by Alona Jarden
I didn’t even answer him.
The second my arms were free, I ran to the restroom and emptied myself on the toilet.
When I was done, I didn’t, for one moment, try to find an escape route from that cabin. I just washed my hands as quickly as I could and returned to sit cross-legged on the bed in front of him.
"I want to see that picture again, Andrew."
"I'll do more than just show it to you, I'll take you back to re-live the moment that is captured in it."
"I don’t want to be hypnotized. I already told you. I want to stay in full control of the situation."
"Fine, but I also have conditions for this to happen."
"Like what?"
"My first condition is that during our sessions, I will call you Katarina."
"Why do you need to call me by that name?"
"Because you have to go back to the days when that was your name."
"You know what? Fine." I agreed with his first demand and hoped that would speed things up.
"I also want us to hold hands."
"No way, pervert." I was afraid that it would serve as an opening to another kind of contact I didn’t want. "You do not touch me. I'm serious! You and your microscopic organ are not getting anywhere near me, is that clear?"
"Don’t be offended, amigo," he looked down directly at his crotch, "I told her we were not attracted to her and that's just her reaction. She doesn’t mean anything she says. She's just hurt and insulted."
"All right, all right," I waved my palms at him, rolling my eyes and laughing. "I agree, we'll hold hands."
For a short while, Andrew continued to define important rules and behavior for me during our sessions.
He explained that, in order for him to guide me on the safe path, I had to communicate with him clearly and honestly. He demanded I would tell him everything I saw, asked that I wouldn’t let go of his hands and would keep my eyes shut even if I panicked or saw something I thought I couldn’t handle. He then asked that instead of doing so, I would tell him I wanted to finish the session. Once he finished, I agreed to his terms.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"I'm scared."
"That’s great. I'm glad to hear it." He sat down on my bed, crossed his legs and placed his palms up on either one of my knees.
"I meant what I said, psycho. Except for this handhold, you do not touch me."
"It's go time, Katerina. The time for making jokes has ended." His serious tone helped me concentrate on my breathing and I followed his instructions quietly.
In my head, there were a million questions and, contrary to what he’d claimed, I hadn't an answer to any of them. But his calm voice and clear directions told me to get out of my head and follow the path he led me down.
"Good job. Now, again, Katarina. Breathe deeply through your mouth," he instructed after a long time, during which he helped me relax my muscles and consciousness.
I inhaled.
"And blow the air slowly back out of your body."
I exhaled.
"Now I want you to breathe deeply through your nose, but I want you to imagine the smell of vanilla, candles and snacks while you do it."
I inhaled, finding it hard to imagine that smell, as it wasn’t present around me.
"And now, breathe that smell back out of you."
I exhaled.
"And again," he instructed me to repeat that same exercise.
"Hmm..." I frowned as I inhaled and a faint smell of matches penetrated my nose.
"Now get the smell out of you again."
I exhaled, trying to figure out if I really had smelled it.
"I want you to listen to your breathing, Katarina."
I listened to the sounds of the air coming in and out of my lungs.
"I want you to listen to the laughter of your friends."
All I heard was the silence around us.
"I want you to listen to the birthday song they’re singing for you."
That song automatically played in my mind.
"I want you to hear the applause as they swing you up and down on the decorated birthday chair."
I suddenly heard, from a distance, exactly what he had asked me to hear.
"Now I want you to tell me what you see around you."
"I see many happy children." I was surprised that was what I saw behind my closed eyes.
"I want you to look around and pick one thing you feel you know very well, so that you can describe it to me, Katarina."
"The cake," I answered without having to think it over and ignored the fact that I found myself in an apartment I did not recognize.
"Tell me about the cake," his pleasant voice tickled my ears.
"It's on a silver, square surface."
"Yes, what else?"
"It's three tiers high."
"Describe the first layer."
"On the lower part, there's a pink stripe. From it, there seem to be stems of wild flowers with purple petals sticking out over the border of the second layer of the cake."
"What does the second layer look like?"
"On its flat surface, there are flowers of purple, pink and white sugar dough, bordering on the base of the third and last layer."
"Describe the last layer, please."
"On the back end of it, there's a pink veil like a bride's."
"Why is there a veil on the cake, Katarina?"
"Because I wanted to have a wedding instead of a birthday party."
"Who did you want to marry?"
"My father," I smiled happily when a new memory came to my mind and a clear sense of love for my father filled my heart.
"Do you remember who baked this fancy cake?"
"My mother. I told her I wanted a cake similar to the one she had on her wedding day." I was shocked by my answer and had to take it in before I continued.
I wanted to pull my hands away from him, but he held me too tightly. I wanted to open my eyes and detach myself from the confusing revisitation of that birthday party with wedding atmosphere, but I was afraid to.
