Eclipsed Sunshine

by D W Marshall

  “We met a couple of weeks ago while I was in LA. He is very sweet. We’ve been chatting back and forth.”

  “Too bad he isn’t a footballer . You know I am much more of a football fan,” Chalice loves football.

  We all laughed. Leave it to Chalice to think of herself.

  “Hey, Whit, do you think Thomas will pop the question at the garden party tonight?” Chalice asked.

  I shook my head at my crazy friend. “How would I know? Just because you saw him leaving a jewelry store doesn’t mean he was ring shopping.”

  “It’s been two years, sweets! And you are leaving for London. A gorgeous lass like you with all those brains up in your head, he’d be a fool not to snatch you up. I bet he makes it official at the party,” Chalice offered.

  I turned to Amaris. “And what say you, my dear friend?”

  Amaris’ wicked smile grows. She rubs her hands together as if she is going to reveal a master plan. “It goes something like this. A handsome fellow, a gorgeous lady, a beautiful locale, an important question, an affirmative answer, and you know the rest.”

  I could only dare hope that was true, because Thomas was it for me, my sun and moon. I would have to control myself so I didn’t blurt out yes before he completed his proposal. It would have been so wonderful with my family and all our Province’s families there.

  “All right, ladies, it’s time for us to get home and get ready!” I squealed.

  “So true,” Chalice said. “Time for me to get home and cock-up.”

  I shook my head at her. “Just say take a nap.”

  “Where did you park, lass?” Amaris asked me.

  “On the first level; how about you guys?”

  “We rode together. You want an escort to your car?”

  “Me? Of course not. It’s broad daylight, what could happen?”

  My gals shook their heads at me. We hugged and headed to our cars.

  I didn’t make it to my car. Three men walked towards the mall entrance—shoppers like me. I made eye contact like my daddy always said I should to show confidence and not fear. We barely passed each other before they were on me. No more island party, no more possible engagement, no more me.

  When I came to I was afraid to open my eyes. I knew I was on an airplane, I felt the push and pull of the engine—the subtle weightlessness. I kept my eyes closed for fear of what I would find when I opened them. No amount of curiosity could’ve forced my eyes open.

  Instead I listened. For anything that may have helped me, though I knew nothing would. Terrible thoughts ran through my head. I will never see my parents again. I will never see Chalice and Amaris again, and my Thomas. What will come of him? He was perfect for me. What sick person takes a woman from her life? You can’t just steal a person. Deep voices broke my train of thought.

  “This year’s selection is the best one so far,” a heavy voice called out.

  “Bet. Too bad your ass drew the short straw on getting Chamber guard duty this year. I hope I get assigned to this piece right here. I will blow her back out every chance I get,” the second voice said.

  My heart beat sped up and I had to control my breathing. The cabin of the aircraft was very quiet. One gasp and they would’ve know I was awake.

  “Don’t brag, Money, you know Dominic is gonna be watching you like a hawk, always does,” deep voice said.

  “You didn’t hear?” Money said.

  “Here what?”

  “Seems Dominic decided to join us in the rotation this year. I guess one of these sizzling pieces got his attention. He’s guarding this year,” Money said.

  “What?” his deep voice sounded excited.

  I stopped listening to the goons who nabbed me because all of their sex talk made my knees weak. Welcomed sleep found me, and I dreamt.

  I dreamt of beautiful elegant dresses and garden parties.

  I dreamt of delicious food and drink.

  And I dreamt of my Thomas proposing marriage.

  In an instant, my beautiful dreams turned into a nightmare. I was chained to a concrete wall, given enough food to sustain life. My body used for the amusement of others, beaten regularly for resisting and daring to fight back. I awoke to my screams.

  “There, there, my dear. It was only a nightmare,” Money said.

  The one speaking to me, Money, moved toward me. He was larger than his voice would suggest. Caucasian, tall and very well built—strong. Eyes pale blue and light brown hair. He was very attractive, but his actions toward me made him ugly.

  I couldn’t pretend to sleep any longer, so I followed what my father said and made eye-contact, even though everything in my soul said to close my eyes. “It would seem that I have awoken from one nightmare to find myself in the middle of another,” I said.

  He took a seat across from mine. “Now, now. The Chamber isn’t as bad as you might think. My name is Montreal, but everybody calls me Money.” He snickered and oriented his head toward the monstrosity behind him. “The big guy is Luther.”

  I turned my head to find the guy he referred to as Luther. He looked like a Luther. Dark brown skin, shaved head, and muscles on top of his muscles. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I never stood a chance.

  I shake the memory from my mind. Nauseous and dizzy, part of my brain can’t believe that I suffered The Chamber, and better yet, survived it.

  It doesn’t take long before the stress of the night settles into my body and sleep takes me. I am thankful for heavy, dark sleep, with no dreams.

  When I awaken, I feel the effects of the alcohol I drank last night. I rarely drink, a cocktail here or there is more my speed, but last night required so much more. I have no idea what I’m going to do. Part of me is hoping Thomas takes the hint from last night and doesn’t darken my doorstep, and part of me hopes he does. Could I forgive him? If he asked me? At least he accepts me for what happened in some capacity, which might be the most I can ask of anyone.

