Stolen (27 page)

“When you did finally wake up it was the best and
worst day of my life. I never expected that you would have created an alternate
reality, a reality so drastically different from our own, but when the doctor
explained what you believed had happened, that Rogan had died, that you had
been stalked, it all made sense that you had created a self-inflicted, torturous
world in which you were responsible for everything that had happened.

“He told us that the overwhelming amount of guilt you
were experiencing drove you into a depression so deep your mind couldn’t handle
it all, and after Cass’s funeral you had had enough. He didn’t know if you
would ever recover the memories from before the breakdown, but he suggested I
bring you here, the place where it happened.” He stops to take a breath, so I
use the opportunity to interject.

“You said I was in a coma for six months?”

“Yes,” he answers as if this was yet another question
he had hoped I wouldn’t ask.

“How old am I?”

“You’re sixteen, you’ll be seventeen next week,” he
says calmly, but from the way his chest is heaving I know he’s anything but
calm. He didn’t want to be the one to tell me this.

“But I’m nineteen! Three years have gone by! I’m in
college!” I shout. “It’s been three years. I know it’s been three years . . .”
I repeat my words in a whisper.

Looking into Bruce’s eyes, I know I’m wrong. “I’m
sorry, but it hasn’t. It’s been six months, Jess,” he says with so much sadness
in his voice.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Bruce. When I first woke
up a couple of weeks ago, I talked to you about Kyle and Rachel, about the
party I was going to, about how I had thought I’d heard Rogan in my bedroom,
which is what caused my breakdown. Kyle told me I’d been hospitalized for
almost three years. How could we have talked about any of that if I’m not old
enough to have experienced it?”

“I’m sorry, Jess, but we never had that conversation.
You’ve only been out of your coma for a few days, and I don’t know who Kyle
is.”

“A few days? It’s been longer than that since you told
me about Cass, about Rogan. It was when I first woke up, which was a couple of
weeks ago, and what about all the visits I had with the shrink? What about the
time it took for you to get me released? And what do you mean you don’t know
who Kyle is? He’s my doctor!” I shout, my head pounding with frustration.

“I wasn’t the one who told you about Cass or Rogan, Jess,
the doctor did that, and I don’t know what you mean by ‘all the visits,’ you
only saw the therapist a couple of times.

“As for the time it took to get you released, I had
little to do with that. Your mom spoke with the doctor and he said he felt you
were okay to leave so long as we monitored your progress with regaining your
memory and inform him if you seemed to be having any . . . relapses,” he says
hesitantly, obviously not wanting to upset me with pointing out that
possibility.

“Your doctor’s name, by the way, is Mike Santora, not
Kyle.”

“But you picked me up from the hospital today? You
said the doctor had agreed to release me?”

“That’s right, Jess, but I didn’t have to work to have
that done. You were fine to leave according to their evaluations.”

“I don’t get this, I don’t get any of this, Bruce. I
had to be put on medication to sleep because I couldn’t sleep, then I had to
have that medication adjusted because I was sleeping too much. How could all of
that have happened in a few days as opposed to the few weeks I remember it
taking?”

“The doctor did say you were having trouble sleeping
and that he had put you on medication, so my only thought is that during that
drug-induced sleep your mind continued on with the reality you had created.
Maybe your mind has been trying to assimilate what was with was is, which is
causing the confusion now.

“I can tell you, though, that there is no Kyle or
Rachel, that there was no college party, and that your nervous breakdown was
not caused by hearing Rogan’s voice, but by the death of your sister. I’m so
sorry to have to break it to you like that, but I’m trying to be honest with
you so there isn’t any more confusion for you as to what is and is not real.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn away from him. I hate
the look in his eyes, so much pity, so much sadness; it’s too much for one
person to see.

Searching my brain for another question, anything to
get us past the revelation that I have had years given and taken years away
from me in a matter of seconds, a fact I’m not sure yet how I feel about.

“When I would text you . . . or when I thought I was
texting you, 2:08 in the morning was a common time for us to talk. Does that
mean anything to you or is that just another weird thing my mind made up for no
good reason.”

“You remember 2:08?” he asks curiously, seeming happy
to change topics.

“Yeah,” I answer cautiously, not liking his interest
in my question. I’m facing him once more, trying to decipher his expression,
but I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.

“Interesting,” he says.

“What’s so interesting?” I demand, frustrated over not
knowing what he knows.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that that was the time they said
you slipped into the coma. You’d been in and out of it for hours after you were
admitted, but they declared you unresponsive at 2:08 in the morning. The brain
is amazing, isn’t it?” he asks intrigued.

