Chimera

Chapter 10

"How long has it been?" Doctor Karen Jones asked as I sat on her couch the one afternoon.

"It's been roughly six months now." I was getting tired of coming here every week, but I had been ordered by nearly everyone I knew who said it would help me grieve, process and maybe even deal with what had happened.

"And is there anything new you want to discuss or get off your mind?"

"What do you want me to say? That I haven't been able to process the events from that weekend? That I can't grieve properly because I can't remember half the shit that happened? That I'm being forced to sit here and run through every single memory-recovering technique you know, just to go home and have nothing work?"

"I sense some lingering anger—"

"Don't do that. Don't you dare psychoanalyze me. You have the story, you have the reports, hell you even have the conspiracy theories running around."

"Yes, but I don't have your account of the events. And technically I'm being paid to psychoanalyze you."

"You don't have my recollection of events because I can't remember, okay! If I could, do you think I would be so frustrated with myself?"

"It's absolutely normal to be angry and frustrated. You have been through a terrible trauma. The memory loss is your body's way of protecting you. These are all signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The faster we deal with it, the faster you can move on from it and not see my 'psychoanalytical ass'" she grinned as she looked at me.

"How about we call it a day? Let's take a break from all of this." She gestured to the office "And we can pick this up next week somewhere else, like in a park?"

"Sure, whatever." I shrugged and was glad when she gave me the all-clear to leave. I hated being there, being analyzed and judged by someone who didn't even know me.

Apparently, the break-in at the Madmoor post office had sent an alarm to the nearest police station. When they arrived, they saw the smoke in the forest and found me huddled by the bunker entrance, silent and with tears streaming down my face. I was in shock, so when they touched me to treat my wounds, I freaked out and had to be sedated for a few days. When I woke, I could only remember a few minor details.

That we had gone camping, that Maddy had gone missing and that I was now all alone. The rest of that weekend seemed to be blocked from my mind. They did a psychiatric analysis and concluded that I was suffering from some sort of PTSD like the doctor mentioned, which blocked out events from my mind in order to keep me safe.

I was institutionalized for more than a month, because they wanted to keep me for observation as they didn't know if I was ready for the 'real' world. When they deemed I was suitable for life again, they sent me packing but a court order meant I had to get treatment so that I could regain my memory and maybe one day 'shed some light into the investigation' or that was what the authorities said.

In the aftermath, I gained new insights into myself. About a month after I was released, I noticed that I was faster than I remembered. Some days, I could lift my bed with one hand as I vacuumed but then another day, I couldn't even push it an inch. Even my hearing and sight was sharpened. I could hear whispers as if the people were talking to me.

Did I mention any of this to Dr Jones? Hell no. She would throw me back inside the loony bin. I didn't mention any of this to anyone. I didn't even know if I was imagining it or if it was real.

How could speed, strength, hearing and sight be normal unless you were living in a Marvel universe? There were times where I could have sworn I blended with my environment. Like my hands or feet disappeared on the grass or in the shower, but that seemed even more impossible than suddenly being able to hear better, or to have the agility of a cat. Nothing made sense. I didn't know whether I was losing my mind or if it was perhaps a delayed event due to the trauma. I wasn't going to ask about it either for fear of being locked up and studied.