  Chapter 9

  Whitney

  Today is my therapy appointment. I breeze through breakfast and hop into the car with my dad. He hasn’t let me drive anywhere without someone since I’ve been home. I don’t fight his need to protect me; I’d be the same way with my own child.

  “I’ll be right here in an hour,” he reassures me.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” I say and kiss his cheek. The sky is a soft powdery blue without a single cloud. I prefer the clouds; they give the sky something extra. Dr. Wesley’s office boasts enormous windows that face the ocean. It’s a perfect view for me and my nerves.

  I walk into the office and take a seat in the small waiting room. The receptionist smiles at me. “Good morning, Whitney.”

  I return her smile. “Good morning, Lucy.”

  The wait only takes about ten minutes before Lucy is sending me into the office. As always, I am greeted with warmth the second I cross the threshold. The floor is carpeted with thick, cushiony earth tones. The furniture is dark brown and black. There is a fire place and mantle, green plants in every corner, and tranquil art on the wall that allows us patients a moment’s escape when the session gets tough. Dr. Wesley did a good job of making her office look more like a family room, rather than an office. I was nervous about my parents’ choice for my therapist. I’ve known Dr. Wesley, Maxine, my whole life. She was close friends with my oldest sister, Joey, growing up, and Thomas’ cousin. But, she is the best therapist on the island. Daddy also made the point that if I wanted a therapist not known to us in any capacity, we’d have to travel. Our community is a close knit one. So, I decided to give it a try, and actually, she and I knowing each other hasn’t been an issue so far. She and I have been meeting twice a week since my return, and I’m not sure if it’s helping yet.

  “Good morning, Whitney.”

  “Morning,” I say and take my seat across from her, nearest to the windows. Her smile is warm and comforting. I’ve known her to be quite chatty, but in here she isn’t a conversationalist. I mean, I guess I’m supposed to do all the t
alking—well most of it.

  “How have you been since the last time we met?”

  I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Any new dreams?”

  “Last night. But it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, a bad one.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I take a deep breath and turn to the window and allow myself to get lost in the ocean before returning to her. “It was the one from the day I was taken, but more details. It was so real, like I was there.”

  She leans forward. “Because you were.” She pauses to give me time to process what she said. “Our memories happened to us, Whitney. The more significant the event you are remembering, the more intense the memory will be. Emotions are not always tied to our dreams, but our memories are intertwined with them.” She leans back. “Did you change anything this time?”

  She asks this because sometimes I imagine the events differently so I don’t get taken, choosing a different path—ride with my gals, get a ride, park on the same level as them. Instead of taking a break from school, I accept my admission to University College the first time. “No, this time I end up on the plane. I end up at The Chamber.”

  “I see.” She writes on her tablet.

  “Why do I always think of that day? I feel stuck in that moment.”

  “You have to give yourself time to adjust and adapt. PTSD can be debilitating, but the more you understand about that stuck feeling, the better equipped you will be at dealing with it. That place of being stuck in ‘what if’ comes from feeling responsible for what happened to you. It stems from a belief that somehow this was your fault. It’s normal. You ask yourself, what if I went a different way, or stayed home. I counter with what if you did decide to ride with your friends. You said there were three men?”

  I nod.

  “They could have easily taken all three of you.”

  I shiver at the thought.

  “It’s scary to think about all of the things that are out of our control, but Whitney, you are here, which is already a step in the right direction. You are going to re-experience the trauma in dreams; a smell could be a trigger. And, when this happens it makes you feel out of control in that moment, right?”

  Tears well in my eyes. “Yes. It’s paralyzing.”

  She hands me a tissue. “Do you understand why?”

  I shake my head. “I mean, I think because it feels so real.”

  “Yes. That is a big part of it. Also, when you re-experience the trauma your instincts take over. You are no longer in control—these are survival instincts and when they take control, your stressors kick into life or death mode—also called flight or fight. That’s why we have to create opportunities for you to talk openly and remember the details of the trauma in a controlled and safe environment, like this office. The more you experience the traumatic event, the less likely it is for the emotions and memories surrounding the event will catch you by surprise. It will become a part of your life, like any memory—but with the right set of tools you can react to it more like recalling an unwanted memory from your past, like for example the death of a loved one, and less like a murderer stalking toward you. It’s called Prolonged Exposure Therapy.”

  She sits back in her seat and gives me a second to process. I do so, staring out at the vast ocean; secretly I wish it would devour me. I would never tell her that.

  “When you were here last, we were beginning to discuss what happened once the plane landed.” She flips through pages on her tablet; she’s old school. “Take me back there, please.”

  The look I give her asks, do I have to? Her response is a nod. She and I both know I have to, but I don’t want to. I take a few deep breaths.

  “The two big men. Luther and Montreal take me off the plane. They put a hood over my head before they open the door. I can’t see anything, but I know I’m getting into a car. My face is drenched because my hands are bound, and I am crying. I try hard to clear my mind of the fear but I can’t. I think about not seeing my family and friends ever again. I think about Thomas, too.”

