The Door at the Top of the Stairs

by Alison Naomi Holt

  Morgan sat next to Ryland who took a sip of wine then offered her the glass. Morgan took it, turned sideways and rested her arm on the back of the couch. She reached down to pick up the book from Ryland's lap. “Obviously, whatever happened to her back has caused some major emotional issues, right?"

  "Morgan, she's not even aware she has scars on her back."

  Morgan studied her friend's face, took a sip of wine, and leaned back into the couch. “Wow."

  Amusement tinged Ryland's voice. “Wow is right."

  "If only we could find someone who knows something about post-traumatic stress disorder."

  Ryland playfully hit Morgan on the head with a pillow.

  Morgan chuckled, then turned serious again. “So what are you going to do?"

  "I've been thinking about that while you've been gone, and unfortunately, it's a little more complicated than 'what am I going to do.' I'm afraid because of some complicated bonding issues that have been happening between you two the last several weeks, it has to be more like 'what are we going to do' if we decide to be the ones who help her."

  Morgan sat forward to set her glass on the table. “Oh no...I am not getting involved in that. I do animals, not people. You're on your own on this one."

  Ryland reached over and rubbed Morgan's back.

  “Unfortunately, it's not that simple. Do you remember our discussion several weeks ago about how Jesse needed your strength somehow? That she was pushing you to reassure herself that you were still in control? It's obvious to me now what's been going on. If I had understood it earlier, I might have been able to transfer that process to another object, maybe even to me, but I doubt it. It's your strength her subconscious is grabbing, Morg, because I think she's probably pretty close to a psychotic break.

  Her fainting and memory loss point that way. She needs the control you provide her."

  "Ryland, I'm not a psychologist; I'm a farmer."

  "I know that. I'll do the psychology. You'll be more of a tool for me to use, a way to ground her when her subconscious begins to lose control." She leaned forward and took Morgan's hands in hers. “Let me explain it to you this way: if we decide to help her, and if she accepts our help, she and I are going to be walking along the edge of a cliff blindfolded, and sometimes we'll be running flat-out. You're going to be the one who keeps her from falling off the edge."

  "Why can't you keep her from falling off the edge?"

  Ryland sat back. “Because I'll be the one pushing her over."

  Chapter Seven

  After Jesse finished the morning feeding, she helped Morgan unload fifty-pound bales of hay from the trailer. At first, they could each move the bales easily. By the time they were almost done, they were having to each grab one end and work it to the top of the stack. As they struggled with the last bale, Ryland came down to invite them to the house for lunch. Jesse declined, but Ryland wouldn't take no for an answer. She'd asked Morgan to do something to tire Jesse, and it seemed she'd almost killed both of them doing it.

  As the three of them walked up the path toward the house, Ryland wondered whether she was going to have to carry the other two the last few yards. "You two look absolutely exhausted. Where were Cody and Rico?"

  Morgan pointed toward the east pasture. “Several of the water lines sprouted leaks. I had to send them up to make repairs. I'll never do something that stupid again on delivery day. Next time, I fix the water." They walked inside and Morgan headed for the couch while Ryland moved into the kitchen. Jesse stayed in the front hall, uncomfortable in the main house. When Ryland saw her, she came back and took her by the arm. “Come into the living room and make yourself comfortable. You worked hard this morning."

  Jesse crossed her arms, gently trying to dislodge Ryland's hand. “I'm really too dirty for this house. I think I'll just go back to my place."

  She took a step toward the door but Ryland pulled her back.

  "There's no such thing as too dirty in a farmer's house. I had to learn that the hard way when I moved in. Morgan comes in absolutely filthy and sprawls on the couch. Go sit in that chair over there while I put lunch on the table."

  Jesse looked distinctly uncomfortable until Morgan sat up and pointed to one of two overstuffed chairs. “Sit."

  Jesse glared at her and sat in a different chair. Morgan lay back down and closed her eyes.

  Ryland had planned to put the food on the kitchen table, but she decided lunch would probably go better if she just set everything on the coffee table in the living room. While they ate, Morgan and Ryland talked about cubbing. Jesse ate in an uncomfortable silence as she looked around the room.