I couldn’t understand why I suddenly remembered it so well, but his warnings about the damage that such a quick detachment could cause made me shudder and wonder if I really wanted to continue walking into the depths of my subconscious.
"I think I want to stop now, Andrew."
"Just tell me what's written on the cake and we'll stop."
"No, Andrew. I'm upset and I want to get out of this memory right now."
"I'm sorry, but I insist. What's written on the cake? Take a look and tell me what's written on your birthday cake, Katarina!"
"No, I can't. I can’t anymore!" I shouted with my eyes closed, "Please, Andrew. It's too much. Please."
"Breathe deeply, Katarina." It didn’t sound as if he’d gotten as excited as I had and I took a deep breath. "Fill your lungs with air, fill yourself up with air."
It was strange that it felt like my breathing did just that.
"Get out of your memory. Separate yourself from the guests and separate yourself from the ones you can already remember."
I smiled and behind my closed eyelids saw myself looking around and nodding to all the neighborhood children who had come to celebrate my third birthday as my wedding with my father.
"Now turn around, leave everything behind and come back to the room we're sitting in right now." He waited until he saw my breath returning to its normal rhythm and then continued, "Now you can open your eyes."
I did.
"I guess we're done for today, Kate."
"Katarina," I corrected him. "The writing on the cake said, 'Happy birthday, Katarina’."
I didn’t know why, but that was the name I saw written on the last layer of my third birthday cake.
Chapter 10
Mr. Briggs
"Do something!" I screamed at Officer Swenson as she played a surveillance video of my daughter being shoved into the trunk of a yellow car with a hidden license plate.
"That's
exactly what we're doing, Mr. Briggs. We tracked Kate's last steps as Aidan described them, and that's how we came across these videos."
"Did you manage to see where they went?" I asked.
"This is all we could see." She switched on the video again and the cameras showed the yellow car stopping at a gas station, then passing some green lights, until finally disappearing from the camera’s range, then the screen turned black.
"Okay, I watched the tape, now tell me where she is."
"I wondered if you might be able to answer that question for us, Mr. Briggs," she revealed I was one of their main suspects.
"Me? Why would I know that? Where's the rest of the video?"
"As soon as they left our jurisdiction, we weren’t able to follow them, but I'm sure you have something to tell us about what you saw."
"Something like what?" I frowned at her.
"Does this car look familiar? Is the man with the baseball cap someone you know from your life or from Kate's life?"
"His face is covered and we both know that's not what you're really asking me."
"In that case, Mr. Briggs, there's no need to pretend, is there? Please tell me what were you doing two days ago, around that time."
"What I was doing?" I was glad she had stopped circling around her desire to find my alibi for my daughter's abduction, but thinking I could be involved was preposterous. "I was home alone. I waited for her to return and almost went crazy."
"Can anyone vouch for you being in your apartment?"
"Yes," I didn’t hesitate to reply. "You'll find that I called nine-one-one at that time."
"What was the purpose of the conversation?"
"Are you serious? Are you really asking me that?" I raised my voice at her. "I was calling to report that my daughter was missing, but you know what? Now that I think about it, I also wonder what the purpose of that conversation was. Looking back, it seems it really was unnecessary, because instead of looking for her, the responder tried to tell me that I was a hysterical father and told me to wait until morning to file a missing person report."
"I have to say I understand where she was coming from. Can you tell me why you rushed to the conclusion that she was missing?"
"Because she is missing," I rolled my eyes at her, realizing that I had to cooperate with her if I wanted to be removed from the list of suspects, so that Kate could be found.
"Mr. Briggs, sometimes, girls of her age get distracted on their way home and their parents are in no hurry to assume that they were kidnapped. You asked me to speak freely and, in the spirit of honesty, I have to admit that your reaction is somewhat suspicious."
"I'm sorry." I looked directly into her eyes. "I'm a little upset by the video you've shown me, but I'm ready to answer your questions and play along with you now."
"Then tell me, Mr. Briggs..." She showered me with a rain of questions and I did my very best to answer each and every one of them with patience and restraint, both of which I wasn’t really sure I had.
Officer Swenson and her partner looked at my facial expressions very carefully and I watched them take occasional notes when they managed to break my peace and get me to speak firmly. They asked me what I had done from the time Kate left the house up until that very moment, sitting there with them and if I have to be honest, my patience was at its edge.
"Yes," I gritted my teeth in an effort to politely reply to yet another one of the questions addressed to me. "I am concerned and I do believe there is a real danger to my daughter's life."
"That wasn’t my question, Mr. Briggs. The question was whether you were worried about her. I said nothing about a life-threatening situation," Officer Swenson reiterated her question.
"I know what you asked, but you tell me, did we watch the same video?" I looked at her, frustrated that she’d tried to twist my own words against me. "Did that guy seem like someone who had just invited her for a date or did he seem like someone who grabbed her against her will? Do you really think I should be worried about her being irresponsible and coming back pregnant, or is worrying she might be coming back to me in a body bag such an unreasonable leap?"