“Yeah, real amazing,” I say snidely. “I lost months of
my life because of its amazing qualities.”

“Sorry, Jess. I shouldn’t have said that. Please forgive
me. I meant nothing by it.” He implores.

“It’s fine, Bruce, but you have to forgive me for not
having the same appreciation as you at the mess my mind has created for me. I
don’t know who I am anymore, I don’t know how old I even am, and I don’t know
how to assimilate the life I’ve been believing myself to be living into the
life I’m actually living. This is a lot to take in, so give me a minute,”

“I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. Why don’t
I take you home? You can sleep on it, and if you want to talk or ask more
questions tomorrow we can do that?”

I nod, turning to look out the window at the darkness
surrounding us, and I beg the Cosmos to help me. I don’t know how they can help
me since I don’t know what kind of help I need right now. Would it help me to
remember or to forget? Maybe for tonight they can just help me sleep.

In front of my house, I sit in a silent car with a
patient Bruce waiting at my side. I know I need to go inside, I know I need to
face the inevitable. I know all of this, but my feet haven’t gotten the
message.

“Would you like me to carry you inside?” Bruce jokes.

“Don’t joke, in my world you used to do that all the
time, much to my irritation.” I inform him.

“I carried you a lot?” he asks surprised.

“Yep.” I answer not wanting to get into how pathetic I
was in my other life. How often I cried, and how often I fainted for no good
reason. Thank the Cosmos I have a chance to change that weakness that resides
inside me.

“Well, that’s not really my style, but if you do need
the help . . .” His discomfort is obvious, and a part of me wants to exploit
it, but I hated when he did it in my other life, and I imagine I’d hate it just
as much in this life.

“Thanks, but I got this. I just needed a minute. Are
you coming in?”

“I’ll see you to the door, but then I’m going to head
out. This has been a long day, I’m sure you want to rest.”

I know I won’t sleep, but rest does sound nice, and
I’m sure Bruce needs the rest as much as I do, if not more, after all, I’ve
been sleeping for six months.

Present
day . . .

The house is quiet when I walk in. Mom is nowhere to
be found on the first floor, so I run upstairs to see if she’s in her bedroom.
At the top of the stairs, I freeze. Cass’s door is open. I remember how it looked
the last time I saw it, I’m not sure I’m ready to see it like that so soon, but
I have to walk by it to get to my room, so I suppose it’s inevitable. Taking a
calming breath, I find the will to move.

I shouldn’t be surprised, after so many revelations
about the details I’ve distorted in my mind I shouldn’t feel surprised at all,
and yet that is exactly what I feel. Her furniture is placed in the proper
places, her pictures are scattered about her walls and on her vanity mirror. I
see no dust, no boxes, no disorder, as if she has never left, as if she might
walk in right now. Mom is sitting on the bed looking at a picture in her hand.

“Mom?” I ask softly not wanting to startle her.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. How
are you? Is Bruce here?” She seems calm, but the redness around her eyes tells
me she’s been crying and is trying to keep it together for my sake.

“No, he dropped me off, but he didn’t stay.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t get up or seem to have any intention of
doing so, so I sit down beside her on Cass’s bed, the bed I last saw leaning
against the wall.
What have I done to myself?
I question silently. 

“Mom, are you okay?” I ask while gingerly taking hold
of her trembling hands, setting Cass’s last school picture down beside us on the
bed.

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know how to answer that. I
thought when you woke up I’d feel better, that if I could talk to you again I
wouldn’t feel so lonely around here, but I do feel lonely. I missed you so
much, your wit, your sarcasm, everything, and now that I have you back I worry
that I won’t know what to say to you anymore, that I won’t be good enough for
you anymore, if I’d been there for you before maybe this never would have
happened to you at all.”

“Mom, stop! You have nothing to feel guilty about! I
did this on my own, and I’d have done it no matter what anyone did or did not
do for me. I know my absence has hurt you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am
for that, but I’m here now and I want to make it up to you.

“You were a big part of my other life, so for me I
haven’t been away from you for that long, but I get that that isn’t the same
for you. Six months is a long time, and on top of all of that you had to deal
with the loss of Cass. I don’t know how to make this up to you, but I will, if
you’ll let me? I can’t lose you. Please don’t push me away.” I plead for her
forgiveness, for her love.

