Light of the Dark

Stockholm Syndrome

•Y/N: Your Name
•E/C: Eye Color
•M/N: Mother's Name

Author's POV:

There was a momentary silence after Officer Henry made that assumption. M/N has heard of Stockholm Syndrome before and was in complete shock at the very thought of her daughter having positive feelings towards her captor. Jeff, however, found himself clueless as to what the syndrome is, so he asks in order to be filled in, but not because he cares about Y/N's wellbeing. The girl is only seen as a nuisance in his eyes.

"What the fuck is Stockholm Syndrome?"

The policeman sighs at the man's use of unnecessary, crude language, but is willing to explain.

"It's when a victim of a kidnapping or a hostage situation develops positive, sometimes even romantic, feelings towards their captor. In this instance, I feel that Y/N has developed Stockholm Syndrome for this Mephiles character. I can assure you that we'll track him down to the best of our ability. As of right now he's our prime suspect for Adam's murder case and Y/N's kidnapping." Henry pulls a phone out of his pocket.

"I'm going to call for a sketch artist to come, so she can describe Mephiles to us. That way we'll know who we're looking for. What matters now is that your daughter is safe and that she recovers. I have a therapist I can recommend incase she needs it."

"Thank you. I really appreciate everything you're doing."

The officer smiles at the mother of the incapacitated girl in the other room to comfort her. He pulls out his notepad and pen before scribbling down a phone number.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Mephiles pays for his crimes." He tears the paper off the pad and hands it to the woman. "Here's the number of the therapist. His name is Doctor Wells. You can go visit your daughter now; it's going to be awhile before the artist comes."

M/N nods and hurries into the hospital room with Jeff slowly trailing behind.

Your POV:

I spend the next thirty minutes with mom as she repeatedly tells me how happy she is that I'm alive and what's been going on after I disappeared. It was sad to watch her cry so much over me, but I suppose it's understandable. A nurse enters the room, grasping everyone's attention.

"Pardon me, but the sketch artist has arrived. You'll have to leave," she says softly to my mother. Jeff was in the room earlier, but he left awhile ago, since he could care less about me. Mom sighs and nods her head in understanding. Her hand releases mine as she stands from the chair she has been sitting on before leaving me alone with the nurse. Once she's out, a man in his late twenties enters the room. He's dressed plainly in a black, collared shirt and navy blue pants. Slung over his shoulder is a tan, messenger bag that, I imagine, has art supplies inside of it. His brown hair is combed to the side, and his green-hazel eyes express how tired he is. He gives me a warm smile as a greeting as he makes his way to the chair beside the hospital bed. After he seats himself, Officer Henry enters the room in order to observe.

"Y/N, right?" The artist asks while opening his bag and pulling out a sketch pad. I give him a light nod, being weary not to worsen my neck injury. "My name is Jackson. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too." My voice sounds a little scratchy, but it's improving at least. I send the man a light smile because of his pleasant behavior.