  A large fireplace dominated one wall, with an oversized oil painting of a thoroughbred stallion hanging over the mantel. The room had a comfortable feeling with its maroon leather couch, a coffee table made from a slab of polished wood, and two wing chairs that took up the middle of the room. A small bar was set into the back wall, with bottles of various shapes and sizes lining the shelves. A second, smaller sitting area occupied a corner with a built-in floor-to-ceiling bookcase.

  Morgan and Ryland stopped talking, and Jesse looked up to see why. Morgan set her plate on the coffee table before lying down to take a nap. Jesse took that as her chance for escape.

  Ryland stopped her just as she stood to go. “Jesse wait. Please sit down a minute. I'd like to talk to you about something before you go."

  Jesse stood by one of the antique chairs with her arms crossed, waiting for Ryland to talk so she could get out of there. Morgan opened one eye and pointed to the chair.

  Jesse growled, "She wasn't talking to you."

  Morgan sat up. “Excuse me?"

  Ryland held up a hand. It was rare for her to get irritated, but the two of them were having a staring contest, and she snapped,

  “Morgan, lie down. Jesse, sit down, now. " Her tone surprised both of them enough that, without thinking, they did what they were told. Ryland sat back in her chair. “I swear, you two are like children sometimes."

  Morgan mumbled, "She started it."

  Ryland rolled her eyes and leaned forward. “Jesse, do you know what type of doctor I am?"

  Jesse shook her head.

  "I'm a psychologist who worked with patients who experienced some type of trauma in their lives. I did a lot of work with veterans returning from Vietnam and the Gulf Wars. I'm retired now."

  Jesse sat quietly and listened. Her muscles ached, and she just wanted to go home and rest for a while.

  Ryland smiled. “And I can see you really couldn't care less, am I right?"

  Jesse looked at the floor but didn't say anything. She wanted to avoid a confrontation with Morgan right now, and anything she could think to say sounded rude.

  Ryland continued. “I want to tell you about a young man I worked with at the beginning of my career. He'd been a prisoner of war in Vietnam for three years. When he came back, he refused to talk about his experiences because he was convinced nothing had happened to him over there."

  Jesse sat back in her chair and shifted until she was comfortably engulfed in overstuffed cushions decorated with blue, brown and tan stripes. She leaned her head into one of the leather wings and watched Ryland as she spoke.

  "I knew from other prisoners who'd been there with him that he'd been systematically tortured— brutally tortured—the entire three years he was there." She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, bringing herself a little closer to Jesse. “The first year he was back, I tried to contact him every week. He'd invite me to his apartment and we'd talk, but he would never talk about Vietnam. During that year, he became increasingly angry and lost all of his friends. He told me he didn't know why he was angry, he just was." Ryland watched Jesse who shifted a little in her chair.

  “Jesse, what do you think was happening to him?"

  Jesse shrugged. “He probably didn't know why he did things. I bet sometimes things just—" She blinked, then quickly glanced at Morgan, who was asleep on the couch.
r />   When she didn't continue, Ryland said, "Well, unfortunately, he never did talk about his experiences. I lost him."

  Jesse's eyebrows lowered. “If he didn't know he had experiences, how could he talk about them? And how do you lose someone? He moved or what?"

  "Well, that's a story for another time, but he wrote me a note before he left. He said his mind was working against him, that more and more it felt like it was going to explode. He said he knew he was going crazy, and he couldn't handle that." Ryland watched Jesse's breathing as she spoke. As she'd anticipated, the respirations increased.

  Jesse crossed her arms and brought one of her legs up into the chair. She shook her head. “I think that must have been—" She stopped mid-sentence.

  "Must have been what?"

  "Nothing."

  "Must have been what, Jesse?"

  Jesse stood up and started for the door. "Look, I—"

  Ryland surprised her by crossing to the door and standing in front of it. "It must have been what, Jesse?" Ryland focused her whole attention on Jesse, willing her to answer. She knew, from past experience, this would be the only chance she'd have to make some kind of connection. If she didn't, Jesse would be packed and gone by morning.

