“That’s it!”

Freya shouted angrily as she paused her show and got up from her warm nest on the couch. She stomped to her desk muttering to herself about squirrels.

She rummaged through her junk drawer until she found the miniature torch hiding near the back. She made sure it turned on and stomped back to the basement entrance.

Ever since moving in a few weeks ago, Freya had heard a scurrying animal in the basement. The previous owners warned her and her husband about them, but she didn’t realize they would cause such racket. Diego had advised Freya not to mess with the squirrels because it would only make them angry.

However, Freya couldn’t put up with the sounds of tiny feet knocking over boxes or hitting the walls which frightened Freya in quiet moments.

Freya turned the cool copper knob, but it didn’t budge. She tried again just in case the knob was stuck, but it would not turn. Diego had locked it, and Freya couldn’t figure out why.

The sounds in the basement had suddenly stopped, and she went to sit back on the couch. She began obsessing about the locked door and, eventually, went to find the key. After about 30 minutes of looking, she found four keys that she wasn’t sure even unlocked the basement.

The first two keys didn’t work, but the third key unlocked the door and allowed Freya inside.

She has her torch held tightly in her right hand as she pressed onto the wall with her left for stability.

The light-switch was on the wall down towards the bottom of the steps. Once she flipped the switch, she turned off the torch.

Her eyes needed to adjust to the brighter lights, and she ventured deeper into their modest basement. She noticed a cot that she did not recognize and a pair of white tennis shoes too small to be Diego’s. Freya had never seen those shoes before.

“Hello,” she called out. “Is anyone here?”

Freya heard a whimper from behind her. Under a brown metal table was a young woman- no more than 19. Freya recognized her from a missing persons flyer in town. She stood there speechless as the girl realized it was not Diego who had come to visit. She sat tied up unable to move whimpering and begging Freya to help her.

Frey knelt down to undo her homemade mouth gag which was just a sock shoved inside another sock. She was interrupted, though.

“Freya,” they both heard Diego call from upstairs. They listened to his footsteps stop outside the basement door.

Diego saw the basement door open, and panicked to come up with a plan. He had long ago gotten rid of the rats in the walls, and used the previous owner’s story to cover his tracks. He never once thought Freya would actually go in there.

He heard Freya coming back up the stairs. He knew that she now knows his horrible secret. In his state of panic, he threw the basement door shut and locked the door.

“Diego!” Freya yelled and pound her fists into the door. “What have you done?” She was crying as she screamed for him to let her out and explain himself.

Finally, Diego yanked the door open and pushed Freya down the stairs.

“Shut the hell up!” He pulled Freya up from the ground where she lay regaining her strength. He tied her up on the opposite wall from the girl and gagged her with a rag.

He was crying as he held Freya’s face.

“You weren’t supposed to find out.” He kissed her forehead and left both of them in the dark basement.

Freya was upset with herself. Her phone was still on the couch, and she had no way out.

“Hey,” she heard a raspy whisper from the other side of the room. “You loosened the socks just enough that I could get them out.”

Freya cried in relief.

“I’m Jolie. I think I know how we can get out.”

Sometimes the only way to really forget something is to go to sleep. First, Jared would have to fall asleep.

It takes hours before he is, finally, in a light sleep but never fully reaching the REM phase. Every noise is an alarm bell sounding in his ear. The smallest light is an interrogation light blinding him from the room around him.

Jared takes his precautions. He has taped over every small light: the small blue light at the bottom of his television, the red numbers on the alarm clock, and small white light glowing from his charging laptop. He has put black out curtains on the windows, and turned off his cell phone. He has tried a sleep mask, but the feeling is just too much on his face. The material is too itchy, and his face feels claustrophobic. As for the sounds, he wears soft earplugs that go inside his ears to lessen the noises. All small sounds are now gone, but he can still hear cars revving their engines and doors slamming in his apartment complex. However, they aren’t as loud as they used to be.

