I tap my fingers anxiously on the arm rest of the antique chair. They slowly make their way downward, eventually finding something. A flaw, in the wood. Maybe where someone picked it away - as I'm doing now - or maybe where it got banged up while being moved.
"Your sister." Dr. Fell finally speaks, ending the long ten minute silence. "Do you wanna talk about what happened to her?"
I don't look up. At least not right away. Instead I pick at the dent underneath my chair.
"Do you wanna talk about your mother's funeral?" I ask, remaining calm. Keeping my breathing steady so he can't tell how close I am to tears.
"Cassandra we aren't here talk about me. I'm here to help you."
I look up now, and I see the crease on his forehead. The line that suggests worry. That says he's concerned for my wellbeing.
It's all a big lie. He doesn't even know me.
"Talking about it won't do any good." I snap, and begin chewing on my lip.
I glance at the clock hanging above the door that I walked through what seemed like years ago. The seconds drag by painstakingly slowly. I watch the hands move across the ivory colored face.
"Well you're here for another forty-five minutes, so we can either talk, or we can sit here quietly." The old man looks at me over his glasses. "Your choice."
It's quiet for several minutes and then I sigh. "Fine."
Dr. Fell claps his hands silently together and smiles reassuringly.
"Tell me about Wren."
The mention of her name makes my vision blurry and bright, like I'm underwater. Dr. Fell is just a blur in front of me.
I don't even know where to start. Wren was very secretive person. She was a character surrounded by mysteries. And she carried secrets that she took to her grave, some of which might've had something to do with how she ended up there. I guess I'll never know for sure.
Despite that, she was happy. She was kind. She and I were constantly running around and causing trouble.
No one would look at her and see a suicidal girl.
I couldn't have guessed that she would end her own life, but I should've.
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I ignored signs that were there, maybe I just had to look a little further, past what I wanted to see. Maybe then I could've helped her.
"She was an actress." I say through gritted teeth.
I shouldn't be mad at my dead sister. Every time I try to rouse some other emotion - any other emotion - but anger is the easiest. Dr. Fell says that it's normal. Of course I blame Wren for her death. No one else shoved those pills down her throat.
"Really?" Dr. Fell feigns interest just like any good therapist is supposed to do. "Tell me about that."
I raise my eyes from my shoes to his eyes and snort. "You really don't want me to."
"Cassandra, how many times do I have to remind you that that's why you're here before you believe me?"
"Let's try a couple dozen more times." I say dryly.
Dr. Fell sighs and leans across to the little table that's placed in between the two chairs that we sit in. He pours two glasses of water and slides one towards me.
He takes a small sip. "Your brother said that you were having trouble sleeping."
"Of course he told you that." I mumble.
"You know, it's quite normal to have nightmares after such a large loss."
"No one said anything about nightmares." I snap. A little too harshly.
Dr. Fell sighs again and licks his lips, in careful thought. "I already said this but, I can't help you unless you tell me what you're dealing with."
"I don't believe in the power of talking Dr. Fell." Words are just words.
And with that I fold my arms and we sit through the rest of the session in silence.
* * *
The bell above the door jingles as I push it open and exit the office.
Blake's truck, or should I say dad's truck, is waiting in the parking space closest to the building. I can hear the hum of the engine from here.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets to protect them from the bitter cold. A north wind slaps me in the face and blows my hair fiercely behind me. I can already feel the chill working its way to my bones.
I reach the truck and yank the door open. As soon as I've sat down and buckled up, I can feel the heat begin the thaw out my not quite frozen limbs.
"How was your session?" Blake asks, glancing over at me before putting the truck in drive.
The old vehicle jolts forward and gravel crunches under the tires as we pull out of the small parking lot and onto the road.
I glower at the green and blue sign that reads: Queens County Therapy, and snort internally.
"Same old same."
A stiff silence wraps around the both of us for a moment.
"Dad's worried about you." There's concern in his voice. There almost always is nowadays though.
"Than maybe he should try talking to me himself, instead of drinking his problems away and sending me off to some shrink." I snap.
More silence.
I rest my chin in my hand and watch the city blur by, all grey and brown and black. Brick and stone walls. Hundreds and thousands of people in a hurry to get nowhere.
My finger trails absentmindedly across the window. Swirling, in no particular pattern. I just enjoy how quickly it goes numb from the cold. If only pain was that easy to snuff out.
We come to a stop and I look over the dashboard to see a long line of traffic. Typical New York. I make a mental note to remind dad how miserable it is here and slump down in my seat, propping my feet up on the dash.
I don't have to look over at Blake to know that he's giving me the side eye that says "You're not supposed to be doing that, it's dangerous".
"We're not even moving." I huff, and slide even lower.
That's when I hear it. The distant roar of a helicopter.
I return to a sitting position and look over at my brother. His eyebrows are scrunched together in confusion. I'm sure my expression is similar.
He rolls down the window and sticks his head out. "What the hell?" He mutters.
I check my mirror and noting that traffic is at a standstill, unbuckle my seat belt and jump out of the truck.
I jog to the front of the truck and crane my neck looking into the sky, but don't see anything other than approaching storm clouds.