  A cold sweat broke out on Jesse's forehead, and she reached up and wiped it with the back of her hand.

  Ryland casually backed up and leaned against the door.

  “Morgan, would you come here a minute, please?"

  Jesse jerked involuntarily, her pulse quickening. She wouldn't shove her way through Ryland to get to the door, but it was an effort not to.

  Morgan walked up and stood next to Ryland, her stomach in knots. She'd been listening to the whole conversation, and she was scared to death. She trusted Ryland, but she also knew herself. She wasn't a people person, and she definitely wasn't cut out for psychotherapy. Breathing deeply, she concentrated on nonchalance. Seeing the mutilation of Jesse's back had shaken her more than she'd realized, and if Ryland needed her to help this woman, she'd do whatever she asked.

  Ryland took a step forward. “Will you try something for me, Jess?"

  Jesse shifted her feet, casually trying to find another exit. She needed to leave, now, but she didn't want to hurt anyone doing it.

  Her head started to ache and she pushed her fingers into her temples.

  "Jesse?" Ryland touched Jesse's arm and watched as the girl’s eyes shifted to meet her own. Jesse was close to panic, and Ryland knew she had to keep her here. "Jesse, you're all right. Think a minute. Why do you think you have an overwhelming urge to escape, when we haven't talked about anything threatening?"

  Ryland saw a confused shift come into Jesse's eyes, and she breathed easier. At least she was listening, thinking. "Do me a favor, Jesse...look at Morgan, and try to slow your breathing and relax."

  Morgan took a deep breath, shoved her hands in her pockets and waited for Jesse to look at her. This was it. She couldn't back out now . Her hands had bunched into fists, and she made a conscious effort to relax.

  Jesse swallowed. Why couldn't she do this? Her head throbbed with every heart beat and she reached up and pulled her hair to try to ease the pain. "Why are you doing this to me? Don't you realize what you’re doing?"

  Ryland squeezed Jesse's arm. "Yes, I do. Your head is pounding. Your subconscious knows it has to keep memories locked up, but those memories are starting to slip out. And it must be...what, Jesse? What must it be? Tell me...please."

  Jesse pulled her hair with both hands and covered her face with her elbows. "Stop it!"

  Morgan took a shaky breath and decided if she was going to be any help, this would be as good a time as any to dive in. She reached up and inserted her hands between Jesse's elbows, placing her palms on either side of the young woman's face. "Look at me, Jesse."

  Jesse shut her out, not wanting to listen or believe anyone could help.

  "Jesse, I've got you. Look at me."

  Her eyes opened and she yelled, "You don't have me. You can't do it!"

  Morgan raised her eyebrows. She'd never liked people to tell her she couldn't do something, even though she had no idea what Jesse thought she couldn't do. She was on familiar ground now.

  Her face became hard and they locked eyes.

  Jesse blinked and looked confused again, but less panicked.

  She'd expected Morgan to be irritated, and seeing what she'd expected had somehow grounded her.

  Morgan held Jesse's head steady. “Answer her question. What must it be like?"

  Jesse knew exactly what had been going through the man's mind because she felt it every moment of every day. “It was terrifying. He was terrified."

  Morgan continued to hold Jesse's eyes with her own.

  Terrifying. The word had come out barely a whisper, but it held an almost-visible stranglehold on the woman.

  Ryland stepped up. “Come back to the couch, Jesse. We need to talk." Some of the tension left Jesse's shoulders, and she allowed Ryland to lead her to the sofa where she sat turned toward the wall, her forehead on her hand. Ryland motioned for Morgan to sit in a chair opposite Jesse.

  Morgan caught her eye, and Ryland winked, letting her know she'd done perfectly. Easy for you to say, Morgan thought as she sank into the chair, already exhausted even though they'd only been at this for ten minutes.

  "Jesse, when Morgan and I first walked up the path and I saw you leaning against the porch, I felt…almost a quickening inside. I know that's a strange way to put it, but I think some higher power, whatever higher power you may or may not believe in, sent you here because Morgan and I can help you."

