“Because the girl who created it is dead,” I say at last.
“No, she’s not. She’s lying in this bed right in front of me.”
I exhale loudly. “You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” Dr. Argent shakes her head. “I believe we’re all free to create whatever kind of life we want on whatever day we choose. I believe, yes, you are going to have more challenges getting there than most would, but I one hundred percent know you have a chance at a new life. A good life.”
“A good life like becoming a hermit afraid to leave a house? Scared to wake up each day and realize there’s no waking up from the nightmare? Unable to have anything close to another loving, trusting relationship ever again?” I turn my head away from Dr. Argent. “That kind of good life those other girls are just reveling in?”
“No, the kind of life you want, not the one that comes easiest. The one you have to work really hard for. That kind of good life, so when someone else in my shoes has to sit down with another girl like you someday in the future, she can say some girls have risen above what happened to them and mean it. So the next girl can have a little more hope that it’s possible.”
I look at the ceiling as she slides into the chair beside my bed. I can’t keep talking about new lives and possibilities and overcoming the odds. I can’t talk about all of that positive shit because it’s just too damn depressing. Because I know . . . I’m too fucked up to even hope any of that’s a possibility for me now. “Aren’t you supposed to be like, I don’t know, understanding? I’ve been through something most people, a psychologist especially, would be sensitive to.”
Dr. Argent lifts her hands like she’s holding something in them. “You know how medical doctors have those electric paddles to bring a person’s heart back to life?”
My eyebrows move together. “Yeah?”
“I like to think of my ‘unique’ approach as those paddles that jolt your psyche back to life.” She lowers her hands and shrugs. “What you do after this is up to you, but at least it’s back. You can feel it, can’t you?”
My psyche? My soul? My feelings? I’m sure what she’s talking about specifically, but I do feel something stirring. I think it’s irritation more than anything, but she’s right—at least I can feel something. “You’re kind of crazy . . . and I’m supposed to be the crazy one.”
Dr. Argent leans in like she’s about to tell me a secret. “Life is the great maker of crazy. No one’s immune.”
I’m not sure if that’s more reassuring or depressing, but I know it’s true. After everything, I’m starting to wonder if the whole point of life is to see how much each person can take before they break.
“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” I say because how frustrating must working with me be for a person whose profession is to help piece back together a person’s life? Mine has been totally and irrevocably obliterated.
“Actually, I requested your case. I couldn’t wait for the chance to meet you.”
I would have laughed if my throat wasn’t burning. “It’s such an honor to meet the stupid girl who managed to get herself kidnapped by a total stranger a whole twenty feet away from her front door, right?”
Dr. Argent crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap. She doesn’t have a pen and notepad like I would have expected. You know, so she could make notes for her book deal. “It’s an honor to meet a strong woman who managed to survive ten years of captivity with a severely mentally ill man. It’s an honor to meet a survivor.”
This time I do laugh. It comes out ragged-sounding though. Like I’ve spent most of my life puffing on a cigarette. “Yeah, well, I didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter. He kind of kept me chained up for ten years”—God, has it really been that long? I guessed closer to eight.—“and it wasn’t like he starved me or beat me senseless, so I didn’t really have a choice in the whole surviving part. It was kind of forced on me, because that wouldn’t have been my choice.”
My eyes shut. After those first months spent locked in that dark closet, the months—or hell, years—that followed were dark ones. I held on to too much of the old part of me, and I wanted to die. If I had been given the opportunity, I probably would have taken it. It wasn’t until I forced myself to strangle the life out of the girl I’d been that life got better. I could be Sara Jackson more easily when Jade Childs was dead. The life I had wasn’t so bad when I didn’t compare it to the one I’d had before.
“Do you know how old you are, Jade?” Dr. Argent asks. “Or would you prefer I call you Sara? That’s what you told the officers your name was when they found you.”
“My name’s Jade. You can call me Jade.” I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling tiles.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what you want to be called.”
“I want to be called Jade,” I say slowly. “The sooner I get back to my old life, the better off I’ll be.” It’s a lie, but I’m telling her what she wants to hear. I hope it doesn’t backfire on me because I’d like to pass the shrink test and move on to . . . whatever comes next. “And I’m twenty-seven,” I add because even though I hadn’t known I was missing for ten years, I can still do simple math. Seventeen plus ten equals twenty-seven.
My God, I’m almost thirty.
My stomach roils.
“That’s right. It’s June, so you just had your birthday.” Dr. Argent’s voice stays the same no matter what she says. It doesn’t change even when mine does. I guess that’s what years of college and hundreds of thousands of dollars in school loans will get you—a level, emotionless voice. “Do you know the name of the man who kidnapped you?”
I barely have time to absorb that I’m in my mid-twenties before she thrusts me into the next difficult topic. “Earl Rae Jackson.” My tongue drills into the side of my cheek when I say his name. I don’t know why.
“Do you know where you were being held?” She crosses her legs and leans back like she’s getting comfortable.
