Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4 (22 page)

As Red moved out ahead of us, my mind flooded with sunlight, extra bright, due to reflections off the snow. I waivered a little, thankful Jim had relinked our arms. Peripherally, I watched Tank and Wes scamper behind a half-completed snow igloo that a handful of unidentified Mustangs were helping to build. Someone had come up with an idea to pack snow into brick form, using a recycle bin as a mold. The only recognizable construction worker was Fritz, as he wasn’t wearing a hat, his face and hair were unobscured. It was sunny, but bitterly cold, so everyone was bundled warmly.

Red turned to look behind me and I saw Dexter through the glass door, donning his jacket. Both escorts accounted for. Feeling Red’s curiosity about the construction, and confident in my two-legged escorts, I instructed, “‘Lights off’ for now, Red. You and Tank should stay and oversee the building project. We’ll be safe,” I assured.

Red stopped before me, and the mind-sight link dropped.
“I heard the security patrols head out a few minutes ago.”

Then a snowmobile started with a deep roar, and my heart stopped.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Teresa? Teresa?”

“Teresa. You’re safe, Teresa. Breathe for me, come on, take a breath.” Jim’s tone was calm yet insistent, his arm secure around my shoulders, we were sitting
on something cold and low. The deck steps. Red’s face was buried against my stomach; I could feel his fear. My hand lifted automatically petting a soothing, stroking cadence to ease him.

I drew in a gasping breath, which quickly helped dissipate some of the fugue encircling my brain. “What the hell…” I stopped to pull in another lungful of air. “What?”

“Anxiety attack,” Jim answered my half-formed question. “I think, triggered by the sound of the snowmobiles. You’re safe, Dex and Fritz are here. So far Sebastian seems unaware…”

“What the fuck! Babe, are you okay?”

“Obviously, I spoke to soon,” Jim sighed, standing up to relinquish his spot.

The slider slammed closed, and I was soon secure in Bas’ arms, anchored to his broad, coatless chest. “What happened? Teresa? Babe, you’re pale as a ghost.” Lifting a hand to his lips, he added, “And, you’re trembling.”

“Panic attack,” Jim answered, thankfully, as I was still relearning how to breathe. “She’ll be fine, Sebastian. You knew to expect something like this. We’ve talked about possible triggers.” They had? Where was I during these important discussions?

“Snowmobile,” I whispered. “I’m okay, Bas. Only scared for a moment.”

“Let me grab a coat, and I’ll come with you,” he suggested—well, sort of ordered, really.

“No,” I objected. “Get back to work, slacker. I’ll be fine. Jim and the guys are close by, they’ll watch out for me. I’m okay,” I lifted my face so he could read my sincerity. “Really, I am. It was scary and unexpected. Jim helped me through it. I’m all right, there was no real danger,” I assured, hugging the huge body in my arms. “Go back downstairs Bas, please.”

I could feel his reluctance, but Bas deferred to my wishes, slowly bringing us to our feet before releasing me with a soft kiss to my forehead. The roar of snowmobiles cut through the morning quiet, causing my pulse to speed up, but this time my brain didn’t shut down.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, this time with confidence.

Bastian stroked fingertips across my lips. “Love you, Babe. I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Red, go play with Wes and Tank,” I ordered. Still feeling his concern, I knew he’d remained close. “Go on, I have plenty of guards, and Jim will take good care of me.”

“Okay, but I’ll keep watch. Call if you need me,”
Red complied, unenthusiastically.

“That was certainly enough drama for this morning,” I stated aloud. “Jim, will you join me for a walk? I’ll try to remain conscious, this time.”

Jim slid his arm through mine, and as we began our walk, he started a discussion on panic attacks. According to Jim, my incident was a mild, short duration attack; over within a few minutes. He warned me they could last from a few minutes to a few hours, with varying symptoms. Jim was also positive this wouldn’t be the last one. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Teresa. A sudden loud noise, even a scent or a flavor, could trigger an attack. Be assured, you’re not alone, and try to remember, you’re safe.”

