FEAR OF FEAR: A Psychological Thriller

by PJ Nakfoor

  Fr. David had known Carl and me for years, so his remembrances were also meaningful. He relayed a story about Carl that took place before we were married. A parishioner who was a single mother of three had recently lost her husband to drug addiction. Carl learned that the church was planning a food drive for the family. He wanted to do more and found out the mother was going to night school to become a medical technologist. He anonymously paid for her final semester of tuition and offered to help arrange childcare while she attended classes, if needed. I was astonished because he never told me about this.

  Several bouquets of colorful and fragrant roses, tulips and daisies adorned the front of the church, and the choir was breathtaking. Faith and I cried when they sang Amazing Grace. After the formal part of the ceremony, Faith relaxed and looked around the church. She said she felt touched that so many came to pay their respects to her dad. She also seemed surprised to see Annabelle and some of the others from the cast of The Crucible in attendance. The group came over to express their sympathy and give her hugs.

  Faith re-introduced me to her friends, and I thanked them for coming.

  “Faith, I’m so very sorry about your dad,” Annabelle said. “I’m also sorry I haven’t been a good friend by keeping in touch. Could we meet for lunch in the next couple of weeks before I head back to campus?” She sounded sincere.

  “I would love that, Annabelle.”

  I saw some neighbors, an elderly couple, Gene and Roberta, so I excused myself and turned to greet them. At that moment, a young man bumped into me and apologized profusely. When our eyes met, I knew he was familiar to me, but couldn’t place him. He was tall, well-built, had wavy brown hair which was faintly sun streaked.

  “Oh, Mrs. Long. I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Long. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m George Hinson, Faith’s friend. I was part of The Crucible cast.” I smiled and thanked him for coming, trying to conceal my amazement at how handsome and mature he now appeared.

  George walked directly to Faith and hugged her tightly. They talked for several minutes, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at her. Almost adoringly. After my conversation with our neighbors, and once Faith’s friends had gone, I asked her about him.

  “George acted quite familiar. I remember you having tears over his teasing about your lame jokes.”

  “Actually, we’ve been texting some since he went away to college. He’s changed so much. He told me how sorry he was that he’d been such a jerk.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, Mom, I don’t tell you every detail of my life.” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “He’s home for a couple more weeks and asked if he could take me out to dinner.”

  That surprised me. “And?” I asked.

  A cute giggle escaped her throat before she answered, “I learned from the best. I told him ‘we’ll see.’”

  * * *

  A luncheon was served in the large banquet room adjacent to the church, which had seating for fifty or sixty guests. It had a beige tiled floor and a small wooden stage with a microphone against the front wall. Carl had told me the room held fundraisers, bingo nights, and occasionally a wedding reception. Each circular table had been covered with a white tablecloth and a small vase of pink apple blossoms and white calla lilies. A small group of women were scurrying back and forth from the kitchen to a long banquet table, carrying trays of roast beef, baked chicken, au gratin potatoes, steamed vegetables, rolls and salad. A small separate table was already filled with desserts like apple crisp and brownies. Coffee and lemonade were served as guests took their seats. I figured there were about forty people in attendance. I didn’t know everyone, but a few of Carl’s coworkers introduced themselves and so did some staff members from Faith’s school. I saw neighbors, old friends of Nana and Papa, and the familiar faces of a few parishioners. I was pleased to see that so many people took time from their day to honor Carl.

  My foot was starting to throb, so I took a seat at a table close to the buffet tables while Shane fixed me a plate of food. A few guests asked me about my walking boot as they lined up for the meal. Without sharing the details, I just said I fell and broke my ankle and made a comment about being clumsy.

  Faith, Shane, Luis and I left the luncheon after two hours. We had greeted each guest and made sure to thank the women who prepared the food. I was no longer taking pain medication on a regular basis but would probably need some that night. We were exhausted.

  The next few months, in fact the next year, would be difficult. I had some important decisions to make. Should I find a job? Move from our house? What interests or hobbies should I try to develop? I told myself to not think so far ahead. I needed to properly grieve and make sure my mental health was stable before I made any big changes, with the help of Dr. Buhari.

  I had grabbed a brochure from the church and opened it. The church held a weekly grief support group. Considering all the therapy and self-help I had done in my life; this wouldn’t be a foreign concept. It could be an avenue to meet people, to share my experience, strength and hope, and to receive the same. Nothing in my life had been easy. I had endured an abduction, sexual assault, the loss of my loved ones, crippling agoraphobia and now I would have a brand-new challenge. Widowhood.

  When we arrived home, we sat in the living room and debriefed about the day. Shane and Luis begged me to plan a trip to California and see the redwoods, the Pacific Ocean, and San Francisco’s most crooked road, Lombard Street. Faith and I could do some statewide travel as well. I had never swum in the Great Lakes, attended the Cherry Festival in Traverse City or cheered on the Detroit Tigers at a baseball game. The possibilities were endless, and now I was ready to really live .

