FEAR OF FEAR: A Psychological Thriller

by PJ Nakfoor

  “I’m thinking about inviting one of the band members on the air when they’re in town. That’s the intimidating part of this job and I want to get more comfortable with it, because our listeners dig the live interviews.”

  “Maybe I’ll come by that day, too. Especially if it’s Garrett Lynch. He’s hot.”

  “Agreed,” laughed Shane.

  “What’s the most annoying part of your job?

  “Hmm. I think the groupies that call in all the time or hang around when I’m doing a remote broadcast. I’m always nice to them, but I really want to roll my eyes.”

  “Hey—I don’t blame them. I remember having a crush on a DJ because I liked his deep voice.”

  “Okay, time to work.”

  Vivi sat in the lobby and watched Shane come alive as he cued up songs by Nirvana, Soundgarden and Stone Temple Pilots. She was amazed listening to him entertain behind a microphone. He was so natural and composed. She couldn’t believe this was her brother, the pot-smoking, brooding dude with an anger problem. A flash of envy washed over her. Would she ever achieve the same level of confidence?

  Halfway through his show, Shane did a concert ticket giveaway to the caller who correctly answered a trivia question—what was the first grunge band to sign with a major record label? The seventh caller won.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  2020

  I awoke at about 6 or 7 p.m., according to the slightly less blazing sun, and was startled. I had wasted precious daylight time lying in one spot. I was angry with myself, but my body and soul needed that nap so that I could keep going. The time being off my foot, coupled with the soothing river soak, decreased the swelling just enough to gently slip my sneaker on after removing the shoelace. I positioned myself on all fours, then slowly stood, using the walking stick for balance. As I took in my surroundings, it struck me again how this place and time would have been magical if my circumstances were different. The river rippled a melodic tune, and the warm breeze fondled my blistered and bitten skin. Allowing myself to be present in this moment started a transformation within me. Some of my pain and frustration gave way to courage. I continued forward progress as I hobbled along the riverbank, imagining each undulation of the water carrying me closer to safety.

  Looking downstream, I noticed that the bank was clear of brush and stones for as far as I could see. I chose to see this as a sign that I was going to make it. I had two or three hours of daylight left and I was determined to use every minute of it to my advantage.

  My mind drifted as I hobbled along. I intended to think positive thoughts, but it felt fake, like I was whistling in the dark while walking through a cemetery. So, I tried something different. I recalled a number of panic attacks I’d endured over my life since that awful day at the fair: wetting my pants while waiting to use the bathroom one day in kindergarten, becoming hysterical after seeing the blue van in the school parking lot during recess, having to leave a middle school slumber party early, while the other girls giggled and talked about boys with easy ignorance—I had feigned a stomachache and Nana came to pick me up. And then there was ice skating with Shane one winter evening and falling apart on the rink for no apparent reason, making a scene at the Amtrak station. Many more, but none as awful as the day I ran the red light and almost killed Faith. Faith! Does she know about Carl? Has his body already been discovered? Does she think I’m in danger? Of course, she must. Dear Faith, the apple of Carl’s eye—healthy and levelheaded—so different from me despite the appalling role model I’ve been. I was going to survive this for Faith.

  Recalling the disheartening times in my life somehow increased my resolve. Instead of letting the memories pull me down, I used them to challenge and propel me forward, drawing on a fierce determination from deep within my core. I had survived the county fair abduction and Jesse’s repeated abuse. I had been complimented on my courage after the agonizing trial. I thought I might die from shame repeatedly over the years but survived. Each painful step began to feel lighter than the last, and I pushed myself to the fringes of my endurance, stopping only to sip from the river, or give my foot a quick rest. I literally felt the chains of fear, anxiety, and self-doubt lifting from my shoulders, and was struck by an incredible image of a life free from fear.