  Dr. Wesley doesn’t interrupt me. Up to today, we hadn’t ventured past my actual abduction, mostly because I couldn’t get past why it happened to me. She convinced me that I’m not special. Not in a mean way, but in a way to say God didn’t choose this for me. She made me understand that I was victim to a crazy person who has his own freewill. She reminded me of the harsh reality that people are kidnapped or worse every single day. This didn’t make me feel better, but knowing that I’m not alone helped somehow. Then she signed me up for a trauma group.

  “The car stops and they take me out of it. It’s breezy outside, but I’m not outside long before I’m inside again. It’s dark. One of the men helps me up a winding staircase.” My body chills with the memory so real that I’m freezing. “I’m pushed onto my knees, not hard, maybe guided is a better word. The hood is taken from my head. I don’t open my eyes for a long time. I’m too scared. I don’t want to see my new reality. I sob as silently as I can. Then my arms are set free. I only open my eyes when I hear other louder sobs. I’m not the only girl.”

  I pause to take a deep breath. I hadn’t realized my eyes were closed, and when I open them light floods my vision. Dr. Wesley is a patient woman.

  “I take in everything all at once. The room looks ancient. With a high ceiling and walls of stone. I count six other women in line with me—all frightened, all crying. I want to look behind me, but I don’t. Instead, I stay as still as I can and I pray silently and say goodbye to everyone I love. That’s when he rises from an opening in the floor that wasn’t there before, in a flood of light. Oozing and dripping narcissism, egocentrism, charming, and smooth, the devil himself appears.”

  “Who are you speaking of?”

  I shudder at the vision— the moment I came face-to-face with my captor. I fight the sobs, but they tear through me against my will. In my memory, he is shrouded with so much light it’s blinding.

  “Mason.”

  I jump up from my seat, my body shaking. Dr. Wesley sits silently as I pace the room. It seems like forever before I calm myself. I take a different seat in her office, as if this will help me.

  “You are safe, Whitney. Say that aloud.”

  It takes a minute before I can because I have the hiccups now. “I am safe.”

  “I want you to walk over to the window and look out. See where you are.”

  I do as I’m told and stare out the window. “I’m home,” I say and let the warmth of the sun wash over me, even if I can’t actually feel it.

  The timer buzzes and I send thank yous up to the heavens. There was no way I could delve further without suffering a nightmare later.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired.” No one tells you the struggle and journey that happens after. I prayed for release, to be returned home safe, and here I am. The sad scary fact is I don’t know when and if I will ever truly be free of that place. I omit many things from my therapy sessions. The things that leave me heavy with exhaustion, guilt. Why did I stay? When I was given the chance to leave, why didn’t I take it. Connell? I don't think I can ever admit the feelings that I had for him. I’ll never know if it was love. I know I will probably never see him again, but he will always have a secret special place in my heart. I exhale.

  “I am going to give you a prescription for sleeping pills. I don’t want you to take them every day, but definitely on the days that we meet. The therapeutic process can be brutal, and we heal during sleep,” she says as she scribbles on a prescription pad. She hands me the paper and I take it.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are much stronger than you know. Remember what you survived. You are a fighter; even if you don’t believe that yet, you will.” She gives me a hug. She always ends our session with a big hug. I welcome the contact; the pressure calms me.

  Chapter 10

  Whitney

  I wave goodbye to the receptionist and head for the door. This was a good session. I’m tired b
ut not as exhausted as I usually feel. I round the corner to the lobby expecting to see Daddy, but Thomas stands in his place. My heart stutters. What is he doing here? The last time I saw him I told him to fuck off. But here he stands.

  “What are you doing here, Thomas?” Fear courses through me, and my feet stick to the ground when they should move, fast.

  He walks up to me and wraps me in his arms. I don’t find the same comfort. “I missed you, and I owe you a lot of apologies and explanations for last night.”

  I don’t acknowledge his words. “Did my father call you? How did you know I was here?”

  “Yes. I called him, told him about our rough night and how miserable I was for rushing you. He was pleased and told me where you were so I could surprise you.” He flashes his stunning smile. His handsomeness is so confusing. Is he the devil in another form or is he my Thomas, lost and in need of as much help as me?

  “You told him what you asked of me?”

  His face registers shock. “Of course not. I omitted certain details from the story. Come on, Whit, we belong together. Your family knows it, your friends know it. I know it, and so do you. Let’s go grab lunch.” He flashes that grin again.

  This time, Thomas doesn’t try so hard with a fancy meal. He pulls into a drive-thru fast food place that brings the food to the car while your car faces the ocean. Nice choice. I close my eyes while he orders. I listen to waves crashing onto the beach and inhale the salty air. With each exhalation I feel more at ease.

  The car is thick with silence and a palpable energy that I can’t read. The ball is in his court, and I’m sure he knows it.

  “I’m sorry, eh,” he finally says between bites of food. We are facing forward using our meal of cheeseburgers and fries as an escape, something to focus on. “I should have never pushed you or sprung that shit on you. I should have talked to you first. I guess I got lost in dollar signs.”