by J. Bengtsson
Staring at his number for an agonizingly long while and trying to decide what to do, I finally made my decision. The phone rang a couple of times, and I was planning on just leaving a message until he unexpectedly picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey. This is Jake McKallister. I need to talk to you.”
We arrived home in Los Angeles the following week and I went to see him the same day. He stayed late for me. It had been the same when I’d visited him in the past. And just as I had before, I arrived at the empty office shrouded in a dark hoodie and shifting my eyes for potential spies. Certainly my entrance more closely resembled a drug deal rather than the therapy session I’d actually come for. The reason for my secrecy was simple: I was embarrassed. Seeking help felt like a shameful sign of weakness, not to mention the stigma attached to it all. The fact that I was seeing a therapist wasn’t something I was ready to share with anyone, and if the press caught wind of it, the choice would no longer be mine.
But getting caught wasn’t the only reason for the discomfort I was feeling right now. The last time I’d been in this office, I’d stormed out in a fit of rage. Not only had I never gone back, but I’d also ceased all contact with the man, freezing him out completely. And now, a full year later, I was forced to return to him with my tail between my legs.
Sure, I could have scouted out a new therapist, but that would have required a complete rehashing of all I’d already discussed with this guy. And believe me when I say those were not memories I wanted to relive again. For two months we had painstakingly dissected both the physical and sexual abuse I’d suffered at the hands of my abductor. I’d worked through emotions I never thought possible, and even though those were the toughest conversations I’d ever had in my life, they weren’t the reason for the freak out that had ended my therapy sessions.
“Jake,” he said, dipping his head slightly in greeting as he reached out to shake my hand.
“Hey, James.”
We exchanged an awkward glance, or at least I did. I’d acted like a fool during our last session, and just the fact that he was seeing me now spoke to his level of professionalism. It wasn’t like he’d been purposely torturing me. The guy was a therapist. Getting me to open up about my past was his job. Was it his fault that he’d unintentionally stumbled upon a landmine? Was it mine for exploding?
I still remembered his shocked face when I’d shoved my chair across the room, taking out a standing lamp in the process, before storming out of the office in a state of fury.
“If you’d allow me, Jake, I’d like to apologize. I tried to contact you after the session to explain to you what happened, but you blocked my calls and I had no way to get in touch with you.”
“Sorry about that. I…”
He held his hand up to stop me. “I’m not blaming you. What happened was my fault. I wasn’t regulating our session like I should have. Your reaction was not unusual in the treatment for PTSD. When talking about traumatic memories, some individuals do experience symptom relief, but others can actually become retraumatized by the therapy they’re seeking. It’s my job to monitor your reactions and tailor the intensity of exposure to those traumatic events. I failed to do that in your case. I didn’t read the signs correctly, and for that I apologize.”
It was the last thing I’d expected to hear from him, and my surprised reaction was not lost on James.
“If you give me another chance to work with you, I’ll be more mindful of the signs and slow it down if you become overwhelmed.”
“I… that wasn’t what I was expecting. Are you saying my freak-out was normal?”
“For trauma therapy, yes, although I would have preferred you didn’t break my lamp.”
“I’ll pay for that,” I said, failing to mask my smile.
James waved off my offer. “So what made you call me?”
There was no time for games. I was here for a reason and time was ticking. “Casey’s pregnant.”
Other than a slight arch in his right eyebrow, he barely reacted to the news. And why would he? Women had babies every day. Why would this one be any different?
James watched me with insightful eyes, causing me to shift uncomfortably in place. He was in his mid-fifties, with a tall, lanky frame and floppy brown hair more suited for a Beatles cover band than a head shrink. He had this calming way about him that seemed able to pull things out of me I hadn’t thought I’d ever reveal. Within days of our first session over a year ago, I was describing to him some of the worst memories of my life. Would that happen again? And more importantly, could he really read the signs of an impending explosion? My hands suddenly turned clammy as the need to spill my guts to him became stronger.
“Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Although I hadn’t meant to, my mouth morphed into a grimace.
James didn’t need to be a behavioral specialist to pick up on my non-verbal cues. Any old Joe on the street could have done it. I was just that transparent.
“Or…uh…” James chose his words carefully. “Perhaps I should have said, sorry.”
“No, it’s good. I mean it’s my kid, right? I’m happy…” I looked up to the skies, as if the act of searching my brain for the correct feeling required a glance to the heavens. “Or… I’m…” I stopped myself again. Was there a better word? Happy implied I was pleased with the news of my impending fatherhood, which, just by my hesitation alone, proved I wasn’t. But not being excited about your own child when you’re married to a wonderful woman who dreams of being a mother? That’s shitty. Congratulations, kid, you’ve got an ungrateful asshole for a father. Have a nice life.
Remembering I was still having a conversation with an actual person, I said, “No, I’m happy.”
James studied me intently, the slightest of smiles registering on his face at my obvious indecision. “I’m glad you’re so… happy.”
