Chapter Forty-Seven - Fall

The Pictures On The Screen Tell A Story - Part 3

The pictures on the screen move and tell a story, of many dead people and more dead creatures. The little girl watches no more, her eyes glassy and open and numb. Red flows from her arm and the door flies open and there is the busy man and he sees her in the corner next to the bed with the knife and her burned hand and no switch and no hand on the other side and the beast with the fire in its head. So he runs and he picks her up and then he runs and she falls asleep.

When she wakes up there is a screen and it tells a story of many dead people and more dead creatures. She doesn't talk and doesn't move until she is two years older and then she has a new hand, a red hand with a red switch, a clever red switch in a clever red hand that can fly when she clicks the switch and then the hand goes whoosh and red fire blooms. She doesn't talk and she doesn't grow up in her head, but she has a clever red hand with a clever red switch and a knife as long as fangs in her other hand, the normal fleshy hand, and she sneaks better than the others. She doesn't grow up in her head, but she grows silent in her steps and she grows sneaky with her hands and sharp with her eyes.

The pictures on the screen tell a story, a story of a girl who runs fast and sneaky and who has a long knife and she hunts in the houses and she hunts in the woods where there are scary beasts and the story is of many dead monsters and many children who lived because they met the girl with the red hand who wouldn't grow up.

 

***

 

Anguish squeezed my throat, as Leah sat on the ground in front of me, dejected and slouched, crying with those muted, voiceless sobs that threatened to claw my lungs and never let go. Her hands were lying listlessly at her sides, and she had no tension anywhere, barely even vertical, with splayed knees.

My eyes answered her tears with a torrent of my own, and I rushed to meet her on the floor. I dropped with enough force that my knees cracked against the rough cement, but I only had attention for Leah.

Carefully, I lifted my hands to cradle her face, whispering quietly, “I’m here, Leah. It’s okay, I’m here. Leah. I’m here.”

Her eyes were glazed when they met mine. It didn’t feel like she really recognized me. A flutter of panic froze my heart, and a small sob escaped me.

“Leah?”

Her gaze traveled right past me, and I didn’t know what to do. What was happening?

“Leah? Hey, Leah?” She didn’t react. Nothing, but those empty sobs.

“Tynea? What do I do?!”

Please, try to stay calm. I believe Leah is experiencing some form of emotional flashback, and Ypsi agrees. Normally you shouldn’t touch somebody stuck in one— My hands twitched involuntarily, but Tynea continued immediately —but it doesn’t seem like it is triggering any bad memories. Still, please don’t go further than this.

“O—Okay. Do I let go now, or not?” I could taste her tears on my antennae. I wasn’t able to keep control over them, but I managed to flick them backwards and bind them with my tail, so they wouldn’t touch Leah.

Don’t change anything. Don’t move quickly. Any change may make things worse. Instead, just talk to her. Be gentle, but tell her she’s having a flashback. Encourage her to breathe slowly and deeply. 

“Leah?” She still didn’t react. I couldn’t stop crying.

“Leah, can you hear me? Leah, I think you might be having a flashback. Tynea and Ypsi think so, too. Can you hear me?”

I felt so powerless. I’d never seen something like this before. Was I doing it right?

“Leah? Can you hear me? Try to breathe slowly, please. Deep and slow. Okay?”

I desperately wanted to hug her, stroke her cheeks with my thumb, make her react, wipe away those tears, but I held back, mindful of Tynea’s warning. Any reaction I’d get might not be the right one.

“Leah, let’s breathe slowly and deeply, okay? Like this.” I still cradled her face, kneeling in front of her, but otherwise didn’t move. I just breathed audibly, deep into my belly, as if I was a balloon. 

Tinea, keep going. Flashbacks can last a long time, or just a few seconds or minutes. She’ll react to you, eventually. Once that happens, try to ask her questions about your surroundings.

“Okay. O…kay. Sure.

“Leah, can you hear me? We think you might be stuck in a flashback. Ypsi thinks so, too, okay? See how I’m breathing? Can you do the same?”

More deep inhalation, and audible slow exhalation of air.

Leah’s eyes settled on mine, as glazed as before. But they weren’t wandering anymore. She was still sobbing in that mute, helpless way, and I kept breathing as if I could infuse her with air. Kept encouraging her to join me.

In, and out. It reminded me of my firearms meditation, or the zen I found with the bow. My left palm itched with the phantom remembrance of a bow’s grip.

Focus.

I dragged my tired mind back to Leah, forced myself not to fall into easier memories.

“Leah. Breathe with me. Please. Can you hear me? Can you see me? What do I look like?”

I continued breathing, watching for any sign that Leah was copying me. 

She did. Slowly, minute by minute, we synchronized, and Leah calmed down. Her expression lost some of that intractable torment. 

Try to get her to talk. Ask about the environment.

