Sagas

{21} Labyrinth ~ P

The down floor was empty when I got to it. A computer was turned on, and a game was running in the background. The bottle of pineapple juice by the side of the computer showed that whoever turned it on probably stepped out briefly or was in one of the several rooms in the ICT. The rain was heavier now than it was when I came in, and I went over to the entrance and picked up the umbrella I came with. Then I opened it, put my journal under my hoodie to keep it from getting wet, and went outside.

The wind was wild, and I had to hold firmly onto the umbrella to keep it steady and not let the wind blow it away. Rain splattered on me, wetting me despite how big the umbrella was.

The school was quiet, and I did not come across another student as I walked. It wasn't just because of the rain, but also because the haunted feeling was still thick in the atmosphere, and students were too anxious to leave their hostels. And during class hours, they went about in pairs and groups, terrified to walk alone, as if Patrick's ghost was lurking around in the school premises, watching their every move.

But unlike them, I didn't have the time to worry about Patrick's ghost. I knew too well that the dead did not walk around scaring kids, and I couldn't be bothered to add the fear of ghosts to my long list of troubles.

What I thought about as I walked was what Dr. Joan's sharp intuition had picked up right before I ended the call, and the truth was that she was right; I had remembered something. It was a memory I had safely locked behind bars for several years, but the incident that happened on Saturday had released it from its captivity, and it was now free forever, joining its fellow escapees to make my life miserable.

There was a reason I imprisoned these memories-a reason I couldn't remember bits and pieces of my childhood-because that was the only way I could survive. There was a lot I didn't remember about my childhood. I had somehow forgotten most of the painful parts and lived with the bearable ones. But I still had an intense awareness of everything that happened, and though the thoughts were like forgotten words lingering on my tongue and might come back to me if I tried harder to recall them, I didn't want to remember them. The doctors had a name for it, like everything else that was wrong with me, and the name of this condition was 'dissociative amnesia'. They said it was a defensive mechanism I picked up to help me cope, which was true. I had to imprison those memories because if I hadn't, they would have taken my life.

Before I was diagnosed with dissociative amnesia and haphephobia, I didn't understand why the mere thought of being touched frightened me and why physical contact with people was so painful. I was aware that things happened to me, but because I couldn't remember them, I was confused and frustrated. I didn't speak to anyone for a long time, and all I kept asking for was my brother, the one person who wasn't by my side when I woke up in that hospital. And with time, chunks of my memory began to come back to me, and even without being told, I finally remembered enough to understand what had happened to me, and I knew then that Uncle Timi had something to do with Fabian's disappearance.

I sometimes wished these locked memories never escaped, but my triggers were the keys that unlocked them, and then I was forced to face them and live with them. But I was still grateful that I didn't have to deal with them all at once. They came in parts, and that was why I was able to keep on going.

I tried to forget Uncle Timi, but it was impossible. His face was always stuck in my head, and I hated him even more with every new traumatic experience I remembered.

There was a lot to think about, but I would try to stay focused on where I was headed and the person that I was going to see. I was going to meet Kevin. I hadn't seen him since Monday, and I wanted to check on him to thank him for helping me out on Saturday and see how he was coping with everything going on. Peculiar had gone to see him, but she said he had refused to let her into his studio. She told me he could stay in his studio for days at a stretch and wouldn't come out for classes or anything else, and that we had to check on him, whether he wanted it or not. Peculiar was not the only person he refused to see. His friends complained that he wouldn't see them either, and I didn't know if I was going to get turned away like everyone else, but I was going to give it a try.