrassing him.
“Chapter two, paragraph twenty-four,” I toss back. “Oh, and we’re having apple crisp for dessert. If you could hold off blowing me away till afterwards I’d appreciate it.”
Logan breaks into laughter first, the rest of the guys follow.
“She’s good,” Logan shouts over the roar of the table.
York leans back folding his arms watching me. His eyes have a way of making my skin crawl. The noise at the table dies down except for the sound of some of the guys polishing off the last of the food when York pipes up again, clearly he had been thinking.
“Savannah, you don’t strike me as someone who would read that kind of novel.” He stabs his last piece of steak.
I hate that I shift. I’m sure I’m giving off an uncomfortable vibe. It doesn’t go unnoticed because a smirk appears on his face.
“I’m trying to recall the last time I’ve seen a copy of that book.” He taps his finger against the table dramatically. “Oh, that’s right, it was on the little table in your cell.”
My hand flinches, making my fork bounce loudly off my plate.
“York.” Logan looks up from his plate. I stare at my hands on my lap as images of that room fight their way to the surface.
“Little wooden table right, with a stool?” he adds, making my stomach twist painfully.
“Enough, York,” Logan warns in a clipped tone.
I rise to my feet wanting to get away from here but Logan’s warm hand wraps around mine. “Savannah, please stay.”
I stare down at him hating all the eyes on me. I find myself rubbing my uneasy stomach.
He looks at York and flicks his head to the side. York shakes his head, tossing back his beer then leaves the table, muttering.
“John,” Abigail says, breaking the tension in the room.
The man across from her looks up. “Are you going into town tomorrow?”
Logan still has my hand. I pull it away. I feel like I don’t belong here.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to start anything,” I whisper so only he can hear.
The corners of his mouth rise. “Are you kidding? It’s refreshing seeing someone take on York. He can be an ass sometimes.” He reaches for my hand again and tugs. “Please sit.”
I sink back down into my chair.
“Abigail, dinner was delicious.”
“Thank Savannah, she made it all.”
He looks back to me.
“You made this?” he asks, surprised.
I nod.
“Don’t forget about the apple crisp,” Mark adds. “Speaking of…” He leans over to the table against the wall and picks up a bowl, setting the warm dessert in front us before diving right in.
“Impressive, I guess we still have a lot to learn about you.” Logan grins, taking a serving for himself.
Yes, something tells me their background checks wouldn’t include culinary skills. Despite my little spat with York I'm feeling happy with myself. I helped Abigail when she needed it and everyone seems pleased with dinner. The guys all thank me as they leave the table.
***
“Good morning, Savannah.” Dr. Roberts catches me in the entryway on my way down to his office for our eight o'clock session. “I was thinking maybe we could have today’s session outside?”
“Sure.” I follow him across the lawn and down to a covered chair swing. He sits next to me, which feels odd—normally he watches me face on.
We sit in silence watching an eight-man war canoe race effortlessly across the lake. I wonder who is on it—Mark, Logan or maybe even York? The morning sun feels warm but the clouds wrapping themselves around the mountains tell me it won’t last long. Perfect weather for Halloween, I guess. I let out an unexpected yawn and the doctor shifts. I know the silence is about to end.
“How have you been sleeping?”
“Fine,” I lie.
He glances over at me and waits.
“Soon as I fall asleep I’m right back in my prison.”
“What happens when you’re there?”
I shiver and close my eyes. “I’m alone again. I’m cold. I’m in a dirty, white nightgown and a brown sweater that’s way too big for me. I smell mold and rotting food. It’s making my stomach turn.” I rub my stomach. “Sometimes I wake up vomiting, sometimes I can’t wake up at all but if I do I feel restless and can’t go back to sleep.”
“Is it the same dream every night, or does it change?”
“It was the same up till last night. The fat man—”
“Jose Jorge?” he asks, trying to follow me.
“Yes, Jose. He shows up with my tray of food.” I pause pushing my tongue to the roof of my mouth I want to curse and scream but I hold back, something I’m used to doing. “He liked the power he had over me. He was a real bully for lack of a better word.”
“Hmm,” he sa
ys, shaking his head.
“What?”
“Do you think the change in your dream was because of the situation with York at the dinner table last night?”
I look up at him confused, how did he know about that?
He shrugs with a laugh. “You made quite the impression with the guys, they like you.”
I look back out over the water that’s kind of nice to hear.
“Perhaps,” I agree.
“Well, I can give you something—”
“No, thank you.” I cut him off. I don’t want anything to alter my new-found feeling of freedom.
“Well, tell me if you change your mind.”
The doctor doesn’t ask too many more questions about my prison and I don’t offer up any more info. It is quite painful reliving it.
“Tell me about your father, Savannah. What’s he like?”
I pull my knees up to my chest, feeling the loss of a parent’s comfort. Things weren’t always great between us and I have a lot of mental scars thanks to him but he is still my dad.
“We’re close enough.” I swallow past the lump. “We did the typical things together that a working parent could do. When I was younger we fished and hiked. We didn’t get together much when he got deeper into the political world because he became a lot busier and stressed out. I didn’t help his stress level back then either.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t used to the publicity that I had as the Mayor’s daughter. I hated it, in fact I still do. I was never a party person or a troublemaker but it seemed whenever I’d go out somehow the paparazzi found me and would catch me in some compromising pose and spin an embarrassing story. I’d make the front page of some magazine and my father would have to deal with the repercussions. It happened so often that I stopped going out at all. One time I tripped over a drunk guy at a pub and the story read that I was a drunk and needed AA. It nearly killed me when my father started to believe the lies. I just stopped trying to have a life of my own.” I stop talking and swallow again. “It was a year since I went to any kind of pub or bar but one afternoon my friends from work insisted I join them to celebrate the landing of a new client. I did and had a wonderful time it felt so good to be out. The next day, the day I was—” I stop, finding it hard to say the word.