  Then I heard it again. The helicopter.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  1997-2000

  Vivi remained well enough to work part time for an insurance company tech team to complement her nearly finished studies at the community college. She planned to transfer to a four-year university and major in Computer Science. Her social life was beginning to bloom—she became friendly with two coworkers, Luis and Lizzy. Luis was gay, and a blast to hang out with. Vivi had briefly thought about introducing him to Shane but didn’t want to make either of them feel awkward. She had an occasional date and went to parties and movies with new friends from school. A distance developed with both Astrid and Bethany, as they had moved away for college. While this initially stung, Vivi found that cultivating fresh relationships helped her move forward as a healthier version of who she had been, not because her friends were intentionally holding her back, but because they had become part of her comfort zone.

  One bleak November afternoon she came home from class to find Nana writhing on the couch in distress. Her face was pale and clammy. Papa paced back and forth from the living room to the kitchen, practically wearing a path in the carpet.

  “Nana! What’s going on?” Vivi rushed to her side.

  Nana groaned and grabbed her stomach.

  “She suddenly felt some stomach pain, and I’m waiting for the doctor to call back,” Papa said. The level of concern in his voice was something Vivi had never experienced.

  “When did it start?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. She was standing at the fridge and— wham!” He clapped his hands together loudly.

  “I think we should call 911 instead.”

  “Okay,” Papa agreed, his face drained of color.

  When the ambulance arrived, two paramedics knocked and then entered the living room and quickly introduced themselves. They performed a rapid assessment. The tall, gangly paramedic took charge. He asked his partner, a short woman with a black bob haircut, to get vital signs while he started an IV. When it was secured in Nana’s forearm, he opened the dial to give the maximum amount of fluid.

  “Her blood pressure is eighty and her pulse is one-twenty,” the female paramedic said. Vivi saw urgency in her eyes. “We need to move fast.” They swiftly transferred her to a gurney, laid her flat, and positioned her at an angle so her head was lower than her legs.

  “What do you think is wrong?” asked Papa, his voice trembling.

  “We think she’s heading toward shock, but the ER doctors will be the ones to figure out why. We raised her legs to try and get her blood pressure up in the meantime,” said the male paramedic.

  They loaded Nana into the ambulance and once the doors were closed, its lights and sirens blared as it rapidly backed down the driveway and onto the street.

  A tearful Vivi and a frightened Papa followed the ambulance to the hospital emergency entrance. Once they talked to the triage nurse, they were escorted to a small private family waiting room which was separate from the main lobby, which was half-full of sick and injured people waiting to be seen.

  “When can we see her?” Papa asked.

  “A nurse will be in shortly to give you an update,” the triage nurse said calmly.

  The family waiting room was dimly lit and contained a small jade-colored sofa and chair. The walls were painted a soft light green and there was a single piece of art on the wall depicting a serene flower garden. A box of tissues sat on a side table. Vivi tried to be strong for Papa, but she was shaking inside. This is where they give families bad news.

  A long fifteen minutes later, a nurse and doctor came into the room.

  The doctor, a sandy haired, intense-looking man wearing scrubs, introduced himself and got right to the point
.

  “What are her medical problems? Medications?” he probed.

  “She only takes a daily vitamin and a mild blood pressure pill,” Papa said.

  “We think she has a ruptured abdominal aneurysm—a burst artery—which is very serious. We have called in a vascular surgeon and she will go right to the operating room,” the doctor said firmly.

  “Could you see the aneurysm on an X-ray?” Vivi asked.

  “No, she’s too unstable to go for a CT scan, but clinically she needs immediate surgery either way,” the doctor explained. He looked at Papa. “Do we have your consent to take your wife to surgery?”

  Papa nodded his head. “Whatever you need to do, Doctor.”

  A second nurse rushed into the room.

  “Doctor, we need you in Room One.”

  He apologized and warned them again that Nana’s condition was critical. He promised to come back with news as soon as he could, and then abruptly left the room.

  Vivi and Papa sat in silence, dumbfounded.