"I understand." She didn’t reply further and, again, wrote a few things in her notepad.
Each time I felt like she’d asked the last question, she’d swipe to a new page and reveal another list of questions waiting to be asked behind it.
"Listen," I breathed heavily, "I understand your obligation to check all possible directions for the investigation and I realize I've been identified as one of the main suspects."
"Nothing is set in stone yet, Mr. Briggs. At this moment, everyone is a suspect."
"That's excellent, Officer Swenson. All I want to hear is that, while you're investigating me, you're also looking elsewhere because I know I can't help you find her."
"Sir, can I ask if you're married?" she ignored my statement and went back to the sequence of questions she had for me.
"No, I never married," I exhaled in frustration.
"So Kate is your daughter and her mother is..."
"Kate is my daughter." I’d never been willing to share her with anyone else. "I'm her father and she has no other parent."
"Sir, do I have to teach you about the facts of life or did someone already have a conversation with you about the birds and the bees?"
"Oh, I know just fine how children come into this world. It's by the stupidity and irresponsibility of others." I slammed my fist hard on the table top.
"Can you elaborate on that?" Officer Swenson seemed pleased she had led me into another violent outburst.
"Some women open their legs before they open their hearts. Sometimes, they allow themselves to get into a situation they cannot deal with."
"Sir, I think it's in your best interest to start explaining yourself better than that."
"Are you asking me to do so or are you demanding?"
"It seems to me that you should cooperate with us, especially if you have nothing to do with Kates' abduction and you want your daughter to be found alive and safe."
"I adopted Kate from an orphanage in Costa Rica. I'm the only father she ever knew and that makes her my daughter. She is not my adopted daughter, she is my daughter."
"How old was she when she was adopted?"
"She was a baby, about six months old."
"And ever since then, she has been here with you in the United States?"
"Yes." Frustration almost overcame me.
"Do you have all the documents that can prove that? Do you have pictures or testimonials that will support your claims?"
"Of course, Officer Swenson. As soon as I get home, I'll send you everything. I swear I'll do anything you want, just please, help me find her. Help me look for her. Find this man and this yellow car and do something so that she will smile in my arms once again."
I sat at the police station for a long time after that.
I wasn’t officially defined as a suspect, but I knew what the purpose of the interrogators' questions was and did my best to answer them thoroughly.
Later that evening, I returned to my apartment.
It was the second night Kate didn’t spend with me and I hoped with all my heart it would be the last.
I did as I had promised and sent Officer Swenson a scan of all the documents she had asked for, before placing them back in the trunk under the bench on our porch.
I used to sit there with my daughter and reminisce, but that night I sat there alone.
Kate wasn’t there to lift my spirits and, in her absence, it was hard for me to hold back and avoid browsing through the photo album she loved so much.
Once, when she was a young girl, I was the one who insisted on sitting with her and digging through the photo album every few days. I was the one who had to tell her, in great detail, about each and every picture. But, as the years went by and as we built new memories on top of the old ones, the demand to browse through the old photo albums suddenly came from her.
The first picture
that awaited me in the album was of the day she returned home from the hospital. Her face was red and she was crying at the top of her lungs. Her parents weren't in it and, even if they had been, I probably would have removed them in an attempt to help her erase what had happened from her memory and start over.
I wasn’t there for her at the beginning, which was no fault of mine. I wasn’t present during the first few months of her life. Our special bond started to build and became meaningful only from the age of six months and on.
The next photo I saw was from her first birthday party. I'd never forget the joy that filled my heart that day.
Her beautiful dress fluttered over the swollen diaper and her big smile as she sat calmly between my arms indicated that it was her natural resting place.
I flipped a few more pages forward in the photo album and my eyes rested on my favorite picture, taken on her third birthday. I hadn’t wanted to remember the actual party, but rather the made-up one I had invented for her.
I suddenly remembered all those times I'd told her about some other party. One which had never existed.
I never had the courage to tell her the truth. I didn’t have the strength to watch her break into pieces as she heard what had really happened. Maybe I was selfish in that respect, but I’d decided to keep her all to my own.
"No, it was a wedding." Her delicate voice made me laugh when she was only five years old and I made her listen to my stories about each and every picture again.
"No, my beauty. It was your third birthday party."
"Oh my, did you forget? That was my wedding with Dad."
"You're confused again, Kate. Do you remember when you woke up last night and you told me about your dream? Do you remember dreaming about a birthday party that was a wedding?"
"No."
"That's okay. Sometimes it's hard to remember dreams, sweetheart, but I assure you that it didn’t really happen and that it was just a dream." I gestured at her in the photo, smiling in my arms. "Do you see how happy you were?"
"That's me," she replied proudly, trying to imitate that smile.
"Very true!" I encouraged her. "And who is that?"