Captured Again

by L. L. Akers

  She stepped out of the bathroom, wet head and unembellished face, but ready to go. There was no use in expending too much energy fixing herself up. She had no illusions that the ugly bastard, grief, had gone for good. He’d be back any minute, and she’d end up just looking a mess anyway.

  Before she left her bedroom, she glanced down at her outfit. The black pantsuit she’d grabbed before coming into the bathroom looked off, just... wrong. Maybe too dressy? Gabby thought as she rummaged through her closet, choosing jeans and a top instead. She stripped and redressed, slipping her feet into her knock-off Jimmy Choo heels—these shoes usually gave her confidence. She’d take any help she could get.

  Now, she was ready.

  Gabby opened her door to find Emma sitting primly opposite a still-uniformed Officer Rowan—another shock to start her day. She stood gaping at him, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. She tilted her head, still staring, and asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Um, I’m Officer Rowan. Emma asked me to stay,” Dusty answered sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was a good idea after all that ruckus last night. Just in case... And you can call me Dusty.”

  Gabby shook out of her daze and tried on a smile, but it felt forced. Her face fell back into its grave expression. She hesitated and then answered, “No. Of course not... I mean, I don’t mind you being here, and I will... call you Dusty. Thank you... for helping us—me—both of us. You’re welcome here anytime. I hope you didn’t get into any trouble with your job?”

  “No, ma’am. My shift was nearly over anyway. I’m good. Everything’s cool,” Dusty said nervously, then quickly realized how it came out. “I mean... everything with my boss. I know everything’s not cool with you and all... I, um—”

  “Officer Ro—I mean, Dusty. I know what you meant.” Gabby smiled at his nervousness, so much like Jake when she’d first met him. Little sister had picked Jake’s doppelganger, although probably five or so years younger. His personality, demeanor, and even looks were eerily similar to her husband. She noticed the striking resemblance last night when he’d saved her from her self-imposed box of captivity. She hoped Emma would grab onto this one; he seemed very nice and genuine.

  “So. Where we going?” Emma asked, wide-eyed, as she looked Gabby up and down.

  “WE are not going anywhere, Emma. I’m going alone,” Gabby answered firmly.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gabby. You look like you’re dressed for a funeral. Where are you going?”

  Gabby grabbed her purse and keys from the end table and faced Emma and Dusty. “Since I was mostly out of commission the first time, I’m having a redo. I’m going to the graveyard.”

  “Gabby, you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll go with you. Or me and Dusty can drive you. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”

  “Emma, as you said, it’s time I put on my big girl panties and talk. And talking to you isn’t going to help. I know who I need to talk to.”

  Gabby turned around and walked to the door. “I’m not taking my cell. So don’t call.”

  Emma waited a moment, staring at the closed door, then jumped up and ran into the spare bedroom she’d slept in—opposite the one where Dusty had refused to sleep—preferring instead to camp out on the couch with his gun nearby. She returned with her purse and settled back down in her chair before digging into it and finding her own phone.

  “She said not to call her, Emma,” Dusty reminded her. “She doesn’t have her phone.”

  “I’m not calling Gabby,” Emma answered firmly.

  “Who you calling, then?”

  “Reinforcements.”

  CHAPTER 24

  GABBY slowly drove through the graveyard, trying not to kick up any dust from the winding dirt road onto the nicely kept graves and headstones. She was surprised at how much she remembered from that day now that her mind had allowed the memory to break through. She knew exactly where the plot was. The other details were still hazy, probably because of the sedatives, but she somehow knew exactly which way to go to where she needed to be; she was zoned in on the location.

  She nudged her car off to the right of the little dirt road that meandered through the graveyard, getting as close to the gravesite as she could, but she would still have to walk a distance. Trying to keep it together, she focused her attention on each clumsy step in her stupid choice of shoes—she would have been better off in flats or sneakers—trying to step where other footsteps had beat the grass flat, marking those that went before her.

  Each step brought new snapshots of memories from that day; it was all coming back. She had sat in chair at the front—the first row—with the family. Lines of dark suits and dresses had towered behind and all around them, appropriately matching her state of mind: dark, void of beautiful colors, only the color of sadness and regret—and guilt. She’d felt so small, sitting while they were standing, but she remembered not having the strength to stand.

  She also remembered the cloying smell of dozens of perfumes and colognes, competing with the half dozen wreaths and sprays that were sent for the memorial assaulting her nose. As she had looked up to see where the smells were coming from, she’d caught just a glimpse of the flowers before looking back at her lap, blocking them out forever, until now. She remembered thinking how dare anyone send anything to brighten their mood or add festivities to this day? Whoever originally decided flowers at a funeral would make anyone there feel better—dead or alive—must’ve been a dumbass. But now, with distance from it, she could appreciate the gesture of the tradition. She would have to find out if anyone sent cards out thanking people yet.

  Closer now to the place that held a piece of her heart, she stopped. She wasn’t sure what she would say. Would it come to her when she saw the stone? Or would she succumb to denial again? She was worried about herself, worried that the shock of seeing the marker would trigger her PTSD and would push her back into her false security of not remembering. She wanted to feel the pain and the loss. She didn’t want to be pushed back. How fair was that to anybody else? She needed to suffer, too.

