“Good afternoon, Patricia. I’m detective Smith and this Detective Vannatti, if you can remember us,” the male detective spoke as he gestured to the woman who stood next to him. His voice was gentle as if he was talking to a child, and not of a woman of twenty-four years. He placed a hand against the railing of her bed as he leaned against it.
“I hope that you remember us. We spoke with you a few days after you awoke from your coma. We were hoping that you would be able to answer some questions for us now that you were unable to previously,” Detective Vannatti asked as she pulled out a pen and small green spiral notebook from the pocket of her worn black blazer.
“Questions, questions about what?” Trish asked hoarsely.
Detective Smith cleared his throat, “Questions about your kidnapping, if you happen to remember.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” she stated, shaking her head.
“I know, that’s what you said in the initial report we took. We were hoping that your memory had finally come back,” Detective Vannatti said.
“My memory is completely fine; I know what happened,” she said.
Detective Smith sighed and raised an eyebrow, “So, in your initial report, you stated that a man and a woman were following you, correct?”
Trish gulped, “Yes.”
“Interesting, what did they look like, again?” he questioned as he also pulled out a pen and small spiral green notebook; his was tattered.
“Well, the man was white with dark hair and almost too perfect teeth. He was pretty tall and really clean. Like he hadn’t been out there camping. He wasn’t sweating at all, not from what I could see,” she answered.
“Did he say anything to you?” Detective Vannatti asked after she finished writing in her pad.
“Not that I can remember. I know that they did, but it’s so hazy and blurry, I really can’t remember what he said,” she answered softly.
The two detectives looked at each other for a few seconds as they wrote something down. “What about the woman?” he asked.
“She was black and a little taller than me. Also, she was thin. I was a bit jealous of her from what I remember,” she said.
“Did she speak as well?” he asked. Trish nodded.
“Do you remember what she said?”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to remember everything that I can, but all I can think of is the cave, the riddle, the demon, and how much pain I was in.”
Detective Vannatti took a deep breath, “We get that you’re suffering, but you need to cut it with the demonic story. No one believes that.”
“Why shouldn’t they? It’s what happened!” Trish yelled.
“Okay, let’s calm down,” Detective Vannatti said.
“We know that what you have been through was traumatic and terrible, and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, not even my enemies,” Detective Smith said as he coughed into his sleeve. “But with your disorder plus post-traumatic stress disorder, it can make you believe things happened when they didn’t.”
“It did happen!” Trish yelled.
“Emily told us about your disorder, Patricia.”
“You talked to Emily? Why would you talk with her? She has nothing to do with this!”
Detective Vannatti closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her small nose. “We have spoken to everyone that you are close with. Your parents and Emily. They all had insight into your situation that we needed after you wouldn’t answer questions the first time. Once you’re back on your regular dosage of medication, we hope that you will be able to remember that happened that day.”
Trish grunted as she tried to hold back her emotions. Who the fuck do these people think they are? I almost fucking died, and they’re in here calling me crazy? Trish bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “Why are you so incessant with this couple that followed me? Why do you give a shit about them?”
Detective Smith and Vannatti looked at each other for a few seconds before they decided to answer. Detective Smith took a deep breath, “They are wanted to be a couple, could be just dating or married, who kill people out in the wilderness. They are wanted to have killed over thirty hikers, bikers, and campers in the past three years. We really need to solve this case, and we feel as though you have more information than you’re letting on.”
“Well, I don’t. I told you that I can’t remember what they said to me and I honestly don’t want to. I just want to be left alone. I told you everything that I know and I’m sorry that you don’t believe me, but that’s all I have. Do you have any other questions for me?”
“Nope, I think we can get more answers once you’re back on your medication. We will keep in touch and let you know of any new developments,” Detective Vannatti stated as she turned to leave Trish’s hospital room. Detective Smith looked down at Trish and shook his head. He followed Vannatti out, and with him went his awful stench.
They’re so fucking stupid. They’ll never help me. I’m going to have to fix this situation myself once I get outta here. Trish thought to herself as a nurse came in to check her vitals.
Chapter Nine
A
month later, Trish was discharged from the hospital to her parents. They still aren’t getting along, and she’ll never forgive them, but she was happy to be out of the hospital. Her parents had set her up in the guest bedroom of their house since she couldn’t take care of herself at her own place just yet.
“I missed Sausage so much!” Trish squealed as Sausage jumped onto her lap. She was sitting on the couch, her amputated arm currently in a sling just to make sure that the wounds healed correctly. Sausage licked her face, her hand, and sat on her lap. His plump sausage body hurt her legs, but she didn’t care; she only wanted him around her forever.
“Get down off of her,” her dad commanded. Sausage ignored him, and Trish laughed.
“He’s fine, dad.”
“I don’t want him to hurt you.”
“I said he’s fine,” she said.
Her mother was in the spare bedroom getting everything set up. They had raided her apartment and grabbed everything that they thought she would need. They keep trying to get Trish to completely move back in, but she refused to. Her parents went ahead and paid six months’ worth of rent for her so that whenever she could go back to her job as a veterinary technician, she’d still have a home as well.