Once he is ready to try and sleep, he lies in bed and slows his breathing. He breathes in for four counts and out for four counts. Focusing on his breathing helps Jared to sleep and not focus on the sounds.

That is until he remembers why lights and sounds keep him from sleep. He is then stuck in silence with only his thoughts to keep him company. The memories and anxiety become too much that he turns on the television and stays up all night.

It has been 4 months since Jared has gotten proper sleep. People are noticing especially his mom.

“Jared, honey, you need to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but you need to deal with this.”

She has said that sentence everyday for the past few weeks when she goes by to check on him or when they talk on the phone.

He knows she is right, but how can he trust anyone again? He doesn’t want to bother those he loves with his issues or make them worry even more. His mom doesn’t even know what is keeping him from sleep, and he sees how worried she is now.

Jared was running out of options, so when a guy in his political science class offered him something to help, Jared agreed.

So, that night when all was dark and silent except for his thoughts, he didn’t turn on the television. He swallowed two white pills, and was asleep in less than an hour.

Jared slept through the entire night without waking up for the first time in years. He felt amazing, but he was worried. The guy had only given him two pills.

“A trial run,” he said. “because you look like you need it. If you want more, you have to pay next time.”

Jared wasn’t sure how much he would have to pay, and he would go back to political science until the following day.

He would try to sleep tonight without the pills.

Jared had one of the most productive days he’d had in a long time. He cleaned his apartment, bought groceries, got caught up on homework, and his boss even complimented his work. Jared drove to his mom’s to visit her for a change. He was exhausted for the first time and not because he wasn’t sleeping. He felt accomplished and proud of himself.

However, after trying to sleep for three hours and failing, he turned on the television and stayed up all night. It seems his positive day couldn’t keep out the negative memories.

The next day, he made sure to take one hundred dollars in cash with him to class. He was going to get as many of those pills as he could.

It turns out that sleep really is the only way to forget, and the only way to sleep is from some white pills.

“So this is it?”

I stood there starring at him, pleading with the universe to let him stay. He was the closest to love that I have ever been.

“I am so sorry. I fell in love. This has to be it.”

I refused to cry, so I stood there in silence knowing if I uttered a single sound, I wouldn’t be able to stop the tears.

He let out a sigh and turned to leave. I leaned against the front door of my apartment and gazed ahead of me as the world became a blur. The sounds of his footsteps disappeared down the stairs and through the parking lot until all I could hear was him driving away.

The birds chirped and cars hummed by, but I sat there thinking of our conversation. He had no idea how I felt. I let out a laugh.

“Had I truly never told him how I felt?” I thought to myself as I finally allowed myself to cry. Two years, and I hadn’t noticed that his feelings were no where near being as strong as mine.

I sat on the cool ground as I thought of our last trip. We went hiking at one of my favorite trails. I was excited to share this experience with him as I had never done this before.

We hiked up over 1,000 foot elevation to a canyon. We found a secluded area where no one was. The only sounds that could be heard were small chirping birds and the rustle of tree branches. We laid on the smooth ground, heads on my daypack, and were just in the moment. His breathing had become a soothing lullaby. It put me at ease, and I felt safe. In that serene canyon, I knew I could fall in love no matter the pain from my past. We didn’t need words or touch. We could just be, and that’s all I needed.

I turned to him to tell him something. I wasn’t sure yet, but I stopped when I saw he was looking at me. I became anxious as I thought of telling him all that I was thinking, so I kissed him instead. I have never been good at sharing my feelings or allowing myself to be vulnerable.

I cried not because I was upset he left me. I cried because I had messed up. I was the one who let him leave. I couldn’t tell him how I felt, so he found someone else.

I was falling for him, and he had already fallen for someone else before I came to this realization.

He made me feel like we could have been something real. He wanted something real. I wanted something real, but I was afraid.

Every touch. Every kiss. Every word. Every promise. It all felt so real, yet so magical. I was finally getting my happily ever after, but magic isn’t real and not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes the hero is their own villain.

I picked my self up off the ground, wiped my tears, and went inside.