“I’d never push you away, honey. It’s just hard to
know what to do now. I have to get used to you being home again, and to Cassie
not
being home. I think, perhaps, I’ve been emulating you on a small scale,
ignoring what is for what I wish was. I’m the first to admit I haven’t handled
losing Cassie very well, and the thought that I might have lost you, too, is a
lot to carry, but I have you now and I don’t ever want to lose you again.
Whatever you need from me I’ll do my best to offer, just be patient with me.
I’m trying, I swear I am, but it’s a slow process.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.” I joke. “I know all
about having to be patient and having to take your time to heal, it’s something
I wish I’d understood before my breakdown, maybe I could’ve prevented these
last six months. Maybe we can help each other? I’ll be patient with you if you
do the same for me?”

“Deal,” she says while smiling.

“Mom? Can I ask you a question? There’s something that
has been bothering me since I woke up in the hospital, but I haven’t had a
chance to ask the one person who would know, and that’s you.”

“Of course, honey.”

“Do you know a boy named Alex who works at the café on
Main Street?”

“I don’t. Who is he?”

“Well, in my other life I had a thing for him—no need
getting into details about the slut I’d been that night, or hadn’t been? This
is getting too confusing—and I’m wondering how he fit into my thoughts.”

“Hmm, you said you knew him from a café?”

I nod.

“But you don’t drink coffee. You hate it in fact, so I
don’t know how you would know him since I can’t imagine why you would frequent
a coffee shop,” she says almost as perplexed as me.

So I never went to the coffee shop, I never knew a boy
named Alex, I never slept with a boy named Alex. Why did I create a world in
which I did all of those things?

“I’m sorry, Jess. I can tell that’s not the answer you
were hoping for, but unless you have a secret addiction to coffee that I’m
unaware of then I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’m actually quite happy that those
memories aren’t real. That was a bad time for me in that life. I’d rather be
able to say no part of it could’ve been real.” I admit honestly.

“Okay, well, I’m glad I could help then,” she says
teasingly. “Now, maybe you could help me?”

“I’ll try,” I say not knowing what I could possibly
help her with.

“Your seventeenth birthday is coming up soon, and I’d
like to throw you a party. Would you be okay with that? It won’t be a huge
party, but I really want to do this for you. I need to do something happy and
fun for a change,” she sighs.

“Of course you can, mom,” I say enthusiastically even
though that’s far from how I feel. A party? I’ll have to socialize with people
who I thought had abandoned me. This is going to be so hard, but after all I’ve
put her through I can’t deny her this if it’s something she thinks will help
her.

“Thank you,” she says simply. “Why don’t we get some
sleep? It’s late, and I think we could both use the rest.”

It’s the same sentiment Bruce had, and while I still
doubt I’ll sleep even a little, mom looks exhausted, so I concede.

There’s light filtering in through my dark purple
curtains; I guess I didn’t shut them all the way. Wait a minute! Where’s the
light coming from?

My alarm clock on my nightstand reads 10:09 in the
morning. Wow, I guess I was tired after all. Sitting with my legs hanging off
the bed I reach for my phone. Where’s my phone? I always leave it on the nightstand.
I fumble around inside the drawer, finding nothing but junk. Jumping off the
bed I rummage through my desk drawers; nothing. Maybe it slid under my bed?
Nope, not there, I discover after crawling on my hands and knees during my
search.

Okay, where was the last place I had it? I ask myself.
Where? Where? Think, Jess, think. I can’t remember. My thoughts are bouncing
between a life I never lived and the one I left behind. How am I supposed to
know what is and is not real? How will I know what I did or did not say or do?

I’ve been cognizant in the hospital for weeks or I
guess days if Bruce is right, and at no point during that time did I have a
phone, so why am I searching for it now. Why have I jumped back to the life I
had been living despite the fact I haven’t been living it in the very recent
past?

Feeling frustrated I make my way to the kitchen
knowing mom will be up with coffee ready. Just as predicted, she’s sitting at
the kitchen island with a cup of steaming coffee in front of her.

“Good morning,” I say as I get myself a cup of coffee.

When she doesn’t respond I look over my shoulder to
see if something’s wrong. Her cup is stalled mid-way to her lips, which are
pressed firmly together, her brows furrowed in confusion. What’s her problem?

“What’s wrong, mom?” I ask confused.

“What are you doing?” She questions.

“Pouring a cup of coffee,” I say slowly, unsure why
she’s asking.

“You don’t drink coffee, though,” she replies.

“What are you talking about? Of course I drink coffee.
I have for years.” My voice wavers. I remember what she said last night about
how I hate coffee. “I never drank coffee in this life, did I?” I question,
although I already know the answer.

Shaking her head, she slowly lowers her cup as if any
sudden movement will startle me. Maybe it will. Maybe that’s what I need, for
my brain to get the sense startled into it. This comes back to my question from
earlier, how will I know what is from this life as opposed to the other life?

