by K Larsen
She wrinkles her face up with determination and draws in a breath. Her mouth opens, then snaps shut.
“Nora, come on out,” Holden says from the other side of her bedroom door. It startles us both. I clutch my chest to still my racing heart. Lotte buries her face in my armpit. “It’s nine already. Lotte needs sleep.”
Dr. Richardson
“Let’s stop there, Nora.”
She inhales and blinks away her memories. “Okay.”
“Why is that information safe to share?” I ask. She looks at the floor, posture rigid, fingers twisted tight.
“Because it was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before he kept me.”
I jot down my observations. “How are you sleeping?”
“Not well. There’s too much noise here. Too many lights.”
I nod. “And how are you feeling?”
“Sore.” She motions to her body. “And exhausted.” She looks over her shoulder toward the window. Shallow breathing, blank expression and detachment. Check.
“What kept you going all that time?”
“Words.” Her voice is small.
“Interesting. What do you mean by that?”
“I’m a logophile. I give people, situations or things three words. It calms me.”
“So, you were often anxious?”
“In the beginning.”
“But then you weren’t?”
She smiles. “No.”
“What changed?”
She shakes her head, clamping her mouth shut.
“It’s okay, Nora. You can tell me.”
She shakes her head again. “I need to rest.”
I frown. “Just a few more questions.”
“How is this helping anything?” she asks, irritated.
I ignore this. “Do you feel safe now?”
“No,” she says. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks to the door.
“What do you feel?”
She glares at me, panting. Sweat is visible at her hairline. “Anathema, deprecated, perfidious.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Those are words I’m not readily familiar with.”
She laughs. Her knuckles are white from making fists with her hands. She’s spiraling.
I stand and approach the bedside. “I want you to feel your feet on the bed the way the blanket feels, press on your thighs, feel your rear end on the mattress; look around you and pick six objects to focus on.”
“What?”
“Just do it. Please.” She exhales, but begrudgingly acquiesces.
“Notice how your breath gets deeper and calmer. Good, Nora. Let’s try something else. Gently pat the different parts of your body with your hand. Your body may feel more alive, sharp. You may feel more connected to your feelings. Hold your shoulders with arms across your chest, tighten your grip on them and pat your arms up and down. Do the same with your legs, tighten your back, tighten your front, then gently release the tension.” Her breathing gradually slows, the blush in her cheeks and chest dissipates.
“Do you feel better?”
“A little,” she says.
I smile and nod. “Good. You can practice those techniques whenever you feel you need to. Remember, you are the one in control.”
“I don’t feel like it. I feel like a prisoner.”
“I assure you, you aren’t. Remember the freedom you have now.”
She looks me directly in the eye now.
“Captivity is a mentality. A thing you carry with you. It is hard to let go, even when you have your freedom returned.”
This takes me by surprise. Nora is clever, more so than she lets on. Agent Brown was right to have her evaluated. Something is off.
“I’d like to continue seeing you.”
She shrugs and looks away. On her cue, I scoop up my notebook and pen and exit her room. Agent Brown and Salve wait in the hall.
“Could someone grab me a dictionary?”
“What?” Agent Brown asks.
“A dictionary,” I repeat. Agent Brown looks to Salve. He huffs but takes off toward the nurse’s station to ask around.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“She has all the classic symptoms of shock: shallow breathing, eyes that appear to stare blankly, anxiety, confusion, difficulty making decisions, emotional detachment, de-realization and depersonalization, an altered sense of time and insomnia.
“Right. That’s some laundry list but how will that affect how I can proceed?”
“She needs to stay grounded. She’s disoriented, confused, and in disbelief.”
“I’d like to continue seeing her. Daily, while she’s admitted but I think bi-weekly when she’s discharged. As for your investigation, questioning her can happen, but I doubt you will get too much from her at this stage. She’s guarded and untrusting.”
Agent Brown pats me on the back and smiles.
“See you tomorrow, Doc,” she says and I cringe. I hate that term.
Salve approaches, shaking his head. “Thanks anyway,” I say. Looking up her word choices will have to wait until I’m back at the office.
“How can we get her to open up?” he asks.
“Time.”
“We don’t know if we have any of that. It may already be too late for Charlotte.”
I frown. What that child must be going through pains me. “I’ll be back tomorrow for another session. For now, try approaching her in a more conversational way. Questioning her only makes her feel like a caged animal.”
Salve drags a hand through his hair and nods. “Got it,” he says. “See you tomorrow.”
Lotte
Nora cries in her room. I worry she will never be drained of the tears. Whenever I think she is going to stop crying, she starts again. If she doesn’t stop soon, Holden will make her stop. I remember this stage. Eve went through this, too. We called it The Black. Eve let me name it. She said, in order to survive, we needed to name our emotions so we could control them. Sometimes Nora vomits for no reason. Even when she is completely still, I know there is a lot happening inside her body and mind, and that it is not good.