  About twenty minutes later, the doctor returned, the same nurse at his side. He shut the door and sat down. Now his voice was subdued, and the urgent air was gone.

  Oh no, here it comes. Dread overpowered Vivi as she watched the doctor take a deep breath.

  “I’m so sorry to tell you this. She died before we could get her to the operating room.”

  His solemn face would be branded on Vivi’s brain for the rest of her life.

  “Oh my God!” Vivi lost all control and began to sob loudly, snatching the nearby box of tissues.

  Papa appeared to be in total shock, as if he was the lone survivor at a plane crash site.

  “Fifty to sixty percent of patients die immediately or during surgery once this happens. Again, I’m very sorry,” the doctor said.

  “Would you like to see her?” asked the nurse.

  “I’m afraid, but, yes,” said Vivi. Looking at her grandfather she said, “Papa, do you?”

  “Yes, I have to say goodbye.” Vivi’s heart broke at the sound of his feeble voice.

  They walked down a long hall alongside the nurse. Vivi was shaken by the ER patients’ moans, alarms, and monitors, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, not wanting to see the coexisting misery. When they stepped into Room One, she covered her eyes and stopped walking abruptly. Papa nudged her gently toward Nana, who was lying on a cart in the center of the room. She was covered by a sheet pulled up to her neck. The area was a disaster. There were several half empty bags of IV fluid and a nearly full bag of blood hanging from poles, each no longer connected to Nana. A cart with open drawers exposed used medication vials sat at the head of her gurney. The tile floor was littered with packaging, tubing, monitor patches and used gloves. Vivi was thankful that there was no blood on the floor—a motherly nurse had explained discreetly that Nana’s bleeding was all internal.

  Vivi and Papa stood by Nana’s side, weeping. Her face was pale, but otherwise Nana just looked asleep. Vivi kissed her cold cheek and said, “Nana, thank you for taking such good care of Shane and me.”

  Shane!

  “Papa, we have to call Shane.”

  Papa looked dazed. He slowly shook his head as if to say I can’t even put one foot in front of the other.

  “I’ll call him,” said Vivi, as they walked out of Room One and into the rest of their lives.

  * * *

  That evening, Papa, Shane and Vivi were exhausted. A few neighbors and friends had dropped off meals and expressed their concern. The next day planned to go to the funeral home to make arrangements—it was going to be another emotionally and physically draining one. They went to bed at 10 p.m., each lumbering up the steps in slow motion. When Vivi gave Papa, who looked utterly lost, a goodnight hug and kiss, she peeked into their bedroom. Seeing Nana’s antique vanity table, mirror and empty seat drenched Vivi with a new wave of grief. Nana used to let Vivi sit there and pretend to style her own hair and dabble with the bottles of perfumes and lotions. Vivi remembered she couldn’t wait to be grown up enough to have her own vanity someday. One just like Nana’s.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  2000

  Papa began to dwindle the day after Nana’s funeral, as if he had been allowed to give up on life once she was buried. Within four months, poor Papa became sick with pneumonia. He stayed eight days in the hospital and then was sent to a nursing facility until he was strong enough to come home.

  One morning at breakfast, Vivi said, “Shane, I have a bad feeling about Papa.”

  “You don’t think he’s coming home, do you?”

  “No.” Vivi put her head down and stared at the table.

  Shane stood, walked around the table, and stood behind her chair. He folded his arms around her shoulders and rocked her gently.

  The last time Vivi saw Papa alive was the day before he died. He was frail and broken. He had never gained the strength to come home, and Vivi was positive that he was too defeated to try and work with the physical therapists. She believed that he didn’t want to spend another night in his home without Nana. The minute the phone rang at six the following morning, Vivi knew Papa was gone. She believed in God and an afterlife and was sure her grandparents were reunited.

  * * *

  After Papa’s death, Vivi’s mental health began to slide, and she felt both guilt and relief that Shane decided to move out of his apartment and back into their family home. She was nearly housebound and couldn’t go grocery shopping or to church. She quit both her job and college classes and when Shane suggested that she start seeing a psychiatrist again, she became defensive.