Great. Just great. “Nightmares aren’t bad enough?” I grumbled, while mentally celebrating the justification to avoid the smell of stale cold garlic-chicken pizza and musty rags.

“Bastian told me you were experiencing nightmares and insomnia. In fact, you’ve had them consistently since Lt. Carpenter broke in, correct?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Although, the nightmares have been different since I was taken.”

“I’ll get back to that, but, Teresa, have you noticed you, Bastian, and most of the Mustangs are avoiding the word kidnapping? You weren’t taken, grabbed, or snagged; you were kidnapped. You were forcibly abducted and brutalized.”

I flinched under the harshness of the word. Jim was quick to point out, “You have been using words which downplay the severity of what happened. You grab a quick bite, you take an apple from the crisper, or you snag a piece of bacon from Sebastian’s plate. Kidnapping is harsh. It implies resistance, force, or imprisonment. Use whatever words you want for what happened to you, but understand this was a major traumatic event, not misdemeanor fruit theft.”

We walked quietly for a few yards before I asked, “Are you saying I should start substituting stronger words… kidnapping, or abduction, instead?”

“No. I know they’re hard. But, Teresa, don’t try to convince yourself it’s foolish to feel fear, anxiety, anger, depression, or paranoia. These are only a few of the side effects you can expect from attacks like you’ve experienced. Face what happened to you, no matter what you choose to call it. Now, since I’ve given you a few things to think about, tell me about the new nightmares.”

I filled Jim in on the background of the original assault, and the subsequent dreams which disturbed me most nights.

“Have you been to a professional, a psychiatrist or psychologist, to talk about what happened?”

“Not really, no. I’ve talked to Bas, but that’s only because he’s been woken from more than one good night’s sleep. I guess I never saw a need to talk to anyone. I mean, I presumed the insomnia and nightmares are a direct result of the violence. No offense, Jim, but what good does it do to talk about it? I’ll still have the bad dreams and sleepless nights, right?”

“Mmm, it’s likely, yes. But let me ask you this: Have you noticed any change in the dreams, before the kidnapping, after you spoke with Bas?”

Reflexively, I almost said, no—but, then stopped to really consider my reply. “After I startled Bas awake the first time, on Christmas Eve, I told him about the frequency of the nightmares. That’s when he insisted on sleeping near me each night, and we compromised with crashing on the couch. After a couple nights, I wasn’t so scared each time, most likely because Bas was usually talking to me as I woke up, right?” Without waiting for a response, I continued, “I’ll admit, there have been a few nights recently when I slept all the way through. I’ve felt more refreshed in the morning. I seem to fall asleep faster. But, again, I’ve been crediting the relief to Bastian’s presence. Not so much to having told him.”

“It’s good you’ve had Bastian to talk with. I fail to understand why Bas’ presence was more comforting than David’s had been. The first time you woke David up, didn’t you feel the same compulsion to unburden yourself?”

“David never woke up when I had a nightmare. I’d usually get up and go to the bathroom until I was calm, or head downstairs and relax on the couch until I was composed enough to return to bed. I don’t think David even knows I was having any problems, and I didn’t want to load him down with my issues.”

“Mmm. Very interesting,” Jim said, in a respectable Freud impression. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking what was interesting. In a corner of my mind, I kinda knew where he was going with this line of questioning. He obviously wanted me to think about the reasons why I didn’t tell David, yet I spilled everything to Bastian.

“You are a very crafty individual, Doc Pettifer,” I conceded. “And, yes, I now understand why talking with a professional can be helpful. You obviously set me up to realize self-actualization, through a series of well-asked questions, can be key to unlocking my psyche, ja?” See! I can do Freud too.