This is one of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life.
“In an old house. Somewhere in the country.” I wet my lips and think. How could I have lived somewhere for a decade and have no idea where, in what city in which state, I was?
“That’s right. You were just outside of Bellingham.”
Bellingham. In the same exact state. So close to home . . . what took them so long? Why couldn’t they have found me before I lost myself? Why . . .?
That had been the tenor of my early years with Earl Rae, and it messed me up good—I’m not going back there. Asking why doesn’t do anything. It can’t fix what had happened. Asking why doesn’t belong in the future; it belongs in the past.
“Do you need anything, Jade?” Dr. Argent pauses like she’s waiting for me to rattle off some laundry list of things I need.
Maybe I do need plenty of things, but none of those things can be picked up at a grocery store. I let the silence continue.
“The doctors say that, given your circumstance, you’re quite healthy. It’s hard for them to say until the bloodwork comes back, but it doesn’t appear as though you have any vitamin or mineral deficiencies, and with some exercise and time, I’m told you’ll be able to run marathons by next summer if you so desire.”
I hear the smile in her voice, but I don’t understand it. Why is she smiling? What’s there to smile about? So I don’t have any vitamin deficiencies—I have plenty of others that can’t be fixed by pills and sunshine.
“He took care of me. Made sure I had vitamins. Access to a treadmill and some weights. I had to eat healthy, no sugar. He even brought home antibiotics the one time my neck managed to get too infected. I didn’t survive ten years because he neglected me.” When I swallow, I feel the gauze wound around my neck. It’s not too tight, but it feels strange. Foreign. I’m used to something heavy and cold circling my neck, not something light and gentle. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Did he abuse you, Jade?”
Her question hits me
hard. So hard I need to shake my head to clear it before I can answer. I’d known this question would come. I spent enough time fantasizing about being rescued that I’d run through what my life would be like after being found. Questions. Morbid curiosity. Everyone telling me they wished me the best but secretly believing I didn’t stand a chance. No one able to look at me without seeing me as a victim. No one able to not wonder what Earl Rae had done to me.
“Are you asking if he raped me?” I don’t flinch. I just blink at the ceiling and wait.
“I’m asking if he abused you.”
“If he raped me.”
Dr. Argent is quiet for a minute. I’m not making this easy on her, but she isn’t making this easy on me either. “There are more abuses than rape, Jade.”
I don’t need her to tell me that. Actually, it upsets me, pisses me off that this person who’s studied books is telling me how abuse works.
“The answer is no. He never touched me like that.” I swallow because my throat is on fire. From the drugs and now the emotions clawing at it. “I was his daughter. He never raped me. I’m fine . . . so you can move on to another patient who needs you.”
I’m Sara, your daughter. I missed you, Dad. I’m so glad you found me. I love you. Those phrases have been so programmed into me I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forget them. In a way, they’re the words that freed me. Once I finally gave in to playing the role of his daughter, I was allowed out of the closet. I moved from the dark to the light. I went from being a prisoner to a priceless family member.
“He didn’t rape you, but he did kidnap you, held you against your will for ten years, and kept you chained up.” Dr. Argent lets that hang in the air. She isn’t waiting for me to respond; she just wants to make sure that gets good and embedded in my head. Since clearly my head wasn’t messed up enough. “This isn’t something a person can just get over, Jade. It’s not something they can just be ‘fine’ from a day later.”
I wish the drugs would carry me back under again, but my adrenaline’s probably burning through them too quickly. I want to fall asleep and wake up to find that I’m all ready to move on and my scars have faded away.
“Well, I can.” My voice breaks, and I look at the cup of water. I wet my lips again. “I just want to forget it all. I can’t do that if you keep asking me questions, okay?” My fingers tremble. I ignore them. “I just want to forget the past ten years of my life.”
“You know that isn’t possible.” Her harsh words are spoken softly.
“I know I can try.” I shift in the bed, but my body feels limp. Kind of the way it felt for a couple of days after he drugged me the night he took me. “Is he dead?”
My voice is so quiet I’m surprised she hears me.
“Earl Rae Jackson?” She just barely nods. “Yes, he’s dead. He shot himself.”
Something squeezes at my heart, and when I swallow this time, I can’t. Something’s stuck in my throat. “What are they going to do with his body?”
“I don’t know, but I can find out if you’d like.” Dr. Argent uncrosses her legs and crosses them the other direction.
“Will they have a funeral?”
“I’m not sure. Would you like me to ask?”
I shake my head, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve started to cry. They’re silent tears, but they come one right after the other, feeling as though they’re carving canyons down my temples. “No, I don’t care what happens to him.”
I want to wipe the tears away so I can pretend they’d never been there. I want to swipe them away so she can’t see them. I want to stop crying altogether because I learned a long time ago that tears do nothing but make a person feel worse.
Dr. Argent’s quiet for a second. Then she clears her throat. “You know, it’s very common for victims in your situation to form some sort of attachment to their captors.”