  A nearby landscaper kneeling in a flower bed looked up and gave her a questioning look. Gabby continued to walk, trying to appear surefooted and stony faced. He ended his unspoken question with a nod and then turned back to his work. He was probably thinking she was lost, and she was, but not in the way he thought. She just needed to keep moving forward.

  She trudged on, repeating to herself, “I will remember. I will remember. I will remember,” until she finally saw the marker.

  She was struck down by the pain.

  This was the worse pain she’d ever felt—much harsher than the day she’d said good-bye to her baby boy—and the agony of it enveloped her. She fell to her knees in front of the headstone and embraced it angrily. “Bring it, you bastard! I’m here. I’m finally here. I’m talking to you, grief! Is this all you got?” she screamed through a veil of tears. “You can’t keep me away from this anymore. I’m ready to face you. See me now? I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Gabby panted as she lay against the headstone. She stoically refused to let the first sob out, for fear she wouldn’t be able to say what she needed to. The tears ran unchecked as she took a sharp intake of breath, feeling as if something was broken inside of her.

  She sat up and looked at the headstone, rubbing the back of her hand against the smoothness. She wasn’t sure who had picked it out, she had no memory of that, but it was beautiful—a perfect choice.

  “I guess what I want to say is... I’m sorry... I’m just... so sorry. I wasn’t trying to forget you or ignore you. I think... I think I was trying to forget you were gone. I wasn’t ready for you to be gone. I know it’s my fault. If I had only listened that night, instead of stupidly freaking out, this would’ve never happened. I had no idea it could hurt this bad to lose someone, to lose you.”

  Gabby stopped to take a breath. She pulled her long hair back away from her face and placed her cheek against the stone, imagi
ning she was cheek to cheek, maneuvering her body sideways to fit tightly, as close as she could get to that slab of marble that represented her loss. She grimaced at the coolness of the stone through her jeans and thin shirt. The coldness nearly broke her—the realization that the warmth was forever gone. Images flooded her mind, one after the other: shared laughs and cries, celebrated accomplishments and defeats. Why does God take too soon? Just when it seems all our problems are worked out? I’m not ready... not ready for this loss... I want more time! Gabby slammed her open palm against the ground, squashing the shiny, sharp blades of grass that were just shooting up, planted six weeks earlier—new life emerging, covering a lost one too soon.

  She shuddered and took in another deep breath.

  “I love you so much. I always have. I know I was a real pain in the ass most of the time, and I’m sorry for that, too. And I’m sorry your life was cut short... and... and I’ll miss you.”

  She was at a loss for what else to say. She knew there was probably so much more, but before she could pick through her thoughts, the dam broke and thick sobs came relentlessly. Her shoulders heaved with each stomach-wrenching cry, so much that they ached.

  “Mm-mmm.” Someone cleared their throat—a male someone.

  Gabby jerked her head away from the headstone in surprise. Dammit, doesn’t that landscaper have the decency to ignore someone mourning? she thought. What an asshole.

  She swiped at her teary face and wet nose before looking up, ready to dress him down for his rudeness.

  She rapidly blinked against the sun in her eyes as she tried to make out the oddly-shaped person standing at the foot of the grave. Before her eyes could adjust, she made out five legs but one body, making one big block of a torso—with two heads? Maybe I’m seeing things now...

  She held her hands over her swollen eyes to provide some shade, trying to get a better look as her chest continued to heave in short bursts, sucking in oxygen to replenish what the crying had taken out of her. As her eyes adjusted, she finally made out the individual figures. There was no fifth leg; it was a crutch.

  She jumped to her feet and closed the distance between them in just a few steps, throwing herself into him.

  “Whoa, Gabby. You’re going to knock him over. Be careful! He’s still healing. It took threat of physical violence to get the doctor to release him from the hospital when Emma called to tell us you remembered today.”

  “You hush, Olivia,” Gabby answered through new tears—tears of joy and relief.

  “Great day, Gabby. Stop fussin’ with your sister at your mama’s grave,” Jake scolded as he dropped his crutch and wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, this time leaning on her for support.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Gabby, how are you feeling about your mom?”

  Gabby glared at the sparsely decorated office, wishing she wasn’t there. Now that Jake was home, she had so much to do and a sudden burst of energy to do it. She’d been hesitant to ask for more time off from work, but when she’d made the call, her boss was thrilled that Jake had come home and she’d shaken off the fog, as well as the unreality of Jake’s death. He had encouraged her to take the entire week off and told her he would inform the staff that she now knew what they’d known all along—Jake was alive and well. Gabby was embarrassed, but her heart swelled when her boss had explained Olivia and Emma had been to see him shortly after Gabby had returned to work, and that he, and eventually the rest of the staff, had been made aware of her memory lapse and struggles with PTSD. They’d all known and quietly supported her, waiting for her to remember on her own, as Olivia and Emma had asked them to do. She loved these people; she was fortunate to have such a kind and caring work family.