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  2021

  I had been sleeping deeply, was jolted awake at 6 a.m. by the noisy alarm and I was a bit disoriented. I sat on the edge of my bed, stretching and twisting my torso. Faith slept soundly. The hotel room was small, with two single beds, a shared nightstand and lamp, and an armoire. Had we known how “cozy” it would be, I might have splurged for a second room for Faith.

  “Faith. Honey, it’s time to get up. I’ll shower first.”

  She groaned and rolled over, pulling the cozy duvet over her head.

  We had finally made our Italian fantasy a reality, with a travel agent booking our flights, hotels and tours.

  I walked over to the small balcony and opened the French doors. Below there were merchants getting ready for their day. They were sweeping their stoops, opening doors and shades, and calling out to one another in greeting. Flower and vegetable stands were on display, and bicyclists and Vespa motor scooters zipped through the streets, conversing to each other via their horns. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted toward me, making my mouth water. Rome was heavenly.

  I headed into the small bathroom, thinking how much more spacious it would be without the bidet. But apparently, a bidet was a must in Europe. I didn’t get it. Wasn’t toilet paper good enough? I stepped into the tiny shower, lathered myself with honeysuckle soap and thought about our plans for the day. We were going to the Vatican with our private tour guide, Alessandra. Shane, Luis, Faith and I had already toured some of Italy, but Rome was the city I had lusted for. I’d read about its influence on European history, but to be here, immersed in its vibrant culture was surreal. I loved the dichotomy between the city’s antiquity and its cosmopolitanism, walking past centuries-old archaic structures and modern upscale shops in just a few city blocks.

  When we were ready, Faith and I met Shane and Luis in the hotel’s large dining room, which was decorated in pink wallpaper with gold cherubs and rose-colored drapes. Each hefty wood table was set as if ready for a five-course meal. The dining area adjoined a smaller room which displayed a spectacular buffet each morning.

  Shane wore a yellow polo shirt, khaki pants and leather boat shoes—very dressed up for him since he was a jeans and-tee shirt kind of guy. Luis, on the other hand, always looked
as if a valet had dressed him. Today he wore a light gray oxford shirt tucked into charcoal gray trousers and a burgundy leather belt and shoes. Both Faith and I wore knee-length skirts and tank tops, but carried shawls to cover our shoulders, which was expected in Italy while visiting holy places.

  “You two are going to turn heads today,” I said, teasing them as I gave each a good morning kiss.

  “And you, my dears, will collect Italian men wherever we go,” said Luis with a wink, always a charmer.

  I started with a Café Americano, savoring every sip. This was followed by a platter of cold cuts and cheeses, fresh fruit, baguettes and jam, yogurt, and finally a custard-filled pastry dusted with powdered sugar and raspberries. The large meal would keep me going until our late afternoon snack. I never dreamed I’d experience breakfast in such opulence. How was this possible? Here I was, being immersed in Italy’s culture with people I loved. I thought back to the horrible day that Carl died, and it made me sad that he wouldn’t be able to appreciate life with a healthy and adventurous wife.

  Faith said she couldn’t imagine eating cold cuts for breakfast, preferring a simple meal of eggs, cereal and fruit juice. Luis and Shane were more daring than either of us, filling their plates with sardines, porridge and strong-smelling cheeses accompanied by double espressos, none of which I could imagine eating at all, much less first thing in the morning.

  We met Alessandra, a middle-aged woman with the energy of a twenty-year-old, in the hotel lobby. She was rail-thin with dark blonde hair worn in a spiky cut, and a face that wrinkled around her upturned nose when she smiled. She spoke understandable English with a charming Italian accent. We piled into the touring van while she rattled off our plans for the day. We would start in Vatican City seeing St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican Museums, the most famous being the Sistine Chapel. We were free to do whatever we wanted in the afternoon.

  Over the past week, I had become familiar with the beautiful Renaissance architecture of the Italian churches, with statues of marble and gold leaf, frescos adorning the ceilings and walls, but I was pushed to tears when we stepped inside St. Peter’s. It was the largest and most holy church in the world. St. Peter the Apostle was buried there—along with many of history’s Popes—in tombs beneath the main altar. I was overcome with emotion at the splendor and antiquity of the Basilica, but also because I was there, with my family. I wasn’t sure I’d ever leave our neighborhood for the remainder of my life, let alone get on a plane, travel over the ocean, spend time in a foreign country full of people and cars, enjoy the food, language and culture and most of all, visit the sites I had only seen in books or on television. It was a miracle.

  The Sistine Chapel was by far my favorite site and I felt chills when I stepped inside. Alessandra gave us a brief history about its famous frescos, which covered all four walls and the massive ceiling. “In the 1400’s, several Italian artists were commissioned to paint scenes depicting Christ on the walls of the chapel. Between 1504 and 1508, under the patronage of Pope Julius II, Michelangelo painted the ceiling, a project which changed the course of Western art and is regarded as one of the major artistic accomplishments of human civilization. He returned between 1535 and 1541 and painted The Last Judgement.”

  When I looked up at the painting of The Last Judgement, I was spellbound. It was at least twice the size of The Last Supper, Leonardo da Vinci’s mural on the wall of a refectory in Milan. Christ was surrounded by prominent saints and the scene depicted the saved ascending on his right, and the damned descending on his left. I’d had doubts about Heaven and Hell but was convinced that the good in people would lead them to reward.