“Thank you.” I settled back into my seat grinning. If I continued with this level of uncertainty, it would be a long night.
“You know, a baby’s a big life changer. It’s common to feel apprehensive even when you’re excited about the new arrival.”
Pointing to him, I said, “Yes, that’s what I meant to say.”
I wasn’t sure why I was making light of the situation because in a few minutes this room would be a somber death chamber, sucking the life out of all who entered. Thankfully, James was blissfully unaware of his looming fate. He gave me a courtesy smile before switching to his ‘therapy’ face. It really was a genius expression. With one brow tipped upward, indicating interest, while the other drooped ever to slightly in order to convey concern, James had taken attentive apprehension to a whole new level.
“What about Casey’s pregnancy is concerning you?”
The knot in my stomach instantly tightened. This was what I was here for. It was time to man up and face my issues. Catching his eye I said, “Everything.”
“Okay. Can you narrow that down a bit? ‘Everything’ is harder to work with.”
Dropping my gaze, I studied my boots, focusing on a muddy splotch on the right toe and wondering where I’d gotten it. But then, who cared? It was mud. Shaking the thought from my head, I walked over to the chair and sank down into it. James followed me over to the one opposite mine and took a seat as well.
Looking up to meet his eye, I noticed James still staring keenly at me. Shit. That’s what I was talking about. He had that way about him. He made me want to spill my soul. I could almost feel the truth traveling up through my throat, preparing for a dramatic exit. Hopefully, the man was true to his word and would stop me this time before I went berserk on his power appliances.
“Before the wedding, I told Casey I didn’t want kids. I said it was because I was afraid they’d be ashamed of me, and that I didn’t know how to explain to them what happened to me as a kid. And while that was partially true, there’s a bigger reason why I don’t want kids.”
James shifted in his chair, studying me. “G
o on.”
Here went nothing. “I’m afraid I’m going to hurt my kid.”
There. I said it. The ugly truth was out. Becoming Ray, and all the horrible things he represented, was my biggest fear. Well, that and the fucking ghosts who haunted me, but that could wait for another day.
James nodded his head as if it were a totally common fear. Did he not understand the implications? There was a very real possibility that a part of Ray was living inside me, just waiting for the right opportunity to turn me into the monster he had been. The last thing I wanted was to be like him – a killer, abusing my children they way he’d abused me. I’d seen, heard, and experienced things no human ever should, and now, as a result, I was afraid of my own goddamn self.
“Have you ever hurt a child, Jake?”
“No, but I’m not around them very often. I did have my niece and nephew staying with me for a while, though.”
“And how did that go?”
“Fine. I didn’t hurt them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Have you ever wanted to hurt a child?”
Heat lapped up my ears as anger seeped through my pores. “No,” I growled. I wasn’t sure why I was pissed at him when it was me who’d brought the subject up in the first place.
“What about Casey? Have you ever raised a hand to her?”
“No, but sometimes I feel like my whole life is one big act. I try so hard to be normal, but I know I’m not. I feel like there are forces inside me that are just waiting for the right trigger. I was thirteen when all this happened, so who’s to say what influence Ray had on me, and when his evilness will present itself? Can I really be trusted? I mean, you saw what I did to your goddamn lamp. Obviously, based on my past, I have a propensity towards violence when I feel threatened or angry.”
“Taking your anger out on an object is not the same as taking it out on a person.”
“Right, but it’s the escalation I’m worried about. There are no guarantees that I won’t become progressively more violent down the road.”
“I get what you’re saying, and your concerns are valid, but statistics are on your side. Only a very small percentage of abused children become abusers themselves.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“There’s some research that suggests a higher causal link between the two, but there’s very little evidence to support that theory.”
“Research doesn’t look at special circumstances.”
“No, that’s true. Nor does it take the individual person into consideration. If Ray had raised you, I’d be more worried about the impact he had on your ethics, but as it was, you endured one month with the man – not enough time, in my opinion, to change your moral codes.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised what one month with Ray could do to a person. Typically it resulted in a shallow grave, so yeah, this was a special circumstance.”
“Then I supposed we have a place to start.”
“If you thought the library was impressive, feast your eyes on this,” Carol, the real estate agent, said dramatically, as she swept her arms out in front of her like a fairy godmother conjuring up the space through her magical wand. “A designer kitchen with white titanium granite countertops and Wolf sub-zero appliances. Isn’t it just to die for?”
“Wow,” Casey said, her eyes nearly as wide and full of wonder as the agent’s. “Look at that refrigerator… and those cabinets… oh, and that pot rack. Wait a minute! Is that a Teppanyaki grill?”
“Yes it is,” Carol answered proudly, as if she herself had been responsible for its placement in the kitchen island. “As you can see, the owner spared no expense.”
No. That much was obvious. The place was a trophy house, and it was the fifth one we’d looked at today. I was honestly having trouble telling them apart. These stately mansions were too big and too fancy for my liking. I preferred smaller spaces; but as Casey had pointed out, we needed room to grow.