“Who did your doctor refer you to?” her dad asked.
“I have several referrals. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, etc.,” she replied
“No, I mean the actual therapist, also. Did they refer you to a counselor?” he asked.
“Dr. Whiteman is my therapist and Dr. Hughes is my counselor,” she said as she pet Sausage’s head.
“When’s your first appointment with the therapist? The doctor said you may have PTSD with the hallucinations you have been having. Do you think they’ll prescribe you medicine for that?”
“Both of my appointments are tomorrow. And probably,” she said, not wanting to elaborate.
“You know, dear, she’s your child, which means she also has your father's blood running through her. Of course, she’ll need medication,” her mother said as she walked into the living room and kissed the top of his head. She sat down on the loveseat and motioned for her father to sit next to her. He moved over to where his wife of twenty-nine years sat and grabbed her hand. Trish didn’t respond as she kept petting Sausage.
I haven’t even been here a day, and I’m ready to get the fuck out. She thought as her father turned on the television.
~~~
Trish arrived at her appointment with her counsellor, Dr. Hughes, her parents in tow. They had badgered Trish the entire car ride to sign a consent form so that they could have access to her medical records and permission to speak with her counselor and therapist about her progress. She denied them that, so they sat in silence as they glared at her from across the waiting room.
“Patricia Boreanaz?” An older woman called as she opened
the door that led to the doctor’s offices. Trish stood up and walked over to her; her ankle in a boot screamed in pain, but she bit her lip and tried to ignore it. She didn’t need or want her parents to help her to walk. The woman opened the door wider for Trish as she walked in.
“Down this hallway, third door to the left,” she said as she walked off into another room. Trish walked down the hallway as her heart pounded. I hate counseling. What a waste of time, she thought to herself, but deep down, she knew why she hated it: she didn’t want to end up committed somewhere. She pushed open the door heavy brown door that had Dr. Winnie Hughes etched into a placard.
“Come on in!” Dr. Hughes called from inside. Trish stepped into the room and shut the door behind her.
“Welcome! Go ahead and take a seat over right there,” Dr. Hughes said as she motioned to a brown leather chair that sat in front of her large mahogany desk. The desk was neat and organized. She looked to be about middle-aged. Fine lines covered her pale face. She had grey and blonde hair, which was pulled up into a neat bun. Her frame was small, but her presence echoed throughout the room. A small puff noise echoed as her essential oil diffuser filled the room with a lavender scent. Dr. Hughes smiled at Trish, and Trish nodded back as she took a seat.
“Good morning, I’m Dr. Hughes. How are you today?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling in the florescent lights of the room. The room was minimally decorated, with no inspirational quotes to be found anywhere. Thank God, she thought to herself as she hated counselors who tried to force happiness on everyone.
“I’m okay,” she responded stifly.
“That’s all anyone can ask for, isn’t it?” Dr. Hughes remarked as she pulled the top notebook off of the stack that sat on the desk. Its blue hue glistened in the lights. She opened it up and flipped to a blank page. “Today is the first day, so please don’t be nervous. Today is all about intake, getting to know you, and figuring out what you want to achieve in our sessions. You don’t need to open up all at once; therapy is to help you grow and meet your personal goals. I will see you for as long as you want to see me,” she said as she stared at Trish. Trish glanced away from Dr. Hughes.
“Okay,” Trish said as she took a deep breath, letting the lavender fill her lungs.
“Good. So, why do you think you’re here?” she asked.
“You know why,” Trish responded.
“Yes, I know what Dr. Gutiérrez said, but I want to know why you think you are here,” Dr. Hughes said.
Trish took another deep breath as if she was trying to suck all of the room clean of oxygen. “I had a horrific accident.”
“So, I’ve heard. That must have been absolutely traumatizing,” she said.
“Yes, it was,” Trish whispered as her face grew hot.
“Here, let’s have you fill out the paperwork and then we can discuss what your goals are of therapy. Sound like a plan?” Dr. Hughes asked.
“Sure,” she responded. Dr. Hughes handed her a stack of paperwork. Everything ranging from her name to if she is contemplating suicide.
“Take your time with this paperwork; we have an hour, so there’s really no rush. I also wanted to inform you that the first few appointments are figuring out if we are a good fit. I could think that we are making progress, but you could think that I’m not the right therapist for you, and that’s okay. Just let me know at any point if you’d like to see someone else, and I can refer you, no problem,” Dr. Hughes said as she wrote something down in her notebook.
“I understand,” Trish said as she started filling out her paperwork. The first page asking for generic information. Name, date of birth, social security number, family health history. The second page was where Trish became nervous.
Are you disorganized? Do you have anxiety? Have you ever heard voices or seen things that others couldn’t hear or see? Her hand shook as she circled her answers, the circles looking more oblong, and some of the lines never connected, leaving a gap within the circles. Trish decided to lie to on the paper. She stated she had zero anxiety, zero depression, zero nightmares, and she definitely never heard or saw anything that other people didn’t. Trish sniffled and shook her head as she bit her lip. After ten minutes, she finished the paperwork.
“I’m done,” she said to Dr. Hughes.
