“He said it was the best night of his life, and I know he meant it. When I woke up, he was gone. I don’t even remember him leaving.”
Dr. Shelia shifts in her chair. “You know, it isn’t uncommon for young men to fear intimacy. It may have felt right in the moment, but maybe afterward he realized he needed some time to come to terms with his feelings about your relationship. If that’s the case, there is likely nothing to worry about. He’ll come around when he’s had a chance to think things through. If your relationship means as much to him as it does to you, this won’t keep him away for long.”
“But I know him,” I argue. “He would never ignore me like this after something so important.”
“Do you really know him, Claire?”
I stiffen. My stomach sinks as I try to find a compelling argument to prove I do, in fact, know him, but all evidence points to the contrary. I know what building he lives in, but not the room. I know what type of work he does, but not where. I never even learned his last name.
I try to think through everything I’ve told him about myself. Did I leave out any of these facts? Were we both so wrapped up in spending time together that we never bothered to learn any minute details? Or did he purposefully withhold them from me?
I shudder at the thought. No, he wouldn’t have done it on purpose. What we had was real. It was more real than anything I’ve experienced in my life. “I may not know everything about him, but I know enough to be sure he wouldn’t act this way. Besides, I know his schedule, and I haven’t seen him at the bus stop, on the rail, outside his building. Nowhere.”
“You’ve been waiting outside his building?”
I swallow hard, then nod. “I waited all morning today until an enforcer came. I tried to get him to help me, but he didn’t take my worries seriously. Without his last name or any connection of kinship, I can’t report him as missing.”
“And you shouldn’t,” she says. “You don’t know that he is missing. Besides, if he is, his employers will be the first to report him.”
“That’s what the enforcer said.” A thought comes to mind, sending a ripple of energy through me. I sit up, eyes locking on Dr. Shelia. “Is that something someone like you would have access to? Some kind of database for missing people being reported?”
She watches me, eyes narrowed. I feel cold beneath her scrutiny, but I can’t look away. I’m too full of hope that she’ll say yes. She leans forward in her chair. “Lay back down, Claire. I think we should first discuss why you were outside Darren’s building all morning.”
“I told you. I know something is wrong. He has to be in trouble.”
“Then why were you looking for him? If you know something is wrong and you think he’s missing, then why did you expect to find him at home?”
I consider her words, agitation making my shoulders tense. “I wanted to prove to myself that he is missing.”
“Why? Because you’re afraid of the alternative? That he’s avoiding you?”
I stammer, before saying, “Well, of course I’m worried about that possibility, but I know that’s not the case.”
“Go ahead and lie back down.”
I grind my teeth, then do as told.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
“No. I stopped after I found Darren missing.”
“Why?”
“I’m too anxious to sleep.”
“If you took your medication, you’d sleep just fine. You know this.”
The agitation within me is spreading like a fire. I can feel it crawling up my spine, down to my fingertips. She doesn’t understand. I can’t sleep.
“Why are you afraid of sleep?”
I frown and turn to face her. “Afraid? What are you talking about?”
“You’re afraid to sleep. Tell me why.”
“Because...Darren went missing while I was sleeping. I don’t want to sleep in case that’s when I finally hear from him. I want to be there for him when he needs me.”
“Why else?”
“There is no other reason. And it’s not fear, it’s me being cautious.”
“You were afraid to sleep before you met Darren. I thought it was general trauma, but I don’t think that’s the entire story. Why are you afraid to sleep?”
I look away from her, tears welling in my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tightening in my chest.
Dr. Shelia’s voice comes softly. “You can tell me, Claire. I’m here for you.”
It comes out with a sob. “My mom died while I was sleeping.” The memory seizes me—finding my mother lifeless in her bed, without warning. Without a goodbye. All I got from her were her last words. Rise up, my sweet one. You are worth more than this. She’d roused me from sleep in the middle of the night with them, along with a soft kiss. I felt the kiss on my cheek, heard the words, but I didn’t wake enough to respond. I just floated back to sleep, no idea that those words would be her last.
Dr. Shelia doesn’t speak; she just lets me cry. When I begin gasping for air, she fetches me a cup of water from the waiting room, then opens the window in her office. This helps me catch my breath as the tears continue to pour freely.
My tears are long past spent by the time Dr. Shelia speaks again. Her words come softly to me. “You’re planting the weight of your mother’s death into Darren’s perceived disappearance. You are associating both acts with the trauma of being abandoned. What is happening with Darren is triggering these memories inside you. If you detach this trauma from the situation, you’ll see what’s happening with Darren is entirely normal.”
I want to argue. Darren’s disappearance didn’t trigger any thoughts of my mom’s death, but could she be right? Could there be some underlying association making me perceive my current events beneath the clouds of my past?
It’s possible, and I’d almost prefer for her to be right. If Darren is simply avoiding me due to some fear of intimacy, that means he could come back. He could show up at my apartment tonight, apology in hand. We could pick up where we left off.