“So this is it?” I said to my now empty apartment.

Breathe.

Slowly.

In.

Out.

In.

One.

Two.

Three.

Don’t think about the pain, the cold, or the dread of dying up on this mountain alone.

Four.

Five.

Remember going to the beach with Charlotte when she was maybe five? How happy she was to build sandcastles and run around in the sun? Her smile shined the brightest that day.

Out.

In.

Out.

God, please, let me see her again. This can’t be the end. I need to find help, but I can’t move. This snow-

Nine.

Ten.

Eleven.

Focus on breathing.

In.

Out.

When we moved Charlotte into her dorm, it was so hot. I pleaded to God for a breeze, and every now and then a gentle blow would cool us down for just a second. Sweat poured down our faces and all of our faces were bright red.

Shit. I lost count.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Out.

In.

“Hello! Anyone there?”

I could cry because I’m going to be saved. I go to call out, but nothing happens. I can’t move. I can’t speak. I lay there, hopelessly waiting for my savior to find me.

I counted 1,000 breaths, and no one came.

I new I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but I was so tired. I couldn’t keep going. I needed a break.

Breathe. Don’t think about the fact that I can’t feel my legs or feet or that I can barely even move my fingers.

Breathing is beginning to hurt. It’s too cold. My chest is hurting. My nostrils burn. My throat feels full of ice every time I breathe in.

But as long as I am breathing, there is a chance.

My breaths are getting shorter and harder to do.

Charlotte. My sweet girl, I am so sorry.

Breathe.

One.

Two.

In.

Out.

In.

Two weeks was all it took for people to stop searching for my brother or caring to call. They’ve all moved on. They may not care, but my family doesn’t have that luxury. My brother is still everywhere- pictures, memories of watching cartoons on the couch, his untouched room, and the kitchen where he would hum as he cooked. Moving on is easy when constant reminders aren’t around every corner. It’s even easier to move on when people believe my brother was a drug addict. He isn’t, though. The most he has ever taken is an allergy pill. Trevor works in a science lab at the university he attends. He was working on some special project with his professor. One night, he came home bragging about some success. He had said their findings would “change the medical world as we know it”. Soon after, he stopped going to work, seeing friends, or even coming to see us. He rarely called, and when he did, it was short and impersonal. He never told us anything was wrong until a random day when I got back from school. I stood in the doorway not wanting to be heard. “Mom, you don’t understand. I can’t come here anymore. They will hurt you.” Trevor sounded frantic and was rustling around papers. “Baby, are you sleeping well? Have you been eating enough? I’m worried about you.” “Mom, I am in danger, and you might be, too.” I accidentally moved the front door, and it made a creaking sound. They had heard me and stopped. The talk around town was that my brother walked around asking people for help or money, so he could hide. They all talk about my brother like he was crazy. I was walking home from school a few days before he disappeared, and I saw him sitting on a bus stop bench. He was covered head to toe to disguise himself. I sat at the other end of the bench. “I miss you,” I said quietly. “You shouldn’t be talking to me.” I was silent. “I miss you,” he finally said. “Come home.” He shook his head and laughed. “I can’t. It’s too dangerous.” He reached over and squeezed my hand. I had no idea what to say. “Take care of mom. I know this is hard on her. I love you.” He got up and walked away forever. I haven’t seen him since. I went into my room to watch television and do homework. I couldn’t find my remote, so I went to look under the bed. I felt… a book? I wasn’t sure, so I pulled it out. It was a brown notebook. I had seen this a few times when my brother came home from work. The first part of the journal was notes from his science lab, but there were pages missing. I wondered if that was his secret project. Then, the science jargon turned into daily journal entries about being followed. Some were in great detail while others were just a time and place. Why did he leave this here under my bed? He wanted me to find it. I sat in my bed reading through the pages. I made a map of every place in town he mentioned. I’m no trained detective, but I was beginning to see a pattern. I almost had my finger on it when my mom knocked on the door. I quickly hid the journal. “Trinity, give me the notebook.” How does she know? “Trinity, don’t make me do this again.” I stared at her confused. She sighed and left the room without the notebook. I heard her call to my dad, “We have to admit her. She’s only getting worse. We’ve tried everything.” I stood by the door listening to my dad’s silence. “Daniel, Trevor has been gone three years now. I’m losing hope in her.” Three years? He disappeared two weeks ago. I was just talking to my brother on the bench.
Then, it all came back to me. I was on that bench alone. I put that notebook under my bed. I wrote those entries. I made up the story about Trevor being followed. I remember the day I came home and found him in his room. I called 9-1-1. I had to tell my mom. “Daniel!” My mom screamed over my convulsions. I was screaming, “No!” over and over again. It couldn’t be true. “I’ll make the call in the morning,” my dad finally spoke.