I think maybe that’s what I feel now. Whatever she was feeling. A sense of hopelessness. She got away and I am here and without Nora, there is no chance for me. Holden has not spoken to me in three days. The silence and the cold are unbearable. I have reread my books. Stared for endless hours out the windows and scavenged bites to eat all while he broods and plots and keeps me in the dark.
Nora
My heart thunders in my chest. Anxiety stiffens my muscles. Salve enters my room. His normally crisp clothing shows telltale wrinkles of being worn long hours. He rushes to my side. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I don’t know. Am I? I can’t form words. He brushes at something wet. Tears I did not realize were falling. I lean my head into his hand. I need the comfort. “How are the Clarks?” I demand, surprised at the panic in my voice.
“Fine. There is a cruiser outside their house all day every day. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Of course, I do. I can’t let him hurt them. I have to save them and Lotte.”
“No, Nora, you’re only responsible for yourself. You can help us locate Charlotte, but it is not your responsibility.”
“She’s family. You don’t leave family behind.”
“Do you really think with a twelve-year-old in tow, Holden will bother with the Clarks?” he asks.
I contemplate this. It’s not likely he is free to do much with Lotte in tow. She’s a liability in public. But Holden is capable of many things and I cannot risk underestimating him or his love for me. “I don’t know but I’m not willing to chance it.”
“Just so you know, we’re monitoring the papers for new ads running.”
I lean away from Salve and stare out the window. The sky is gray and gloomy like my heart. “There won’t be another ad.”
“Why not?”
“He won’t replace me,” I sa
y.
Salve jumps up, putting me on edge and stands between me and the window. “Nora, what are you saying?”
I stay silent. “Is he dead? Did you injure him?” Is this how I was? Hanging on every word Holden spoke? Is my control over Salve and Agent Brown really so different from Holden’s over me? I look away from Salve. He looks like a dog begging, and hungry dogs are never loyal.
Agent Brown
“You’ve got to talk, Nora.”
“Why? Talking will not fix anything.”
“Talking could lead us to Holden and Charlotte. She’s a child. Don’t you want to save her? Help her?”
Nora snaps. “Of course, I do. I love Lotte like my own child.” Her breathing is elevated and her eyes look glassy.
“Okay, sorry,” I say. “What can you tell me?”
She glares at me and fingers the bruises on her neck. Fingerprints from that bastard. A captor she seemingly wants to protect.
“Why are you protecting him, Nora?”
“I’m not.”
“You are and it’s not helping Charlotte,” I push.
Tremors wrack her body. She balls her hands into fists. “You’re a bully,” she shouts. Salve stands and squats in front of her.
“Nora, hey, look at me,” he says. Reluctantly, she swings her murderous glare from me to him. “All we want is to find who did this to you and recover Charlotte.” Her face softens.
“He didn’t do anything to me. As for Lotte, I want her back, too. She shouldn’t be alone with him. She’s too strong willed, too stubborn. He doesn’t like that.”
“Hold up—” I cut in, “are you saying Holden didn’t hurt you?”
“Not like you think,” she says. I bristle. Something is very off.
“How am I wrong, Nora? Set me straight,” I say. She clamps her mouth shut and shakes her head. Salve actually has the balls to laugh at her reaction. I’ll have to have a word with him later.
“Come on, Nora, tell me just how wrong I am about all this.”
“I don’t like you,” she says. Salve snorts but quickly regains his composure. “In fact, I think the only person I want to speak with is Dr. Richardson.” She juts her chin out defiantly. “Salve, will you please wheel me back to my room?”
Salve stands, shoots me an angry look and rounds the back of her chair. I bite my tongue as they leave.
Nora
“Little harsh, dontcha think?” Salve says quietly, as he rolls me down the hall.
“Maybe,” I admit. “Can you take me for a spin? I don’t want to go back to my room just yet. I need a change of scenery.”
“On one condition,” he says. “You tell me something about Holden while we stroll.”
I grimace but decide there are some parts I can talk about. Just like with Dr. Richardson, the before is okay—I think. He wouldn’t be mad about that part. It was a job. I applied for it. I got it. It was safe.
“Alright,” I say.
“Really?” he says. I laugh softly.
“It’s amazing what being nice will get you in life.”
He squeezes my shoulder.
Nora
I tickle Lotte’s neck quickly before jumping out of her bed. I kiss her forehead and whisper in her ear, “Sweet dreams, kiddo.” She shoots me a shy smile and blows me a kiss.
Holden hands me a mug of tea when I join him in the living room but I’m feeling bold tonight. I take the mug and his from him. We need a moment to just cut loose. To just have some fun. The past few weeks have flown by. Our evenings are easy and comfortable now. It’s amazing how quickly you can feel close to someone, when you cut out modern comforts. We only have each other to focus on and in a sense, it’s refreshing.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
I reach up, stretching so that my t-shirt slides up, revealing a bit of my porcelain stomach. I hear a low groan from his seat on the couch. I pull down the bottle of whiskey and pour us each a glass. Setting the glasses on the table, I smile at him over my shoulder.