Others have begun climbing out of their vehicles and mimic my behavior, walking around looking at the sky. Horns honk in the distance and I hear a police whistle blowing angrily.
"Over there!" A woman to my left yells.
Simultaneously everyone's head turn in the direction she's pointing in.
Hovering above the Trade Center is a black chopper. In the fading afternoon light, I can see a beam of light searching the entirety of the building.
"Another attack." Blake states the painfully obvious with a grimace.
I bite my lip and look back towards the giant skyscraper where another chopper has appeared.
"Not good." My brother mutters. "C'mon, lets go." He says, and climbs into the truck.
I follow suit and after a few minutes the cars begin moving and we're on our way.
I return to my previous position.
Another attack is not good. It can only mean that now the Higher Ups will want to enforce security. Security means even more traffic and less privacy. They might even enforce a curfew.
As we pass closer to the Center, a policeman guarding a barricade blocking one of the many roads leading to and from the Center, waves us by.
"You feel like some grease before we head to Sal's?" I can hear the grin in his voice.
He knows how much a fast food run improves my mood.
"When have I ever turned down an offer to get food?" I scoff.
"Only when you have to pay." Blake laughs.
I hit him in the arm.
He makes a sharp turn into the Blue Diner and pulls right into the drive-thru.
"Hey, Sheila there?" Blake asks into the microphone.
"Who's that? It couldn't be the two Strains could it?" Sheila's strong cajun accent crackles over the speaker.
"The two and only." I laugh from the passenger seat.
I can already feel my bad mood dissipating.
"You kids want the usual?"
"You know it." Blake grins, and drives up to the window.
A few minutes later Sheila appears with our food.
The big white smile she wears so easily is striking in contrast to her dark skin. Her brown eyes sparkle as she hands us the bag and takes the ten dollar bill from Blake's hand. Flecks of sweat are dotted under her eyes from working in the kitchen.
"Did you two see them helicopters?" The big lady asks, leaning on the windowsill and using the corner of her apron to wipe her forehead.
"Sure did." Blake says.
I nod.
"There was a whole traffic jam full of people scrambling around to try and see what was going on." He adds.
A car pulls up behind us and Sheila stands up.
"Well y'all be careful," She waggles her finger at us, "and take care of your sister young man."
"Yes ma'am. Thanks for the grub." He says.
I smile and wave in thanks, and Blake drives off.
* * *
"He said what?!" Silva gasps.
It's been three hours since we saw the choppers and stopped at the diner. All of them have been spent lounging in the alley behind Sal's bar.
Blake and Jason are leaned up against the wall opposite off me. Jason lifts a cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag before blowing out a puff of smoke.
"I don't understand why he doesn't just tell her what happened, just tell her the truth." Blake grunts and shifts his position against the brick.
"No one ever believes the truth." I snort.
Keon sits apart from everyone else, whittling a piece of wood. He nods absentmindedly in our direction, vaguely aware of what we're talking about.
A burst of loud, drunken laughter comes from inside.
"Well the honest truth would be better than letting her continue to think that he cheated on her." Parker points out. I almost forgot that he was there, as he's laying in the darkest section. The only thing that gives him away is his shoes sticking out into the puddle of light that we all sit in, and the faint glow from his phone that illuminates his nose.
Jason smashes his cigarette into the dirt. "Roxy won't have any of that. She might be smart, but the girl's got a temper that when messed with completely blinds her."
A couple of laughs escape all of us and then is quickly followed by silence.
"Anyone want some more cocoa?" Blake asks as he stands up and stretches.
I wrap my jacket tighter around my and shake my head. A series of 'no thanks' echoes through the darkness.
Sal's has been where Blake and I spend most of our time since dad started drinking. We'd come here and the six of us would talk for hours about nothing and everything. Other than Silva, Blake, and I, the rest of us never really see or talk to each other outside of here. However we've all been coming here for at least three years, so we know each other pretty damn well.
Old Sal, who owns the bar, is a friend of Keon's dad, so as long as we promise to stay out of the bar itself and I quote, "keep our grubby little hands to ourselves," we're allowed back here.
The kitchen is in limits only during the winter. The cook, Frypan, fixes us hot cocoa, and even snacks occasionally. We'll help him with the dishes every now and then.
The alley itself is pretty nice. Although it's not completely protected from the elements, the wind can't get back here, and there's a nice sized lip to shield us from the rain.
"Those air attacks earlier. Something was different about them." Parker mummers to himself.
Everyone's head spins around to look at him.
Jason shrugs. "These days, an air attack is an air attack. Lucky for us, no one would bomb the outskirts."
Everyone laughs.
"No, they've all been organized and exact before. I'm telling you guys, something is off here." Parker shakes his head and returns to a thoughtful silence.
I think about what he's said.
"We all know that the Agents have been trying to take over New York for the past year." Silva snorts. "Maybe they're just getting excited."
"You're too paranoid Park." Blake says with a shake of his head.
"Guys c'mon,"
The string lights flicker twice, and that's our signal.
The conversation ends and everyone clambers to their feet.
"Gnight." I call out as I brush my jeans off.
"Until tomorrow." Parker says with a reluctant salute.
And then we all go our separate ways.
We couldn't have possibly known what was coming, or that we wouldn't have a night like that again for quite some time.