“Orders for Jamie, Louise, and Ashlyn!” The barista tried shouting over the conversations that controlled the small shop. He wasn’t having much luck, and I sat there as he called their names again, and no one went to claim their drinks.

It was abnormally busy in here for a Tuesday at two pm, and I couldn’t help but to overhear the conversations all around me.

“Order for Nora!” I got up to get my coffee, and I’m glad I sat so close to the counter. I wouldn’t have been able to hear otherwise.

“Do you have any idea why they are all here?” Jason, the barista, asked.

“I believe they are all staying the hotel across the street for a woman’s retreat. I heard someone say they are all meeting here and leaving for a hike in 30 minutes.” Jason looking defeated went back to making drinks.

“Have a good day,” I called as I walked back towards the exit.

I stopped and felt the cool air on my face once I was almost to my car. I was trying so hard to be positive, but after this week, I could feel the tears welling up again. I shook my head and put a smile on my face. I refuse to cry anymore. I got in my car and drove home.

Horace and Reginald met me at the door tails wagging and tongues out. I put their leashes on them, and we headed out for the dog park.

It’s nice to have a routine in tough times. I wake up everyday at 7:00, quickly change, get coffee from down the street, and then take my dogs to the dog park. I’m usually home about 8:30 when I change into work clothes, and then drive the twenty minutes to work. I get home at 7:00, eat, watch some tv, and then sleep.

Everyday I do the same thing. I don’t have a moment where I can think about anything other than what’s happening. I’m glad for it. I feel so stupid for needing this much distraction from a breakup, but I have so many negative thoughts that I hate thinking for even a second.

“Hey, lady, watch out!” Before I could even process what was happening, I was on the ground. “I am so sorry. He got away from me. I’ll hold on to him better.”

A sweet boy about nine or ten was grabbing ahold of his bear of a dog. He’s cheeks were red from the cold, and he reminded me of my brother at that age.

“It’s okay,” I replied getting up. “I’d have a hard time holding on to him, too.” We both giggled. His mom called for him from a few yards away. She looked like she was winded from running. The boy waved and ran to catch up with his mom.

Once at work, I tended to my patients and checked on their paperwork. It was a slow day, so I was going into as many rooms as I could to find anything to do. There wasn’t much though. A bed pan to be changed here and there and that’s it. I went to the front desk to see if they needed anything, and I saw the woman from the park.

She was screaming about her son being hurt, and we needed to help her. Janine was trying her best to help her, but the mother wasn’t giving any information.

“Ma’am, we are going to need you to slow down and tell us what happened.”

The woman angrily hit the desk and yelled, “My son was hit by goddamn a car.” I ran up to the woman.

“Where is he?”

She looked at me and dragged me to her husband who was carrying their son inside.

“Janine, call Doctor Breith right away.” Then I started doing vitals on the boy in the lobby to be sure he was alive. Once I knew he was I put him on a bed, and we took him to get fixed up.

After examining him, the doctor found he had 3 broken ribs, a shattered elbow, his right leg was broken in 3 places, he had staples in his head, and he had internal bleeding. He will be in the hospital for awhile. At the moment, he was in a coma.

I had gone in to check on the boy hours later. “Do I know you from somewhere?” The mom asked.