“I thought we could use a night to relax.”
He takes the whiskey from me and takes it all in one shot. I sip mine. We do this for a while, quietly. After he tops off our glasses, he sets his down and reaches for me. I flinch and grow rigid as he picks up the clasp of my necklace.
“Tell me something,” he asks. He turns the clasp to the back of my neck. Goosebumps erupt down my arms.
I look into his eyes. They sparkle in the fire light. “What do you want to know?”
“Why do you flinch sometimes when I’m near you? Or blush non-stop?” I drop my eyes to the floor. He reaches out and lifts my chin. “And why do you do that? You’re so submissive.”
I shake my head. “Not submissive. Shy. Young, inexperienced, yes, but not submissive.”
He inspects me. “You aren’t shy with Lotte.”
I sigh. “That’s different,” I say.
“How? I see you, you know. How you make her laugh and smile. How you spend your own money on her to please her in town. You do things to please me, too. Why do all that and then blush or look nervous?”
I take another sip of whiskey. “I . . . had a bad experience.”
“Your parents?” he asks.
I shake my head. “With a . . . it doesn’t matter. I don’t talk about it.” And I don’t. I never told anyone what happened at the party after graduation. He pours himself another shot and takes it. I lift my cup and drain it. The whiskey burns as it goes down. Holden scoots closer to me. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes and it embarrasses me. “With a guy who was like a big brother to me.” The words come out rushed and angry.
Holden’s eyes burn in the fire glow. He looks ferocious. “Tell me what happened.” It’s a command, not a question. I stare into my empty cup. “Did he hit you?” he snarls. I’ve never heard a human snarl but that is the only word I can associate his sound with.
“No, no. Nothing like that. He um . . . I’ve never told anyone,” I admit.
I feel completely out of place. My hair’s tied back away from my face. The amount of makeup I have on is obscene. My skirt is too short for my liking and the shirt Aubry forced on me, would fit a toddler. Aub passes me a red solo cup. I scrunch up my nose at it. She pushes it toward me with more force. “I swear to God, Nora, I am going to force you to have fun if it kills you.”
“I have fun,” I whine. I do; I simply define it differently than her.
She laughs. “In public.”
I take the cup from her and frown. Aubry hooks her arm through mine and tugs me through the crowded hallway.
“Yo! Nora, what’s up?”
“Hi, Anton,” I say, as I’m pulled past him.
“Why’re you here?” Aubry asks, with an irritated tone.
“It’s a party.”
“Gross, Anton, go hang out with people your own age,” she says. I nudge her and she sighs. Aubry and her brother don’t get along well.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, while she continues pulling me alongside her. We stop, abruptly, at the sliding doors to the patio. There is an uncanny heat wave for the last week of May, but it does make being outside at night pleasurable.
“Oh, my sweet nibblets, would you look at him?” she says, when she spots Chad Berwick outside. Ever since high school, Aubry’s made it her mission to hook up with Chad. I don’t understand why, though; he was rude to her all through school and although he’s muscular, he’s not exactly the hottest or the smartest. Plus it has been a year since we graduated and college guys are much more interesting than Chad.
“Give it up, Aub. He’s a lost cause. You’re too good for him,” I say.
“I know that,” she answers. “I want him as a notch in my bedpost . . . look at those abs.” If she thought squealing was cool, she would have squealed, but Aubry Clark definitely did not think squealing was cool. I laugh at her brazenness and swat her rear end.
“Go get him, Tiger.” She puts her chin to her shoulder and gives me her best seductive
face before calling out Chad’s name.
I step out onto the patio and find a plastic chair to sit in. Stars litter the navy sky.
“Wanna play asshole?” I almost jirble my beer, I’m so startled. Anton pulls a chair near me, while laughing. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I smile. “It’s okay. I was off in lala land.”
“So?” he asks.
“Oh. Asshole. I . . . don’t know how to play,” I admit feebly. Anton grins.
“I’ll teach you.”
I shrug my acquiescence. He pulls out a deck of cards and calls over a couple of other kids from his class, who all graduated a year before me, and explains the rules.
By round five, I’m drunk. I’m drunk and I suck at cards. Really suck. Anton is pretty sloshed himself and I keep thinking I see two of him. But if I close one eye, his twin goes away, so I know it’s not real.
“Nora loves words,” Anton says. He rubs my bare arm.
Some other guy laughs like a madman and yells out, Word Girl! Like I’m a superhero.
“Tell us a word for guzzle,” one of the guys says. I slonk back my beer before laughing.
“Slonk,” I state. Everyone laughs. Even me. It is a funny sounding word.
Anton looks at me with a look in his eye I can’t decipher. “What about kissable? Is there a fancy word for kissable?”
Groans from the other guys fill up the space around us.
“Oh, good one,” I say. I bite my bottom lip and think hard through the haze in my brain. “Yup. Osculable .” I hiccup. Anton leans in close to me.