Salvation (6 page)

I couldn’t stop brooding about it, though.

If Gideon had been planning to come out tonight and something had kept him from doing so, he would called to let me know. He probably just had something better come along. He was a good-looking, virile man. Women were probably chasing him all the time. He probably had a date tonight, and it just slipped his mind to call me.

He was under no obligation to come visit me on Friday nights. Just because he had the last three weeks didn’t mean he had to every week. It wasn’t like we had a standing appointment. He could go out and have a good time. It was probably a good thing that he did.

Trying to fix me wasn’t good for him. I knew it wasn’t good. I wasn’t his responsibility, and I couldn’t really be fixed.

I kept telling myself this as I watched some TV.

Eventually, though, I kept landing on a different explanation.

What if he hadn’t just had something better to do? What if he hadn’t just forgotten to call?

What if he was in trouble? What if something had happened?

He had a potentially dangerous job, after all. Sure, he was evidently still sitting behind a desk most of the time, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t end up in danger.

What if he was hurt...or worse?

I tried to focus on the television and then I tried to play a mindless game on my tablet. None of it distracted me.

Eventually, at almost ten, I was lying in a fetal position on my bed, trembling helplessly as I tried to control the fear.

It was ridiculous. I shouldn’t be reacting this way. There was no reason to assume the sky was falling, just because Gideon had stood me up.

I didn’t know what was happening to me, and I didn’t like it. But I couldn’t seem to control it.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I sat up in bed, grabbed my phone, and hit his number. As it rang, I almost hung up, suddenly afraid that he’d be with a woman and I’d be interrupting.

I was about to disconnect when his voicemail came up—his warm, familiar voice briefly telling me to leave a message.

So I did. I tried, anyway.

“Hi,” I said, my voice a little wobbly. “It’s me. Diana, I mean. I was wondering...I mean, I didn’t know if you were going to come out tonight. I thought maybe you would, but it’s fine that you didn’t. I just didn’t know...I mean, since you came before, I thought maybe you’d come again tonight. But it’s fine that you didn’t. You never have to come. I mean, I’m not expecting you to...It’s just that I’ve been nervous lately, about silly things. And I keep getting worried that something has happened to you. Don’t interrupt your evening or anything, but if you get a chance, maybe you can send me a quick text—just to let me know you’re all right. I’m sorry to be so paranoid. I’ll try to do better. And it’s fine if you don’t get a chance.”

I took a shaky breath and stared at the phone, horrified that I’d left such a mortifyingly rambly message. Then I realized I hadn’t even disconnected yet, so I quickly did so.

I burrowed under a fleece throw blanket, gasping with a rising panic I couldn’t seem to control.

What if Gideon wasn’t all right?

There were so many things in the world that could hurt him. And I no longer believed that bad things could be held off by reason, or statistical probabilities, or good intentions, or anything else.

The demons could take you down—ruthlessly, without warning, without mercy.

I don’t know how much later it was, probably not even an hour, when my phone rang.

I jumped from the surprise of it and then fumbled as I connected the call and moved it up to my ear. “Gideon?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry, Diana.”

“It’s okay.” My voice sounded too thready, but I couldn’t make it sound normal. “It’s fine. You didn’t have to call.”

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but it was what I said anyway.

His voice was strange, not normal, kind of rough and tired. “I’m so sorry you were worried. I would have called earlier if I possibly could.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t fine. I scared you. I can hear it in your voice.”

“But that’s just because I’m not...I’m not...Things hit me differently now than they used to. It’s my issue. It’s not yours.”

“I was planning to come out tonight. I wanted to. But something...something came up with work and I just now got away from it. I didn’t have my phone, so I couldn’t call.”

I took a shaky breath, feeling a little better that I wasn’t being silly in thinking he would come to see me tonight or that he’d call to let me know if something normal had come up.

“Are you all right, Diana?” he asked, his voice a little more gentle.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

I was still shaking helplessly. “I’m just...I’m just a mess.” On the evenings I’d seen him, I’d managed to act friendly, casual, mostly normal. He hadn’t seen me as such a wreck since he’d found me in my apartment.

“You’re not a mess. Don’t say that about yourself.”

“It’s true.”

“You’re dealing with a lot. I can’t even imagine how much you’re dealing with.”

“I should do better, though.”

“No, you shouldn’t. No one gets to say that. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can expect.” He sounded almost angry, defensive, resentful against some hypothetical person who might be judging me.

I was still shaking, but a little less violently now. “Okay.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sounding angry now at himself. “I can’t believe I managed to upset you so much. I’ve been hoping to...to make things a little better for you, but I managed to make them even worse.”

“It’s fine. It was just a...passing episode. I’m glad you’re okay.”

He was silent for a moment. I heard him breathing on the other end. Then, “Thanks.”

“What happened? I mean, is everything all right at work?”

“Yeah. We ran into some trouble, but it’s all fine now.”

“Was it...were you in danger or anything?”

“Not seriously.” I could tell from his voice that he was being careful to phrase things exactly right—probably so I wouldn’t be upset. “There was the potential, but it didn’t come to anything.”

“What happened?”

“There was a situation with a potential informant. I can’t give you any details. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said immediately. It was probably better not to have too much information, since the world he worked in was too close to the world that had hurt me so irrevocably. “I understand. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I’d said that before, so I don’t know why I was saying it again.

“I’m okay, Diana. I promise.”

I heard something in the background of the call, and it sounded like he was walking. “Where are you now?”

“I’m just getting into my car to head home.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll let you go.”

“You don’t have to—” he began, before he broke off and restarted. “Can I call you back in about an hour? I’ve got to make a couple of work calls on my way home, and then I need a shower and to grab something to eat. Will you still be awake in an hour?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. I won’t be asleep.”