“What do you think, Jake?” the agent asked, eagerly awaiting my approval.
“Yeah. I like it,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to fool either one of them.
“Is it the kitchen?” Carol pinched her lips in a sign of distress. “Do you prefer darker colors?”
Honestly? Like colors would be a deal breaker in a goddamn mansion. “No. Anything works for me. The only thing I require in my kitchen is a smoke alarm. I use that as my cooking timer.”
The real estate agent humored me with a courtesy chuckle, but Casey looked anything but amused.
“Carol, can you excuse us for a minute?” She grabbed my arm and steered me out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply. I didn’t time it but I’m pretty sure it was a seven-minute walk to the front door.
Once outside, she asked, “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing, I’m hungry.”
“You’re hungry?” she asked, placing her hand on her ever-expanding waistline and taking on the expression of a pouty toddler. “Would you like me to go see if they have a juice box for you?”
Although Casey appeared to be genuinely irritated with me, her sarcastic response struck a nerve and I couldn’t hold back the laughter. “Actually, that would be great, thanks.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Casey recognized the humor in her words and joined me in a light-hearted chuckle.
Taking my hand, she led me to the top step and we both sat down.
“Talk to me. I can feel your frustration. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. According to my therapist, I don’t like change, and this feels like a big one.”
“We don’t have to get this place or any of the others we’ve seen today, but we do need to move. I love the townhouse, I really do, but security there is not great, and like it or not, you need more of it now than you did when you bought that place years ago. Since all the neighbors use the same manned entrance, it’s fairly easy for outsiders, or just friends of the neighbors, to make unwelcome visits.”
“That almost never happens,” I said, defending my bachelor pad.
“But it has, and I’m not willing to risk our baby’s security. Are you?”
Well, when she put it that way… “No.”
“So, like I said, it doesn’t have to be this house, but I need you to be an active participant in this. I don’t want to make this decision on my own.”
“I know. I’ll be good.”
“Thank you,” she said, laying her head on my shoulder. We sat quietly for a moment, looking out over the expansive grounds.
“This isn’t the worst place ever,” I conceded.
“No.” She laughed. “It’s not.”
“It’s just… these places she’s showing us are just showpieces. It doesn’t feel like anyone actually lives in them. I guess I just pictured something more homey – you know, instead of a football field, just a lawn with a swing set. And, would it be too much to ask for a white picket fence? I mean, come on.”
“In this neighborhood?” Casey asked, amusement clear in her voice. She turned toward me, taking my face in her hands, and peppered a half a dozen small kisses onto my lips. “What am I going to do with you?”
“If you haven’t figured that out by now, I feel sorry for you.”
She laughed and stood up, bringing me with her. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s go find us a home.”
James and I had been meeting two times a week for the past few months, and although it was slow going, I had worked my way through some important issues, mainly about fatherhood. We talked at length about the type of man Ray was, and I began to see with my own eyes that I was nothing like him. I’d almost forgotten the manipulations and the mind-games he’d played on me, until James had brought those memories back to the surface.
To a thirteen-year-old kid, Ray loomed larger than life, powerful beyond measure, a giant among men. But looking back now, I could see him for who he was – a small-minded man who was only as strong a
s I was weak. Using pain and fear as his weapons of choice, Ray swiftly and brutally shut down rebellion before it could take hold. Ray knew I was strong. He knew I would fight. So he tore my wings off before I could ever take flight.
It took a person void of a conscience to callously and viciously destroy the lives of so many. Ray lacked the most basic of all human traits – empathy. No, I wasn’t like him at all, because despite the extended period of time I’d spent with the man, he’d never managed to beat the compassion out of me. And despite the drastic measures I’d been forced to take in order to save my own life, I crawled out of Ray’s hell with my humanity intact.
I knew then that I’d be okay, that my future children would be okay, and with those opening credits out of the way, James and I were able to return to the place we’d been the day I’d stormed out of his office the year before.
“Tell me what life was like for you in the basement.”
On the surface, it didn’t seem like a loaded question, but to this day, the secrets I kept and the burden I carried all went back to the answer to that question.
“It was a torture all its own.”
James looked up from his legal pad, no doubt checking me for signs of stability, but also urging me with his eyes to continue. This was why I was here – to get it out of my head so I wasn’t the only one carrying the weight. The memories poured from me then, as I told him about the dwindling food supply, the bugs, and the mattress I slept on that was covered in dried blood. I shared with him the fear I experienced every time the lights went out, shrouding me in darkness, and how Ray would sometimes throw me a bone in the form of a tea candle, which I would then watch obsessively until the flame eventually fizzled out and died, just like everything else in the tomb of death I was imprisoned in.
But it wasn’t the darkness or the lack of food or the hopelessness that caused me to flee from that final conversation I’d had with James. No, it was the seemingly harmless dripping of water that triggered my dramatic exit… or more importantly, what those leaking and creaking pipes meant to me while I waited for the end to come.