  “Why should I? It’s obvious that even with all the treatment I’ve had, I can’t take care of myself.”

  “Vivi, you’ve made great progress and have been doing really well the last couple of years. Losing our grandparents set you back, but please don’t give up. At least consider getting back on your medication.”

  “Maybe someday, but not right now.”

  Shane dropped the subject.

  * * *

  Vivi missed attending Sunday Mass at Church of the Holy Cross with Nana and Papa.

  Shane no longer went to church and Vivi understood why, but he knew how much comfort she received from both Mass and the parish community. She hadn’t received Holy Communion or gone to Confession in at least six months and felt guilty about it. The Catholic Sacraments had always been important to her. But she also believed that God didn’t really care what religion His people practiced—how they lived their lives was more significant. She prayed every night before bed but still felt a void in her spiritual life.

  One Sunday, about a month after Papa’s death, Vivi planned to cook a delicious meal for Shane for no special reason. She had been practicing cooking several of Nana’s recipes. On the menu were Nana’s homemade chili—one of Shane’s favorites—cornbread, Caesar salad and key lime pie.

  She stood at the stove, taste-testing the chili, and decided it needed a bit more chili powder. Then she pulled the cornbread out of the oven and sliced thick chunks, drizzling them with butter. When the table was set and the food ready, she called for Shane.

  Shane stepped into the kitchen, inhaled deeply through his nose, and then stopped abruptly, appearing momentarily disoriented.

  “What’s the matter?” Vivi asked, hoping she didn’t overdue the chili powder.

  “Wow. Smelling the food made me think for a second that I would find Nana standing here in an apron. I swear I almost felt her here.”

  “Really? Maybe you did. I wanted to cook a Nana Special, so she might have been watching over me.”

  Shane gave Vivi a tight hug.

  “Thank you, Viv. You put a lot of effort into this meal, and I can’t wait to dig in.”

  Then he handed Vivi a note with a phone number on it.

  “I was thinking, since you can’t make it to Sunday mass, the church might have people who come to the house and give Communion. It would give you something to look forward on Sundays. If y
ou want, call tomorrow and see if you can arrange it for next week.

  “Shane, that’s a great idea. I never thought about the possibility. Now let’s eat.”

  * * *

  Vivi called the church the next morning and yes, there were Lay Eucharistic ministers, usually parishioners, who could bring Communion to sick or homebound people. The secretary was familiar with Vivi by name and took down her address.

  “Sometimes there’s a few weeks wait to get on the list. Let me check.” After a minute, she said, “Oh, good, it looks like we can start next Sunday. Carl Long, a parishioner, will be serving in your neighborhood. Do you know him?”

  “Carl Long…No, it doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “Are you comfortable with a male?”

  “Well, if he’s a parishioner, I guess so.”

  “He’s a really nice man. He’s been doing home visits for a couple of years.”

  “Great. Thank you so much,” said a grateful Vivi.

  * * *

  The following Sunday morning at 11 a.m., the doorbell rang. Vivi was a bit nervous, not sure what to expect, but put a smile on her face and opened the front door.

  “Hello, I’m Vivi. Please come in.”

  She looked into the kindest face she had ever seen. The man was tall and well-built with short dark brown hair. His nose was slightly crooked which made his appearance pleasant rather than handsome. Before he even spoke a word, he manifested comfort and security. His hazel-green eyes were sincere, and his smile warmed her from her core. He carried a rectangular box, about the size of a small suitcase. Vivi stepped aside to let him in. He sat the box down on the floor a bit clumsily, then stood tall and extended his hand in greeting.

  “Hello, Vivi. It’s my pleasure to meet you. I’m Carl.”

  Vivi was a bit embarrassed to offer her damp hand. Why was she so clammy? Maybe because his presence provoked an awareness that her life was about to change.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE