8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Sounds stable
Eden
M y quick steps through the wooded area around the center are fraught with anxiety. The last place Nialak had been seen was near the exit at the back of the building. I’m ready to turn back when I come around a tree and almost trip over him lying in the fetal position striking his head with a stick.
Kneeling next to him, I try to be soothing. “Can I have this? Nialak…can I have the stick? Please? Let go of it, that’s it. That’s it.” I sit cross-legged next to him, tossing the stick away from us. Other than a couple small scratches he appears physically okay. “Can we talk about it?”
With a halting voice, he says, “I-I-I’m bad.”
In varying degrees, this is the sentiment shared by many of my patients. Their self-worth was destroyed by the control inflicted on them, the lies they swallowed, and the acts they were forced to partake in. When the belief system they ascribed to starts to fall apart, they see themselves in a negative light.
“Nialak, what makes you think that?”
Take apart the instilled thoughts, strip away the lies and the patients can start to rebuild. Hopefully. There are times it doesn’t work. Some patients find living in the real world too daunting, and they return. Or take their lives.
I listen to him as he struggles to find the words, to tell me why he thinks he’s a bad person. It’s a fight to keep my own brutal thoughts about myself out of the mix. Dr. Almari’s words are still tearing me up. Her nasty assessment of me called forth the voice I hear in my nightmares.
“You’re nothing but an abomination. You were never meant to exist.”
Dr. Wallen finds us sitting next to the towering oak, Nialak still balled up. “I can take over here if you’d like. You have a call from home.”
I stand after a nod to him. His extensive work using hypnosis with Nialak could come in handy right now. When he gets stuck at a low point, talking him back to reason is difficult.
“Well, please pray for my husband Blaine. He had a tickle in his throat, dry eyes, and the thermometer read ninety-eight point six this morning. He feared the end was near.” I’m kidding, but between Zach getting a stomach bug, Blaine starting to feel under the weather, and my current hypervigilance because of that note, I need to find some levity.
Dr. Wallen chuckles. “I can take your last two patients if you need to leave.”
On the walk back, it hits me-why would they call the center? I have my cellphone on me. Looking at it, there are no missed calls. A pit forms in my stomach. This feels suspicious…intentionally unsettling.
The blinking red light on my desk phone indicates a held call. I pick the receiver up with a shaky hand. “Hello?” I hold my breath briefly before saying, “It’s me. Is something wrong?”
I almost hang up. Then I hear, “Eve?”
No. No, no, no.
Keep calm, don’t freak the hell out.
“You have the wrong numb-”
“I don’t think so. It’s you.” The chilling amusement in this man’s voice worsens my shaking. “Eve…I’m dying to meet you.”
How does this person know a name I was called briefly at the start of my life? A name synonymous with the doctors playing God at Camp Carroll. With the horrors subjected to a girl that never should’ve been. “You’re an abomination. You were never meant to exist.” My stomach bottoms out.
The call lasted seconds. I sit with the dial tone, the phone frozen in my hand.
I’m reduced to a child, panicked over an inescapable destiny. If it were just me, I wouldn’t feel half as afraid, but it’s not. Hutton, the kids. A frenzied feeling roots in my bones.
They’re playing with me. This person has information about my past, but if they mean to hurt me, they will use me as they take the people I love away. Just like the leader of The Realists planned to do once before.
Gathering up my purse, I’m on autopilot.
A note; a phone call; a strange, dark SUV…Could I be letting it all lead me to a conclusion that’s far-fetched? No. Matt thinks there is a copycat serial killer. We should’ve listened to Hutton by retreating to an isolated, off-the-grid location. He knows better than the rest of us what The Realists are capable of doing.