I close my eyes, but really, I want to cover my ears. I don’t want to hear any of this.
“It can happen in a matter of days, and with you being under his control for a decade—the only person you had contact with—it would be very normal for you to feel some kind of bond with him.”
The tears don’t stop. They come faster. “He took my whole life away. I hate him.”
Dr. Argent scoots the chair a little closer. “You’re crying.”
I laugh a few notes. They don’t sound like most laughs though. “In case you missed it, it’s been a rough decade for me.”
“You weren’t crying until I mentioned Earl Rae.”
Goddamn shrinks and their being all observant and forming conclusions. I’ve dealt with enough in my life—I shouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit. She can’t ask me a few questions, witness a few tears, then leap to the opinion that I fit the mold of this case study she read about or that one her college professors discussed once upon a time.
I’m a person—not a diagnosis.
“Could you please just leave? Now?” I manage to swallow the mass lodged in my throat. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to get on with my life.”
There’s a knock at the door, and someone pops their head inside. I don’t know who it is, but Dr. Argent clearly does. She lifts her hand to indicate they should wait, and the person disappears and closes the door.
Her attention lands on me again. “Ten years have gone by, Jade. You can’t just go back to being a high school senior. Your friends will have changed. Some might be married and have families.” Her shoulders lift like that was that. “You can’t go back to that same life, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make a new one that’s just as good.”
I twist as much as I’m able until my back’s facing her. “Please go.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, but she doesn’t get up and leave either. “Your family’s here. They’re waiting outside.”
My lungs deflate. My family. I spent the last decade pretending to be someone else’s family until I almost stopped thinking about my real one at all. It hurt too much.
“I asked them to wait for me to talk with you before the doctors let them in.”
I imagine my body being cast in steel until I’m certain nothing can penetrate it. That’s a trick I learned when I was with Earl Rae—if I built strong enough defenses, nothing could get through. “Let them in.”
“Do you remember their names, Jade?”
I look back at her, insulted. That look fades when I realize I don’t. At least not right away. Not automatically like everyone else in the world can list off the names of their family members. One name is still there—it never faded—but I can’t say his name because his is the one that hurts the most.
I bite my cheek and search my memory. They’re there. I know they are. Earl Rae tried to strangle them out of me, but he didn’t get all of it. “Mike and Eleanor Childs—my parents’ names. Connor and Sam—Samantha—are my brother’s and sister’s names.” I want to say his name. I want to know if she’s seen him. I want to ask if he’s here.
I want him back . . . but that was another lifetime. The girl who loved him is gone. The girl he loved is gone.
“That’s right, Jade. Good. They’re all here. They came in as soon as they heard you’d been found. They’re anxious to see you.”
“Then why aren’t they in here with us?”
Dr. Argent looks at the ceiling like I am doing, probably to see if she’s missing out on anything. “I’ve worked with others like you, and most find it overwhelming to have everyone all at once just burst back into their life. It can be a lot to take in.”
I feel my eyebrows lifting. “You’re drilling me about what Earl Rae did to me and pressuring me to be the second girl to rise above, and you’re worried a reunion with my family will be overwhelming?”
“Nice summation. Your mental acumen seems in good shape too.”
She’s trying to make a joke, I think. It’s been forever since I’ve heard a joke—Earl Rae didn’t have the talen
t for them.
“I had books, loads of books, and nothing but time to study. As my body weakened, I tried to keep my mind strong.”
Dr. Argent nods. “That’s good, Jade. That will make acclimating back into everyday life that much easier.” Her stare moves to the door. “Back to your family. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little more time before seeing them. I know they’ll understand. They want what’s best for you—whatever that is.”
I squirm in the bed. “They’re my family.”
“And as good as their intentions are, chances are they’ll revert to treating you like you’re the exact same girl you left them as. You can’t move on when everyone’s treating you like you never changed.”
She stands and pulls a pair of large nail clippers from her pocket. She cuts through the tie holding my left wrist. Then she moves around the foot of my bed and does the same with the right. She doesn’t ask if I’ll leave my IV in if she cuts me free. She doesn’t warn me that if I try it again, my wrists will be rebound. She just cuts me free like that’s all there’s left to do.
“I’d advise you to ease yourself back into your old life. Little bits at a time, not the whole thing all at once.” She unwinds the second restraint and tosses it into the garbage, pocketing the clippers again.
I rub my wrists for a second, then I reach for the cup of water. I sit up and drain it in one drink. I may not be ready to see them, but if I wait until I am, it might never happen. I have to pick my life up where I left off. As best as I can. This is part of that process.
“Let them in.”
I HAVEN’T SEEN them in ten years. The ten minutes I wait for them feels like another ten years.
Before she left, Dr. Argent told me I’d gotten to Seattle Mercy around three in the afternoon. It’s almost nine o’clock at night now. A lot has happened in the less than twelve hours since I’ve been rescued. Tests have been run. A shrink has “shrunk” me. I’m about to be reunited with my family.