Then another memory comes to mind—Darren, eyes wild, talking about how he’s being followed. I open my mouth to tell Dr. Shelia about this, then snap it closed again. What good could it do? She already thinks I’m overreacting. I close my eyes and try to let Dr. Shelia’s theory bring me peace. My racing heart begins to slow, and my muscles begin to unclench.
“I really am glad you came to me,” Dr. Shelia says. “You are welcome to come to me at any time. I will make time for you. And message me if you have any unsettling thoughts. For now, I want you to go home and put Darren out of your mind. Spend some time doing what Darren is likely doing. Think about what your relationship with him means to you. Think about what you need from him going forward. A last name is a good start.”
There’s humor in her voice, but I don’t feel like laughing. Still, I force a smile and say my thanks. I leave her office, leave the city, head back to the Public District. I feel empty. Raw.
No matter how much I try, no matter how much Dr. Shelia might be right, there’s no way I can put Darren out of my mind.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next few days go by in a blur. It’s like the days following my mom’s death all over again. The numbness has returned. I hate that I feel this way, that I’m letting some guy—or lack of—determine my mental state. But it isn’t just depression over him disappearing. There’s still the fear that my original theory is correct.
That somewhere out there, Darren is in trouble.
But I can’t think about that, because thinking about it makes me fall apart. And I can’t fall apart because there’s work to be done. Laundry to wash.
Cue the numbness.
It’s better not to feel anything than to feel like my world is falling away beneath me.
The women in the laundry room have gone back to not speaking to me. They tried to get me involved in their conversations, but I can only manage a grunt here and there at best these days. Wednesday comes around, and I have another a
ppointment with Dr. Shelia. It’s more of the same. Talking about my mom. Talking about my abandonment issues. Talking about how I should be taking my pills and getting sleep.
She shows me a mirror to make her point. I stare at my reflection, but all I can do is convulse with a single laugh that doesn’t make it out of my mouth. The radiance I saw looking back at me before I spent my last night with Darren is gone. Was it ever there to begin with? The circles have returned to their place beneath my eyes, darker than ever. My skin is so pale, I swear it’s translucent. And my eyes. The blue looks nothing like the summer sky, like my mom used to compare them to. It looks more like the shade of a corpse. I look away with a sigh, and Dr. Shelia watches me, face full of concern. When Dr. Grand comes in, she tells me how my vitals are slipping, but I hardly hear her words.
I leave in a daze, barely registering my travels down the streets of the city, past the flashing advertisements on every corner, past the restaurants, windows, people. I don’t remember getting on the rail or the bus. I’m not sure where my thoughts are as I walk home because I’m not paying attention to those either. Thoughts are dangerous. They revolve around Darren.
I know it must be nearing curfew by the time the housing centers are in view because the streets around me have grown quiet. That strikes me as odd, considering I’m not out past extended curfew tonight. Just regular curfew. This clears my head a little, bringing my thinking mind out from hiding.
As I walk down the street leading to my apartment, I quicken my pace. There’s still a hint of light in the sky, but that doesn’t mean I like walking past alleyways at night. My eyes are fixed firmly ahead when I hear a sound to my right coming from the alley. I give it a wide berth and am about to hurry past when motion catches my eye. I freeze, startling further away from it. That’s when a figure rises, shadowed beneath the growing darkness between the two tall buildings, halfway down the alley. When he’s on his feet, I only need to see a hint of his face to recognize him.
“Darren?”
He’s filthy, clothes stained and torn, face bruised and bloody. “Claire.” His voice comes out with a cry. “Oh my God, Claire. Are you really here?”
I’m frozen in horror, in confusion, until my feet remember how to move. We start toward each other at the same time, tears of relief already streaming down my face. It feels like an eternity stands between us, and we move like there isn’t a moment to spare.
But it isn’t fast enough.
A door in the alley opens between us, and Darren stumbles, nearly falling in his haste to press himself as far as he can from it. I hesitate, watching as an arm clears the door, followed by a body dressed in black. It isn’t the black of an enforcer, but he’s covered nearly as much, a knit hat over his head and a thick, black jacket zipped to his neck. I can’t make out his face, but his intent is clear as he lunges for Darren. “There he is,” the man grumbles, locking his fingers around Darren’s wrist and hauling him toward the door.
“Darren!” I shout, torn between running toward him and running away.
The man’s eyes find mine, and what I can see of them looks malicious. “There’s a girl out here! Get her!”
The man pulls Darren behind the door as another shadowed figure emerges.
“Run!” calls Darren’s voice, even though I can no longer see him.
My feet obey before my mind does, and I’m flying away from the alley, following the familiar path to my apartment building. While I’ve always been a fast walker, running has never been my strength, and the weight of my backpack is slowing me down. But I keep running, breaths heaving, throat constricting, ignoring the sound of the footsteps gaining on me.
As my courtyard comes into view, I sprint harder, relieved when I see several people making their way up the different staircases to their rooms.
“Help!” I shout, uncaring how badly I startle them. I run to the nearest person, a woman. She backs up, hand to her chest. When I reach her, I look behind me. I release a heavy breath, seeing I wasn’t followed into the courtyard.