“...Are you sure? This is where she was kidnapped and stuff. Is making her think about this, really a good idea?”

She didn’t see any of it before she met you, and then explored it with you, by which point she was already freed. Additionally, I believe that part of the reason why she cracked here of all places, while grooming your hair, is that she felt safe enough to relax. I…am guessing, however.

“...”

“Leah, can you hear me? What do I sound like?”

A shiver went through her body, and it was almost like a spell holding her tongue shattered.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—”

Shocked, I let out an unformed sound, my thoughts completely derailed.

“What? Leah?”

But she kept going with her litany, and I realized that her expression wasn’t just one of pain and grief, but also of shame, or guilt.

I didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t about recent events. This was something from way back. What had kicked this off? What do I do?

“Tynea?”

Keep talking to her. She’s still experiencing the flashback, but you’re guiding her out of it. The context of the flashback itself doesn’t matter at this time. Leah clearly needs professional attention, which you cannot offer. There are Protector-provided solutions, but those are something for Leah to think about.

Okay.

“Leah, I’m here. Talk to me. Can you tell me where we are? What’s my name?”

Leah’s expression remained stricken, words of hopeless, powerless apology streaming from her mouth.

My hands were clammy with sweat and nausea strangled my throat. I had to act! 

“What else can I do? How do I help her?”

There is not much more that you can do, beyond talking her into the present. 

“But after? How do I stop this from happening again?”

Beyond understanding her triggers and not presenting those, there is nothing you can, or should do. Do not let her become overly dependent on you. She needs to build herself up until she can rely on her own person. Having a relationship is one thing, but trying to be…her everything, is another. She has to be her own person, not merely your partner. That means it’s up to a professional, not you, to solve her health.

Blood was pounding in my ears, but Tynea’s words made sense. Being your own person? I had had to learn that myself too, after all. That the responsibility for Leah’s wellbeing was mine only insofar as that I could get her home and to the right person, should have been a relief—but I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to let go. 

I recognized this fear. Don’t leave!

There weren’t many I’d ever felt safe with…

I closed my eyes and bit my lip until it hurt. An old trick, one I used as a child. This small bit of pain let me float away, step back, let things pass me by. It was mine, it came from me. It was safe.

It let me breathe a little freer and I could think a little better. The fear receded, squashed from my head. It stuck to my shoulders instead, but I could bear it there. For a little bit.

Anxious warnings that what I was doing wasn’t right flared in my mind, but I pushed them away. I knew, but…I’d pay later. For now, I needed to let go.

“Leah, can you—  

Huh? Why did my voice have that rasp?

Oh. Right. I wasn’t in Aden’s body.

I almost hyperventilated. Shit. Don’t forget. You're an adult. You’re Tinea.

—hear me? Can you see me? Talk to me, Leah. What do I sound like, what do I look like? How do my hands feel?” 

I felt a little faint, a little foggy. But I pushed that away too, and there it was, the secret little trick. I had perfect control over my body, and my thoughts weren’t panicky anymore. I could perform. I sank into that old, old pattern. The playground of my childhood.

Think. Focus.

I kept my voice gentle and inviting, rather than challenging or anxious.

“Leah, tell me, how many legs do I have? How many arms? And what else is there on me? Say, can you remember what my name used to be? And what it is, now?”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…”

Hmm. Why was she apologizing so much? What happened? Should I ask about that?

No, that would be a bad idea, lead her deeper into it, rather than towards the present.

Should I verbalize forgiveness, even if I don’t understand where her guilt comes from?

Maybe. Try other stuff first.

She’d gotten a little quieter and calmer, and her breath was more even. But her eyes remained glazed, and she clearly wasn’t with me.

There was a very uncomfortable thing building in my chest, and I pushed against it. Made it go quiet.

Tinea, you’re in a very altered state of mind. Do you require assistance? Your Medical Utilities catalog contains an appropriate drug.

Who? Voice in my head. Oh right, I was Tinea, not Aden. And I could respond.

“Everything is fine.”

I do not believe that, Tinea. It’s as if you’ve drugged yourself. Are you experiencing a flashback of your own? I am detecting synapse-firing patterns that appear well practiced, but I have not seen these since your selection. Even your mental voice sounds different. What are you doing?

A flash before my eyes.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ADEN? 

I suck in a breath, tense. Don’t give anything away. Don’t let them...

Stop. Tinea, not Aden. Stop. Stop.

“Wakeup drug.”

 

 

A small gray pill appeared in my hand, and it took every last shred of adult will I had left to not sink into that ugly mix of old resentment and resignation as I, once again, swallowed a pill, reminding myself with the fervor of a drowning swimmer staring at a floating plank of wood only meters away, that I’d asked for this one.

Dizziness washed through me, and blackness took my mind as I fell.

 

***