Jim chuckled. “So, about the change in your nightmares…”

“You’re a dog with a bone, Doctor Petti-Freud. Fine,” I huffed. “The first nightmares showcased me fighting off Devon—Lt. Carpenter. I think they started off with me more pissed than scared. After all, I knew him and wasn’t really afraid of him, at least, not at first. I didn’t realize he intended to injure me until the first slap. My nightmares initially revolved around the surprise and pain of realizing this person I thought I knew, wished me harm. There was an element of surprise, then disbelief he—he struck me! I woke up most nights with my back, metaphorically, pressed against the wall, reliving those seconds between escaping the kitchen and not knowing if Devon was really incapacitated. In real life, Gil walked through the door soon after. In my night terrors, I’m caught in that suspended moment before I heard Gil’s voice.”

“It would be very frightening, Teresa. Blind. In pain. Adrenaline heightened from the fight or flight response—and we all know your preference—you wondered if you would be attacked again. And how are the dreams different now?”

“Since the first night of the kidnapping, I think I’m drowning.” Even now, awake and walking through the woods with a man I trusted, other men nearby, and millions of dollars of technology watching every move, I felt a tinge of anxiety. “Thinking about it makes my heart skip,” I admitted.

“Let’s stop for a minute. There’s a place to our left where we can sit.” Jim’s voice had taken on a soothing quality as he recognized the first stirring of panic. He led me to some deadfall, where a large tree had dropped to create a natural bench. We were settled companionably, side-by-side, before he inquired, “Have you confided to Sebastian, yet?”

“No. There’s been so much going on, we haven’t spoken of the abduction,” I disclosed. “It’s hard to believe I was rescued only yesterday. It’s both fresh in my mind, yet distant, like it happened weeks ago.”

“I know he wants to hear what you have to say. Shall I ask him to join us? We have privacy here, and I suspect he can probably help with your anxiety more effectively than me alone. It’s obvious how much his presence comforts you.”

“Yes. Let’s do that. He’s probably watching the camera and drone feed, not getting work done anyway. Jim, can you see any of the cameras?”

After a few seconds, Jim said, “We are right under one. Nine o’clock, then straight up the tree, about twelve feet high.”

I positioned my body to face the camera. Once Jim indicated I should be clearly visible, I signed:

Bas, no emergency. Will you join us?

Belatedly, I added:

Please cut camera feed for privacy while we talk.

“I’m not sure where we are relative to the house. But it should only take a few minutes for him to join us. I also asked him to cut the feed for this camera to give us a little privacy.”

“Excellent idea. I don’t want you to be self-conscious. It must be disconcerting to know eyes follow you everywhere,” Jim probed.

I grinned at his transparency. “It’s not too bad, really. It helps I understand the nature of their work, and the importance of the security measures. The cameras are kept to the exterior, no cameras are allowed in the house. And, although some are mounted on the siding or eaves to record anyone who approaches the windows, none of the lenses are aimed toward people in the house. It’s a bit trickier with the drones, but it’s not like I run around the house naked, so it hasn’t been a concern if a drone accidentally caught interior images.” Now that I consider it, though, I may need to draw the blinds in my bedroom windows since intimacy with Bas was inevitable, and not something the security team needs to watch in streaming video.

“Hey Babe. Doc. Got your message. What’s up?” It seemed natural for Bas to scoop me up and resettle me across his lap when he appropriated my seat on the log. It was one of the many couch sitting variations we preferred—easy for us to talk discretely, but angled enough I could listen to the TV or other people in the room. My arms were draped around his neck, but his arms were the true support, holding me securely.

“Teresa and I were discussing the change in her nightmares, when she started to feel the stirring of an anxiety attack. Your presence is calming, and she planned to talk to you about the nightmares, so we thought we’d invite you to join us, hoping to keep the panic to a minimum.”

As Jim explained the situation, Bastian’s embrace firmed into a hug. “I love you, Babe. I’m here for you.” His hand cupped my chin, lifting my mouth to his in a tender kiss. “Thanks for letting me help.”

“Teresa, why don’t you explain the change to Sebastian?” Jim suggested.

“Since the kidnapping,” I began, trying out my new word, “my nightmares shifted to a fear of drowning.” I paused, trying to clarify. “Maybe not drowning, exactly. That was my original assumption but I was drugged too, which added an additional layer of fuzziness. I struggle to breathe.