Dr. Hughes looked up and smiled, “That was fast, thank you.” She stuck her hand out to take the packet from Trish. Dr. Hughes ignored the first page and flipped to the second. She scanned the page, her blue eyes darting around quickly.
“So, what do you want to get out of therapy?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Trish responded with a small shrug.
“Just so you know, I cannot prescribe medication, and I am not here to diagnose you. I am a therapist, not a psychiatrist. I am here to make your life easier, if even just a little bit.”
Trish nodded and stared at the ground. “I would like the nightmares to stop and be able to work with animals again.”
Dr. Hughes clicked her tongue. “I can’t guarantee that I can make the nightmares go away, but hopefully, in time, with therapy, your stress will lower and, thus, will lower the number of nightmares that you have. Also, you work with animals? What do you do?”
“I’m a veterinary technician. So, kind of like a nurse but for animals,” Trish said, a smile crept onto her face.
“What kind of animals do you work with?”
“Mainly pets; dogs, cats, birds, hamsters, snakes, what have you. I really wanted to be a vet tech for a zoo and work with exotic animals, but it is seriously competitive,” Trish said as her voice raised.
Dr. Hughes nodded, “That makes sense. What kind of exotic animals would you work with if you got the choice?”
“Snakes. I love snakes. They’re my favorite animal.”
Dr. Hughes laughed, “I am very afraid of snakes, so as long as you keep them away from me, I will be willing to help you.”
Trish chuckled, “Deal.”
“What made you decide to work with animals?”
“Well, I was a very lonely child. I loved spending all of my time playing outdoors and wandering around in the woods by myself. One day, I came across an armadillo that had been hit by a car on the side of the road. It was barely breathing. Don’t worry, I didn’t get leprosy,” Trish laughed. “Anyway, I tried to help it, but nothing I did seem to help. It eventually passed away, and I gave it a proper burial. I named it Lucy. Besides my grandpa, she was my first real friend. I went back and visited her grave almost every day.”
“Sounds like that was a positive experience for you. What emotions do you feel when working with animals?”
“Well, it is the only time I feel real love,” Trish exhaled as she closed her eyes and relished in the memories of all of the fur babies she has gotten to help over the years.
“Very interesting, thank you for sharing. We haven’t touched on it yet, but I know you’ve been through quite a traumatic experience. How do you feel about seeing me twice a week every week until you feel more comfortable and content with yourself? Or how often would you like to see me?” Dr. Hughes asked as she wrote something down.
“What are you writing?” Trish questioned.
“Oh, just little notes about you.”
“I don’t like it; please don’t write anything about me,” Trish said as her hand gripped the leather beneath her fingers.
“Don’t worry at all. I haven’t written your name down or anything. These are just little notes to help me remember things about you, and it gets locked away every night in that cabinet,” Dr. Hughes pointed to a steel cabinet next to her desk that Trish hadn’t noticed before. “Is that okay?”
Trish bit her bottom lip hard, drawing blood. “I guess.”
“Are you paranoid that someone will find out what I write down about you? I can assure you that that would never happen,” Dr. Hughes inquired.
“I don’t want anyone finding out what I say here, especially not my parents,” she answered.
“All of your secrets are safe with me. The only time that I have to report anything is if you admit to being a danger to yourself or others. But, after looking over your paperwork, I don’t think that will be the case, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” Trish said firmly.
“Good. That settles it then,” Dr. Hughes smiled. “Another thing I wanted to offer is group therapy. It can really help your personal growth to talk with others who have been through traumatic experiences as well. It is a great way to bond with others,” she said.
“What will be expected of me?” Trish asked as her fingers dug even harder into the old leather. “Well, you honestly don’t have to do anything. You can show up and listen to other people talk and offer them comfort. Or you can share your thoughts and feelings, and they’ll offer you comfort. I find people start to feel better if they are a part of a tribe if you know what I’m saying,” Dr. Hughes answered.
Trish thoughts for a few beats and sighed, releasing her grip on the chair. “Sure, why not?”
“That’s great! Here is a flyer of theirs that I have. Go ahead and keep it, let me know if you decide to go or not, and we can discuss in our next session,” Dr. Hughes spun around in her large brown office chair and searched in a stack of flyers. She pulled one out and leaned over the desk to hand it to Trish. “Our time is up. How about I schedule you for the day after tomorrow? Nine in the morning. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. See you then.”
~~~
“How’d it go?” Her mother asked as her father drove them to her psychiatrist appointment.
“It went okay,” she said.
“Do you like her?”
She shrugged. “She’s fine.”
Her mother sighed heavily and smiled. “Good, I’m so glad. Hopefully, you’ll stick with this one this time, huh?”
Trish didn’t respond as she looked out the window and watched the world float by. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell her the truth about the armadillo or if she’ll think I’m a complete nutcase and lock me in the looney bin again. Also, maybe she will believe me if I tell her what really happened on my trip? Maybe the detectives or doctors or my parents already told her about what I said. Maybe she already knows. She doesn’t seem to judge me. Maybe she doesn’t think I’m crazy?
The Cave Page 7