While in thought I take a sip of coffee, contemplating
what I should do. Maybe I should talk to the shrink, maybe I really should
continue seeing him like he suggested? I’d laughed in his face when he
suggested that before I was released, but that was before I knew I really am
crazy.

Another sip has me hunched over the kitchen sink
spitting out the hot liquid from my mouth. “Ugh! That’s terrible!” I declare.
“Who drinks that stuff? It tastes like ass,” I say while gargling a glass of
tap water I just emptied into my mouth.

I hear laughter behind me. “I told you that you didn’t
like it,” mom tries to say through her laughter.

“I do like it, though,” I say. “Or at least I thought
I did. I used to drink it all the time.”

I’m lost in thought when I feel warm arms surround me.
“We’ll get through this, okay, sweetie? We’ll figure out a way to separate what
you remember from the other life with your memories from this life. We’ll get
there,” she says reassuringly, but I feel anything but reassured. What if I’m
never able to distinguish one reality from the other? What if I’m irrevocably
broken?

“Mom, where’s my phone?” I ask needing to change the
subject.

“Oh, well, I had it turned off a couple of months ago.
You weren’t using it, and it was costing a lot to keep it on my plan . . . and
. . . I just thought . . .”

Hearing her so apologetic is too upsetting. Look at
what I put this poor woman through. “That makes sense,” I say. “Don’t worry
about it.”

“We’ll get you a new one, okay?” She offers.

“Sure, mom. I’m going to take a shower and get
dressed, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Would you like me to fix you a bowl of
cereal? I picked up your favorite yesterday at the store,” she says cheerfully.

“Fruity Pebbles? Sure, sounds good,” I say as I make
my way out of the kitchen.

“Fruity Pebbles?”

Her question makes me stop dead in my tracks. Why is
she questioning my favorite cereal? With an exasperated sigh, I ask, “What
cereal did you buy?”

“Lucky Charms.”

Yuck! Lucky Charms? Since when have I liked Lucky
Charms? Oh, who cares anymore? I need to accept that I don’t know who I am. I
don’t know what is or what was. I don’t know anything anymore. This can’t last
forever, right? At some point it will all come back to me, right?

“Right, I forgot. I think I’ll pass on breakfast,
though. I’m not very hungry this morning.”

“Do you want me to go buy you Fruity Pebbles? I will.
I just thought . . . I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t know that’s what you would
want.” Her voice is filled with concern.

I have to attempt to calm her nerves. “I think I just
don’t want cereal anymore, mom. It’s probably because of the hospital food I’ve
been eating; I can’t remember which cereal I used to like because I haven’t
eaten it in so long.” This is a blatant lie, but hopefully one that will
appease her.

“That makes sense,” she says.

I can’t stand to lie anymore, so I run up the stairs,
slamming the bathroom door shut as soon as I’m safely inside. If I thought the
revelations from the past day and a half were a lot to take in my appearance
trumps them all.

Who am I? My hair is longer than I remember it being,
as long as it used to be when I was, well, when I was in high school. My brown
eyes are less . . . less aged. I look like a sixteen year old girl, a girl who
hasn’t suffered the death of her boyfriend, a girl who hasn’t been stalked, who
hasn’t lost all of her friends.

I look like a girl who is grieving, but just a girl, a
girl who has her whole life ahead of her. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all?
Maybe I can take what I remember from that other life to make changes in this
one? Maybe I can change my outcome?  

After the shower I’m feeling slightly better, calmer
after recognizing that my life doesn’t have to suck, that I can make it
whatever I want it to be. I’m feeling even better when I hear the voice I had
dreamt of hearing so often in my other life, a voice I’m elated to be hearing
now.

Rogan. 

Twisting my hair up into a loose bun, I grab a pair of
jeans, a light blue t-shirt, and a pair of black ballet flats, dressing faster
than models at a fashion show, though I look nowhere near as attractive, it’ll
have to do—I can’t wait another minute.

“Yeah, I was going to ask her if she wanted to do
something for our anniversary, but I don’t know if I should.” I hear Rogan say.

“I think she would love it. You should definitely ask
her.” I hear mom exclaim.

Not wanting to eavesdrop any longer I step into the
kitchen acting as if I hadn’t been listening in on their conversation. “Hi,” I
say, not knowing what else to say, especially after seeing Rogan sitting in
front of me looking at me like a starving man who’s found his next meal. I
can’t be sure, but I don’t think he’s ever looked at me like this before, with
so much lust, so much desire, but also so much love. It’s making my belly do
funny things.