  "I don't need help."

  "Like that young man didn't need help? That terrified young man? Tell me about your headaches. What's going on inside when you feel them coming on?"

  "No."

  "Right now, my guess is you're scared and confused, but there's also a tiny spark of hope. Am I right?"

  Jesse hated people to know her, hated it when someone might guess she was falling apart. Ryland was too close and she wanted her gone. “Get the fuck out of my head!"

  Ryland chuckled softly. “I'm not in your head, Jess. I just know it's how I would feel if I didn't know what was happening in my brain, and an expert came up and said, 'I can help you; let me in.' Now, tell us what's happening in your head when your headaches start. And if you don't feel like you can say certain things, I want you to ground yourself on Morgan. She'll give you what you need."

  "That's a bunch of psycho-bullshit."

  Ryland had to laugh. “You know, I had a lot of colleagues who said the same thing about my techniques. I'm not exactly universally accepted in the mental health community. But I do know what I'm doing, Jesse. You have to trust me on that."

  Jesse studied Morgan closely, then looked at Ryland. "I don't think she can do it."

  "Why? Because she's not strong enough?"

  Jesse's brows came together. That wasn't it. Morgan was stronger than she was, she knew that. Why couldn't she do it, whatever 'it' was? She turned to Ryland. Ryland had the answer, and Jesse wanted it enough to let go, just a little. “What does she need to be strong enough to do? I know she has to be strong enough, but strong enough for what?"

  Ryland thought a minute. “As we work together over the next few months, at times, memories are going to want to push out all at once. Sometimes your mind will even shut down because it can't cope with everything at once. Morgan is strong enough to pull you back. You can trust her to pull you back."

  Jesse couldn't believe the arrogance. “We're not working together. Now or ever. I don't need anyone's help, especially yours.

  I came here for a job. I don't need you playing your psycho-bullshit games on me." She shifted forward on the couch, ready to get up and leave.

  "The headaches are getting worse, aren't they? You wake up sweating in the middle of the night with your heart racing and you have no idea why or what you dreamed. There are times, like the other day, when you lose periods of your life.
Sometimes you can't remember from one time to the next how you got somewhere. You do need our help, Jesse, because without it, you'll only get worse.

  Can you honestly tell me I'm wrong?"

  "You are wrong! You don't know what's happening, up here!"

  She banged her head with her fist.

  "Then tell me what's happening in your head. Tell me so I can understand and help you."

  "You can't help me! You want to know what happens? You want to fuckin' know? ‘Cause you can't help!" Despair gripped her as she turned furious eyes on Morgan. “And you...you think you're strong enough? I'm strong, and I can't stop what happens!"

  Ryland repeated, “Jess, tell us what's happening so we can understand.

  Jesse seethed, furious that they thought they could even begin to understand. She shouted at them, frantic now that they should believe her—that they needed to leave her alone. “You want to know what happens? This is what happens! Sometimes my brain feels like it's a balloon filled tight with hundreds of stones and something is squeezing the balloon and it hurts, bad! I can't stop whatever's squeezing it, and I know if there's even a small rip in the balloon, my brain will explode! I mean literally explode! And you're going to rip it if you don't stop! You need to stop!" Her control slipped as she spoke and tears spilled down onto her cheeks. She angrily wiped them away, then had to shove her fingers back into her temples to stop the spasms constricting her brain.

  Ryland slid over so she could put her hand on the back of Jesse's head. “Easy, Jesse...you're all right. Let me explain what's happening, and I promise, I can help you if you let me." She ran strong fingers up under Jesse's hair and massaged the top of her neck. When she felt the tension ease beneath her hand, she began speaking softly, her words calculated to soothe Jesse's fears. “The stones are memories, Jess. And we, you and I, are going to reach into the balloon and take out one stone at a time and examine it, deal with it, and put it away where it belongs. As we do, the pressure on the balloon will sometimes increase, and Morgan will help you keep the rest of the stones in until we're ready for them.