The panic had subsided when I hung up, so I took a shower, put on my pajamas, and got ready for bed.

I was flipping channels on the TV—I slept with the TV on all night now, since the silence was simply too oppressive—when Gideon called back.

“Hey,” he said. “You weren’t asleep yet, were you?”

“No. I’m awake. I never really sleep anymore.” I said it without thinking, since it was simply a fact of my existence, one I’d lived with for the last three months.

It wasn’t until I heard the silence on the other end that I realized Gideon wouldn’t have any way of knowing that before.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“Nothing. It’s no big deal. It’s just hard for me to sleep.”

“Haven’t they worked with you on that?”

“Yeah. Of course. They’ve given me relaxation techniques and everything. It’s just not as easy as that.” He didn’t answer, and it felt like he was waiting for more, so I added, “It’s just hard when you’re...you’re terrified to close your eyes.”

I heard him take a breath, and it made what I’d said feel even worse, since I could sense how he’d reacted to it. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Yeah. But...” I stopped. No use to say it. No use to make him feel even worse.

“But what?”

“But I have them when I close my eyes, whether I’m asleep or not.”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did it was nothing more than a low mutter. “Shit.”

We both just stayed on the line, breathing.

“Anyway, did you get anything to eat?” I asked at last, pitching my voice in a way that made it clear we needed to change the subject.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, sounding like himself again. “I got a burger on the way home.”

“You shouldn’t eat too many burgers.”

“How do you know I eat a lot of burgers?”

“Just a guess. But you do, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“See, a salad wouldn’t hurt you occasionally.”

He chuckled. “Even if I liked them, salads are a little challenging to eat in the car.”

“Well, don’t eat them in the car.”

“Half the time, it’s the only way to fit in a meal.” Before I could respond to this, he asked, “What did they serve for dinner there tonight?”

“Oh, you would have liked it. Shrimp and steak.”

“Damn. It was the wrong day to miss.”

I smiled at his tone and adjusted so I was more comfortable in the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, when I’d managed to settle myself.

“Just getting more comfortable.”

“Are you in bed?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“On the couch.”

“You just turned the television on.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’ll turn it off.”

“No, it’s fine. What are you watching?”

I flipped to the sports channel he mentioned, and he talked some about baseball.

I’d never in my life cared about baseball, but it was better than hanging up and facing another endless night.

We chatted idly for a while, until we fell into silence. I was just lying in bed with the phone to my ear, but it felt like I could feel his presence on the other end.

When I realized what I was doing, I gave a jerk. “Sorry. Sorry. We can hang up now.”

“No, it’s fine. I thought maybe you were falling asleep.”

“No. Just lying here.”

“Well, keep doing it as long as you want. I have a beer and baseball, and I’m not planning to go anywhere.”

It sounded like he meant it, so I didn’t hang up after all. I turned off the last light in the room and left the television on to the same channel he was watching. Then I pulled the covers up to my chin and positioned the phone so I could hear it but didn’t have to hold it.

I wasn’t really expecting to fall asleep. It was just nice to feel like I wasn’t alone in the darkness with the demons.

But I must have fallen asleep at some point because the nightmare came after all.

It was the same nightmare it always was. Being pushed down against the table, a ruthless hand on my back or at my neck or pulling on my hair. Foreign voices saying horrible things to me—things I couldn’t understand but were all the worse because of it. My body violated. My entire self ripped to shreds.

It just never stopped.

I jarred awake, sweating, gasping, my blood pounding painfully all the way to my feet. I must have made some sort of noise, although I wasn’t aware of doing so, because I heard Gideon’s voice in the room.

“Diana? Diana! Are you all right?”

I managed to come down from the panic and fumbled in the dark until I found my phone. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. Just a nightmare.” I processed enough to realize what happened. “What time is it? I can’t believe you’re still on the phone.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I might have dozed off myself.”

“Are you still on the couch?”

“Yeah. I guess I better get to bed.”

“Yeah. You should. Thanks for talking to me so long.”

“We don’t have to hang up.”

I was embarrassed now, though. Embarrassed that I’d been so needy. Embarrassed that he’d heard the nightmare. Embarrassed that he’d gotten a taste of my demons. So I said, “Yeah. We should. Get some sleep.”

He almost said, “You too.” I heard the automatic expression start to come out of his mouth. But he stopped himself and said instead, “Thanks. Goodnight.”

I disconnected the phone and then got out of bed to plug it into the charger, since it was almost out of battery.

Then I got back in bed, flipped the TV to an old sitcom, and waited for the night to end.

“W
hy do you call them demons?”

Today was my first appointment with my new therapist, who I would have sessions with after I left the Center. Dr. Jones had come out to the Center today, but after I was discharged next week, I’d see her in her office instead.

She was an attractive woman in her forties with sleek dark hair and small wire-framed glasses, and I expected her to be just like all the other therapists I’d talked to in the last few months. At first, I liked her well enough, but some of her questions were annoying. Like this one. “I don’t know. It’s just a way to describe how I feel. I don’t really think I’m demon-possessed or anything.”

“I didn’t think you did. I was just wondering why you chose the word ‘demons’.”

“I don’t know. It just feel like demons. When the thoughts are in my head, I mean.”

“You mean thoughts and memories of the rape?”

I felt a familiar shudder of fear and nausea—as I always did when that night flashed though my conscious mind—but I pushed it back to the little dark corner the way I’d learned to do. “Yeah. It’s not just like thinking about it. When it comes into my mind, it consumes everything. And I can’t stop it. Then it’s like I’m...I’m reliving it. They told me it was normal. PTSD or whatever. But it feels like demons.”

“Yeah. I can see why. So you were saying that moving back into your apartment would make the demons rise.”

“Yeah. I know it would. I don’t think I can do it.”

“What about being in your old apartment would be so hard?”