  Gabby was glad he’d offered the entire week. She was looking forward to having Jake all to herself. She had shirked her responsibilities to him long enough and wanted to cook for him, tend to him, and just watch over him. He still needed lots of rest to counteract the physical therapy he was doing for his leg. And she had plenty of neglected housework she’d hoped to handle while he was asleep.

  Unfortunately, she was still expected to see Dr. White and the reminder appointment call made sure she hadn’t forgotten. If she didn’t attend, she ran the risk of her and Jake switching places—her at the hospital and Jake at home.

  She also was a little pissed off at the question Dr. White opened with. Bam—right in her face! He’d been constantly briefed by Olivia or Jake; she felt sure of that. So he most likely already knew what had happened this morning.

  “Well, seeing as how I just found out my mom is dead, I’d say I feel pretty friggin’ bad, Dr. White,” Gabby spit out between clenched teeth. “How the hell did you think I’d feel?”

  “Gabby, let’s be careful how we word things. You didn’t just find out your mom died. You just stepped out of a PTSD breakdown and remembered your mom died. You’ve subconsciously known it all along,” he answered patiently. “Now, how do you feel about admitting to yourself Jake is alive but possibly disabled and permanently scarred?”

  Gabby repositioned herself in the chair, taking time to gather her composure. She didn’t want to make an enemy of this doctor. He held the ticket to her full release. “I’m not sure how to feel, to be honest, Dr. White. I’m grateful to have my husband back, and the scars are barely noticeable—at least to me—and a slight limp is not exactly disabled. But I’m not sure I should feel any happiness when my mom has just died.”

  “Actually, I think it is okay to admit you’re feeling a little bit of happiness. I think your mom would want that, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, she would. She’d want that,” Gabby said, just as she was realizing it was true.

  “Then go ahead, Gabby. Tell me how you really feel, how you felt when you woke up and remembered the truth.”

  Gabby inhaled, holding the breath deep in her center, and then exhaled. “When I woke up, I felt shattered—hopeless. I immediately remembered Mom’s funeral, but it didn’t register to me that if it was Mom that died, that Jake was still alive. I hadn’t gotten that far in my mind yet. All I could think of was I needed to go talk to Mom—to say good-bye. I went to her grave to tell her I was sorry, and I fell apart.

  “And then Jake came. I’m not sure I can exactly explain the feeling that went through me. Maybe first disbelief, then a flash of memories from the night of the accident... horror, pain, and finally relief. For that moment when I put my eyes on him and realized he was alive, it was a feathery, warm light all inside me. I felt like I was wrapped in a big, warm blanket—a safe blanket—the moment I saw him standing there. And I felt a heavy sadness leave me. I was weightless for just that moment—free from the loss of losing him, at least.”

  Gabby looked up and met the doctor’s eyes. Is that enough? She waited for his response, but he continued to just look at her. She’d have to dig a little deeper.

  “I’m still sad, but different sad. I’m in misery over my mom being gone, and I still feel responsible. But I know she was doing what she wanted to do, and that was being there for me.”

  Gabby felt guilty admitting her happiness that Jake survived. Had I been given the choice of which one was to live and which one was to die, I’d have chosen myself before my mother or my husband. I feel sure I would have... wouldn’t I? She felt her face heat up and wanted to just end these meetings so she could stop thinking about it. She would tell Dr. White everything she knew so maybe she wouldn’t have to come back.

  “I remembered what I had forgotten about that night—what I’d blocked out. Jake couldn’t calm me down enough to get me into the car at the restaurant the night of the accident. He called Olivia, but her phone was off, so he called my mom. Nick drove her all the way there, to the restaurant, so she could hold my hand and coax me into the car. She insisted on riding with me and Jake because I was so upset. I remember sharing all that had happened with both of them, and I remember Mom sitting in the middle of the back seat, without her seatbelt, just so she could reach me
, so she could hold me while I said what I needed to say. I can see it all now, in my mind. One arm reaching between the front seats, covering my hand with her own, and her other hand was on my shoulder. My mom was holding me—comforting me—when she died.”

  “And do you remember more clearly after the accident, too?”

  “I do now. After seeing the blood run down Jake’s face, I passed out. When I woke, I assumed it was him on that gurney with a sheet pulled over him. I had completely forgotten Mom was there, in the car with us. They must have told me then it wasn’t Jake. I’m sure they would have... but I didn’t remember. Olivia said she came into my hospital room and told me Jake was alive—and Mom wasn’t—and that Jake was in surgery for his face and his leg. She said I freaked out. I remember screaming because everything was clouded, blurred. I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Then, I either passed out again or they put me out, but when I woke up, it was Jake I mourned—not Mom. I refused to accept she was gone because of me. I was so confused.”

  “Gabby, you did not just get confused,” said Dr. White. “Thinking you saw your abuser that night triggered your PTSD. Before you could deal with that, you were slapped with a life-changing tragedy: the loss of your mother and your husband critically injured... You couldn’t cope with your own grief, or Olivia and Emma’s. You felt like your mother’s death and Jake’s injuries were your fault, so your PTS put up roadblocks and muddled your memories. The important thing is you know now what happened and you go through the grieving process for your mother. There’s no getting away from it but to go through it.”