The woman puts a reluctant hand on my shoulder, and I return to face her. Three other people are beginning to gather. “What is it?” Her voice is more impatient than kind, but at least I have her attention.
“I’m being followed,” I say through gasping breaths. “There was a man. In an alley. He took my friend. He’s hurting him right now. They came after me because I saw.”
The woman furrows her brow. “You should get to your room. Lie down for a bit.”
I shake my head. “Lie down? When my friend is being tortured? No! We need to help him!”
Her eyes go wide and she takes a step higher on the staircase. “I’m not getting involved with anything like that.”
Two of the other people are walking away from me too, but one stays. He’s an older man, but I barely see him. All I can see is Darren’s beaten face.
“If you want to call an enforcer, I will wait with you until one arrives,” he says.
I sigh. I’m not sure what more I expected. It’s not like I could bring a gang of apartment tenants to confront the men in the alley. No. An enforcer is my only hope.
By the time one arrives, my nerves are frayed, as if they weren’t already. I’m surprised my heart hasn’t ruptured from its speed. I meet the enforcer in the middle of the courtyard and open my mouth to explain.
“Badge,” he says before I can utter a word.
I snap my mouth shut, then retrieve my badge.
He scans it. “You’re out past curfew.”
I stare at him, taken aback. “I called you for help.”
“You shouldn’t be out past curfew.”
“I know, but someone’s in trouble.” I rush to tell my story before he can interrupt. I know I must sound crazy with how fast I’m talking, and the way he stares at me beneath his helmet after I’ve finished my story confirms his doubts.
“Let me get this straight,” he finally says. “You were walking home and passed an alley where you saw your missing friend being taken by a strange man into one of the buildings.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he lives there.”
“He doesn’t live there. Besides, why would someone drag him inside like that, all bloodied?”
He ignores me. “Maybe he works there.”
That makes just as little sense as him living there. “He works in the Select District.”
“What building was it?”
I hesitate, trying to remember what buildings belong to that particular alley. “I don’t know,” I say, then rush to add, “but I remember what alley. I can show you where I saw him.”
He lets out an irritated sigh. “Fine.”
I lead the way back toward the alley. “I was followed by one of the men up until I reached my courtyard.” I look left and right, wondering if I’ll spot someone lurking in the shadows, then look at the enforcer. He doesn’t appear the least bit alarmed. He doesn’t even have his club out. “Aren’t you going to call for reinforcements?”
I imagine him rolling his eyes because his tone reflects it. “If what you say proves to be true, I’ll call for others. Until then, I am only checking on what you think you saw.”
“It could be dangerous. There were at least two of them.”
He says nothing.
We reach the alley, my blood cold at the memory still fresh in my mind. I lead the enforcer to where I last saw Darren and stop in front of the door he’d been taken into. “Here. This is where they took him.”
The enforcer looks the door up and down, shining a beam of light from the panel on his wrist, then points to a plaque in the middle of the door. “Laundromat,” he says. “This one closed a year ago. There’s nothing here now.”
That doesn’t surprise me. “That’s where they’re hiding him.”
“Hiding him,” he echoes.
I’m so frustrated with his lack of concern, I could scream. “Yes, where they are torturing him.”
“Why?”
“I
don’t know, but shouldn’t you go in there and rescue him? Please. He could be dead already.”
He lets out a sigh that sounds more like a groan, then tries the handle. It doesn’t budge. He stares at it for a moment, then looks back toward the street. “Come on, we’ll try the front.” His voice sounds less agitated now, but he doesn’t sound worried in the least.
We make our way to the front of the building where the old laundromat is boarded up. He shines his lights between the bars covering the door, then between the slats of wood sealing the window. “Broken,” he says, then begins prying a few boards at the bottom and side to reveal an opening. Once clear, he steps through, and I follow.
I’m holding my breath, trembling from head to toe as we walk through the abandoned laundromat. A few old machines remain, but it seems most have been hauled away, leaving light spaces on the walls where they used to be. Like mechanical ghosts.
Every sound we make sends my heart higher and higher in my throat. I expect the men to surge toward us at any moment. Why hasn’t he called for reinforcements yet?
As we make our way further back, toward the rooms that were probably used for office or break rooms, my eyes search for any sign of Darren. Clothes. Footprints. Blood. I shudder. But aside from a few scraps of fabric, metal parts, and some shattered glass there’s nothing. No one.
We approach the door to the back rooms, and I’m trembling from head to toe. If Darren isn’t out here, he must be in there. The enforcer takes a slow step forward, then another. He puts his hand on the metal door, then moves it to the handle. Turns it. I clutch my chest as the door swings out, then blink a few times to fully register what I’m seeing. This is no back room, no office. This is the alley we just vacated.
“No!” I push past the enforcer into the alley, looking left and right. My shoulders sink, and my knees feel like they are going to collapse. “They took him already. They knew I’d bring an enforcer here.” I turn toward the man. “We need to look again. There might be clues.”
His hand wraps around my wrist, and I look down at it. Only, it’s not his hand. It’s a cuff, and he holds the other end.
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