  Alessandra continued. “He was hesitant to accept the challenge because he considered himself more a sculptor than a painter, but finally consented as long as he could have a free hand. He painted many nude figures, which caused a controversy, and later another artist painted robes or drapes over many of them.”

  “Really?” Faith asked. “That’s interesting.”

  I had browsed through a pamphlet during our ride in the van and was surprised to read that to this day, new popes are chosen in this chapel. Cardinals come from all over the world and stay in the chapel day and night until the new pope is chosen. Then the ballots are burned, sending white smoke up the chimney to signal to the world that there is a new Pope of the Catholic Church. I was amazed that the ritual has taken place for centuries. Being Catholic, I felt a deep connection to Vatican City and silently thanked God for His role in seeing me through my long and difficult journey.

  “Mom,” Faith whispered, as we left the chapel, “I’m so happy that we’re all here together. You were right when you said that our struggles wouldn’t last forever. But I never thought I’d see anything like this!”

  Shane and Luis grinned as she gave me a quick hug.

  * * *

  The morning left me both emotionally exhilarated and exhausted. I had always believed in God but wasn’t sure that He had faith in me. At times it seemed that we had a one-way relationship, but all day I’d felt a conscious connection to God. The sojourn to Vatican City had erased any doubts I’d had about my significance to Him.

  Carl would have loved to see Rome, but I’m sure he never entertained the idea, thinking I would most likely not get better. This realization stirred another brew of guilt and sadness within me. After thinking about it, though, if Carl had lived, I most likely wouldn’t have been forced to conquer my fears, and Faith might have never had the privilege of experiencing such wonderment. Carl would be thrilled that Faith and I made our dream of seeing Italy, and especially Rome, come true.

  * * *

  We parted from Alessandra for the day and planned to taxi back to the hotel later in the afternoon. After twenty minutes, we found a table at a cafe in St. Peter’s Square, and I marveled at the ancient Egyptian obelisk standing at its center. There was a granite fountain on either side of the square which made it look even more majestic. Everyone was hot and thirsty, so we drank sparkling water and watched the hundreds of people bustling about, taking photos, and looking in awe at their surroundings. Faith and I made a game of trying to count how many different languages we heard. By mid-afternoon the temperature had risen considerably, and I was craving a lemon gelato.

  “I’m treating myself to a gelato. Would anyone like to join me?” I asked the group.

  “Thanks, mom, but my legs are tired from all of the standing,” Faith said. “I just want to chill for a while.”

  “I’m with Faith,” said Shane. “But go ahead. We’ll save the table.”

  I looked around for a gelato stand but couldn’t see one. I swear, earlier we had passed at least fifty of them, but now?

  “I’ll be back shortly.”

  I made a mental note of the location of the closest fountain so that I’d have a landmark in this sea of humanity. I asked Faith to watch my bag after I fished through it to get my wallet, and then walked in the direction of some boutique shops. As I pressed my way through the dense crowd, I suddenly a flashback of dropping my stuffed unicorn and getting separated from my family at the fair so many decades ago. In an instant, I felt five years old again and the frightening panic flooded my chest. I thought about turning back, but instead tried some cleansing breaths and continued walking. A young man eating gelato passed in front of me, so I nodded toward his cup and shrugged, not knowing if he spoke English. He clearly understood what I meant and pointed to a storefront about thirty yards away and relief replaced my rising panic.

  After my exchange with the man, I remembered that I carried a translation booklet in my pocket. The booklet came in handy once I reached the gelateria. It was an open-air shop with a red and white striped awning in front with Italicious scrawled across it in dark green. I waited in line for several minutes and then placed and paid for my order with minimal confusion. Feeling proud of myself, I headed back in the direction of our table. The panic had been worth it, I decided after the first silky, lemony spoonful.

&n
bsp; But within two or three minutes I discovered that my sense of direction was off-kilter and I had trouble retracing my steps. The crowd was as dense as a London fog and seemed to close in on me from all directions. As I tried to get my bearings, another flashback, this one more sickening and visceral, took me back to the dusty parking lot and the rusted blue van. An icy shiver started at the top of my head and crept down my spine. Suddenly, every man in the crowd had the face of my abductor, smiling cruelly at me. I could smell his greasy hair and it made me nauseous. I dropped my cup of half-eaten gelato to the ground. My heart rate started to soar, and my lungs felt like they couldn’t expand no matter how deeply I inhaled. I was going to pass out, just like I did at the Amtrak station. My abductor stepped toward me, jeering.

  “Follow me,” he said. “You look lost. I can help you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  2021

  Vivian, remain calm. This isn’t real.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” the man asked as he gently guided me several yards to the edge of the crowd and to an empty bench. His face was no longer my abductor’s. It was youthful and kind with a brow wrinkled in concern. I was baffled until I remembered that I was near St. Peter’s Square and noted that the people who seemed so menacing a few minutes before were there to visit the sights, not to harm me.