by K Larsen
“Aubry, staff found you dumped, unconscious outside the Northwest Medical Center Emergency Room. It’s all documented. A police report was even filed because you were alone and without identification.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight and resist the urge to pop her in the face. “Let’s go back to the last thing you remember from the day you went missing.”
I clench my jaw in frustration then lick my lips. “I went down to the docks to set up a photo shoot for my website. I had this all white decor set up against that amazing graffiti covered shipping container.” Closing my eyes, I let my brain recreate the scene. “It was going to be epic. I started snapping pictures. It was chilly and the sun was just rising, giving me the best lighting I could hope for. I heard a muffled scream. I turned around.” I look at Dr. R. “That was my biggest mistake. I saw them. That was enough to make me a liability. These men, they shoved a girl wearing next to nothing, in a shipping container. But they were already looking at me. I started running. I left all my stuff and just … booked it.”
“Did you recognize the men?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No. They were rough looking and older than me.”
She pushes an errant curl behind her ear. “What happened next?”
“I … I’m not sure. I was running, and then I was face down on the pavement. I think one of them tackled me. It happened fast. I screamed and fought but I wasn’t strong enough.” My voice cracks as I finish my thought.
“That sounds terrifying.” Her tone is sincere but the words sound so ludicrous to me that I can’t help my response.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”
Dr. R lets out a snort at my retort. “Ok then, what happened next?”
“I came-to in a room. It was dark. I was stripped down to my underwear. I was cold. Um. Concrete floor, steel door. There were others.”
“Others?” she prompts.
I close my eyes tight and wrap my arms around my middle. “I could hear the other girls sometimes but I was alone. I couldn't see them, just hear their torture.” A feeling of rawness, of being somewhere else, races up my spine causing me to shudder. When I open my eyes Dr. Richardson is worrying her bottom lip.
“Ok, let’s put a pin in that for now. So, you were held captive?”
I look at the sterile ceiling until the frustration passes. “Yes. They all had Russian accents. I um, I fought and tried to escape a couple times. But then they started drugging me. I don’t recall much of that time. It’s all a blur until a woman came. Cleaned me up to prepare me for shipping.”
“Shipping?” She tilts her head.
I shrug. “I guess. That’s what they said. Trafficking of some sort. I was being sold and they had to ship me out. I mean, I’m speculating on the trafficking thing. They didn’t say that. But they washed me. Put me in some high-end lingerie and made sure I didn’t look like I’d just spent however long in my own filth.”
Dr. R furiously scratches notes down. “Go on, Aubry.” Her words are rushed and breathy. It makes me wonder if she gets off on this shit. I mentally kick myself, because I know she doesn't. I know this is her job. One she is excellent at.
“I was drugged again. I don’t know or remember. I came to in a box. Like a crate. I was all folded up inside. I felt weightless and then … the lid opened and Mike’s face was hovering above me.”
“Mike was one of the Russians?” she asks.
“No. You’re not following along. He was the—” I stop short. Smuggling is Mike’s secret. I debate how much to divulge to Dr. R.
“What Aubry?” she pushes.
“He was the one who saved me. We were near a river in a jungle. He set up a camp for us. Nursed me back to health.”
She shoots me a pointed look and I think she’s on to me. “I see. And how long were you at this jungle campsite together?”
“He wasn’t there the whole time with me. He would come back here. Every few days he came back to me and brought food and supplies—stuff like that.”
“How did he get from here to a jungle every few days?” she asks.
“He has a plane.” I can’t hide the irritated tone in my voice.
She inhales deeply through her nose. “And how long did you hide in the jungle?”
“Maybe a week or weeks? I’m not really sure anymore.”
“Interesting.” Her pen hits the page again making more notes.
“Interesting?” I squeak out.
“Your time in the jungle was nearly the same as the length of your coma.”
“I wasn’t in a coma!” I yell. My voice echoes in the sterile hospital room.
She sets her pen and pad down on the floor next to her and leans forward, “It’s fascinating what the mind will do to make sense out of confusion. During a coma, you’re not awake but your brain still registers its surroundings in fits and starts. Patients often report details and strange thoughts when unconscious. You had glimpses of awareness,” she explains. “The brain is always grasping for a narrative, even when it’s only in a partially conscious state.”
I shake my head at her. “No.”
“If you’ll let me, I can help you connect all the dots. I can help you remember what’s fact and what’s fiction. It’s okay to be confused right now. You were under for a prolonged period of time. But Aubry, we’re all here for you.”
“It feels more like you’re all covering something up.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from saying anything else.
“I promise you, that’s not the case,” she says with conviction.
It’s hard to imagine that Dr. Richardson is really out to get me somehow. I know too much about her. I’ve talked too many times with her. I’ve watched Nora and Lotte and Eve thrive under her care. I narrow my eyes and inspect her expression for any tells or cracks in the facade but there are none. Her brown eyes are soft and her expression caring, along with a neutral smile, that all scream she’s being sincere.
“I want to nail the suckers who tried to ruin my life.”
She nods. “We can’t do that unless we figure out where your real memories end and the coma fantasies begin.”
A small mewl claws its way up my throat. “How can I possibly have a weeks’ worth of made up memories? That sounds insane. Obviously, I was in a jungle. I have the snake bite to prove it. A snake bite from a snake that isn’t native here or in Tucson.”
Dr. Richardson leans backward and grins at me. “It does sound insane. You’re right about that, but like I mentioned, it is not uncommon. It’s a basic human survival tactic. The brain is powerful. It can make us believe lies. It can sway us to remember or block out truths or fallacies. It’s a skilled illusionist. If it weren’t, I’d be out of a job.”
“Are you saying I’m crazy?” Anger and contempt, so hot and pulsing that they seems to reverberate in the air, sweep through me. “‘Cause I’m not. It happened.”
“People see what they want to see.” Her words slash like jagged little daggers leaving an echoing silence behind. I suppress a surge of impatience but Dr. Richardson catches it, she’s perceptive as hell. Maybe because of all the time she spends listening rather than talking. I slump deeper into the bed, wishing it would swallow me up, as my childishness subsides.
“Sorry. I’m really moody.”
A look of satisfaction flutters across her face. “It’s not moodiness. It’s your brain trying to decipher two worlds. It would frustrate even the best of us. Progress takes place outside your comfort zone. It’s ok to be vulnerable. Right now, what scares you most? That thing will be the most beneficial in helping you.”
“That I’m not safe.”
18
Mike
I watch Dr. Richardson carefully. Her face an inch from the window, her breath misting the glass. “Sometimes the truth does more harm than a lie. While she was in a coma, she lived an alternate truth. You all have to give her time to adjust, to come back to reality. Back to us.” Dr. Richardson turns and gives Nora and me a sad smile.
<
br /> Nora winces and I step closer to her, rest a palm on her shoulder. She turns and wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face in my chest. Helplessness rises up inside me as I feel the shudder shake her frame. This isn’t how it was supposed to go down.
“I don’t know what that means. Can I see her or am I supposed to stay away?”
“By all means, visit with her. But Mike, you will be a trigger for her. And at this point in the game you can’t accuse her of being wrong. It will only agitate her. Be sensitive and patient.”
“Are you telling me to go along with her delusion?” I ask. The pang of guilt that stabs my chest is from not telling Aubry how I feel about her.
“No. But don’t actively accuse her of being wrong just yet. If you’ll excuse me, I have to find Detective Salve and give him an update. He generously offered to wait on questioning her until I could assess the situation.”
I nod and mumble some social grace in her direction.
Nora looks up at me as she steps backward. “I think you should go see her now. Before Salve talks to her.”
I wrinkle my face in confusion. “Why?”
“Because she’s been begging to see you. I think it’s upsetting her that she hasn’t had a chance to talk to you alone. Maybe if you visit now it will help her know that it’s safe to tell Salve what she remembers. Because, right now, she thinks there’s some big cover-up happening that we’re all in on and she’s not really saying much about what happened.”
I dig at the back of my neck, a knot forming fast. “Okay.”
“Don’t be scared.”
“It’s not Aubry I’m scared of.”
“What then?”
“What if I make it worse? What if I say the wrong thing and set her off? I don’t want to cause any more damage.”
Nora’s face breaks into a smile. “You really don’t know how much Aubry cares about you, do you? I know you idiots have attempted to hide it—even from yourselves—but trust me Mike, you can’t damage Aubry.”
I'm relieved to see a spark of life in Aubry's expression when I open the door. Those narrowed blue eyes have never looked better despite her almost skeletal frame. Her fragileness evident in her chapped lips, stringy hair, and pallid skin.
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t know. Can you?” she snaps. I clench my jaw to keep from saying something stupid. I missed this. Her fiery attitude. Her spunk.
Just seeing her again awake, alive, elicits strange emotions in me. I want to smother her with kisses. Strangle her with affection. I used to feel like an echo but with Aubry I feel the best I've ever felt. I do none of those things. Instead I pulled the chair close to her bed and sit in it. I take her hand in mine.
“So,” I ask, “How are you?”
Her jaw drops open. She looks at me like I have three heads and I instantly feel bad for the stupid question. “Sorry, I meant, how are you feeling?”
“Of all the things you could ask me, that's your question?”
I let out a long sigh and drag my hand through my hair. “What do you want me to say, Aubry?”
“Well, for starters, I'd like you to tell me how I got to Tucson?” She pins me with a pointed glare.
“Someone found you outside, unconscious there. But I know you've already been told all this.” I’m parroting information that’s been regurgitated by everyone.
She squints her eyes shut and mashes her fist into her temples.
“No, no. I know things, Mike. I remember things. I'm not crazy. But, I feel too desperate to be sane. Why are you doing this to me?” Her tone is pleading and it nearly cracks my heart in half, seeing her this way.
“Tell me what things you know. Let's start there,” I offer up.
Her eyes snap open. “Okay,” she says hesitantly. “I know you smuggle for the Russians. I know that's how you found me, and I know all the things that we did together. How I felt so used every time you left and so confused whenever you were with me. How you told me I had to stay there because it wasn't safe here and yet now here I am, home, and I don't know why. I don't remember leaving the jungle.” Her eyes bore holes in my face.
I swallow thickly passed the lump in my throat. “Aubry I don’t know what you’re talking…” I stop short, the words stuck in my throat.
“Mike?” My name comes out accusatory or maybe it’s disapproval.
Looking away I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know that I promised myself I’d do anything to bring you back. To have you back. I missed you. I should have been honest with you. The games we played before you went missing were stupid. For months I thought, if you could just hear my voice and follow it out of the dark, I’d … I’d make everything right.” I bite my lip and drag a hand through my hair.
She pushes her head back against her pillow, clearly frustrated. “So, you're saying we didn't have sex?”
The words come out blunt and clipped. I choke on the spittle in my throat. She’s all over the place and I can barely follow, let alone come up with tactful answers.
“What?” I ask.
She points between us. “You. Me. Sex,” she says.
Flustered, I simply shake my head. My heart hurts.
Her nostrils flare and her eyes shoot daggers in my direction. “I'm not joking, Mike.” And she’s not. Like the red-blooded male that I am, I wonder if she thinks the sex with me was good.
I clear my throat and say, “Aubry, we’ve never had sex. Trust me, I’d remember.”
19
Aubry
He wants to say something more. His tells are all there. The flex of his jaw, the lines in his forehead, brain churning. But he stays silent. How could I know him this well if we didn’t spend the last month together? I couldn’t, further proving that something is going on. But I don't get the chance to ask. The door swings open and Salve saunters in.
“Sorry to break up the visit but I really do have to ask Aubry some questions now.”
Mike basically leaps out of his chair and flees the room with barely the cursory ‘see you later’ on his way out. My muscles ache, my eyes are tired and my brain is a tornado of conflicting thoughts.
“How’re you feeling, kiddo?” Salve asks.
I tap my temple and pretend to think. “Let me see, I'm fan-fucking-tastic. How's that? Is that what everybody wants to hear? I am so goddamn grateful that I woke up in a Tucson hospital with my mother by my side.”
Detective Salve hold his hands up in the air. “Whoa, I’m not the bad guy.”
I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck. “I’m sorry.”
He nods and takes a seat where Mike just was and anxiety spikes in my chest. Mike’s gone—again. His behavior is making me feel manic.
“I know you’re feeling like you've been through this before but we need to file the official police report here. Tell me what you remember starting the morning you were taken.”
I sigh, feeling especially put out. “I was down at the docks for work. I needed to take some photos for my site. While I was shooting, a muffled scream caught my attention. I looked over and I saw some burly guys escorting a girl who was barely wearing anything into a shipping container. I literally turned and started running. The last thing I remember is being tackled to the ground, struggling and then waking up in a cell or some sort of room. I don't know. I don't know where it was, I just know I was locked in a room.”
“Do you remember what the men looked like?”
“No, they were pretty far away. But right before they tackled me I remember hearing them speak in another language.”
“Do you know what language?” he asks.
“It sounded like Russian and then the first time one of them came to my room, I heard Russian again. I could identify the man who visited. But Salve, there were other girls. I could hear them. They're doing something. Selling them or sex trafficking or human trafficking. I don't know but there are other girls you have to find them.” I press my fists into my temples remembe
ring the broken sounds those other girls made.
Salve scribbles on his little pad before looking up. His suit coat isn’t ironed and there’s a small stain near one of the buttons of his button up shirt. He looks like a stereotypical bad-TV-show-detective-whose-life-is-on-some-personal-downward-spiral and if he thinks I’m going to be the case that fixes his shit, he’s wrong.
“If I show you some pictures, you think you could I.D. someone who might be involved?”
“I know I could.” I nod.
“Good. That’s good, Aub. I’m going to the station to log this and look at the report from the day you were found. I’ll come back tomorrow with some photos okay?”
“Yeah. But Salve, am I safe here?” He shoots me a curious look.
“There’s an officer outside in the hallway. Yes. You’re safe. Rest up.”
“Yeah. Okay,” I snort.
Salve stands and pats my head before turning to leave. “Don’t let the door hit ya on the way out,” I mutter. He tosses me a smirk over his shoulder.
Mike doesn’t come back. Coward. I lie in this damn uncomfortable bed, weak and bored, thinking. The book Lotte was reading. That jungle cover. The bird on his chest. That thing Mike said about breaking through the dark. Coming back to him. Dr. Richardson’s words, “Your time in the jungle was nearly the same as the length of your coma.” Paranoia creeps into my bloodstream. Have I lost my mind? Are there really other girls lives at stake? Did I fabricate this whole ordeal? No. No. They said I was missing for months. Some of this is truth. I just need to figure out which some.
“I’m Mim, your physical therapist.” The short, squat, blonde sticks out her hand to me. It’s just after four and although I’ve been fed, the food left me less than satisfied and cranky.
“I’m a lunatic, nice to meet you.” I take her hand and shake it as she laughs.