Captured Again (3 page)

She’d come straight over to check on Gabby after leaving the detention center where she was told she couldn’t post Emma’s bail until morning. This after an already long day in court, after which she’d tried again to call and check on Gabby with no answer before finally collapsing in bed, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Now that Emma had dragged her up, she may as well kill two birds with one stone. Gabby hadn’t answered or returned any texts or calls the entire day, and since she was already up and worried about Emma, there was no use trying to sleep again until she’d at least seen Gabby was okay, which apparently she wasn’t.

In their family, missed and unreturned calls or texts were a sure sign that someone was hiding from the world—depressed. But for Gabby, it was worse than their average bouts of depression. Gabby had suffered a full-blown episode of PTSD when she’d awoken at the hospital after the accident. The doctor said the post-traumatic stress disorder could either disappear or reappear at will. So far it had yet to disappear again, since the accident. Maybe today was the day. She had to get through to Gabby and pull her up and out of this.

She announced her presence loudly.

“
Gabby
... wake up. Emma’s in jail!”

Gabby bolted up in the bed, screeching in surprise as her tired blue eyes frantically searched the room for the sudden intrusion. When she saw it was just Olivia, she threw her pillow across the room at her sister. “Dammit, Olivia. You scared the hell out of me.
Quit
sneaking into my house!”

Olivia threw the pillow back at her, just as hard. “I knocked and stood there five minutes. I wouldn’t have to use my key and
sneak
if you’d answer your damn door—or your phone! I knew I’d find you in bed. Get up. Get a shower. Right now, while I’m here.”

Olivia pulled her long, dark hair back and over to one side and sat down on the edge of Gabby’s bed, stiffly facing her to check for signs she was sick.

“What? Olivia, it’s almost two in the morning. Couldn’t this wait until tomorrow? I do have to work, ya know? What are you doing here so late?” Gabby asked in her normal, although sleepy, voice.

Doesn’t sound like she’s got a cold,
Olivia thought.

“I
said
Emma’s in jail,” Olivia answered brusquely. “She’s been drinking and got arrested. And I’ll bet you stayed in bed all weekend and all day today. I tried to call you at work. They said you were sick—again.”

She looked closer at Gabby, seeing more than one night’s worth of tangles and knots in her unwashed hair... and while she didn’t smell bad—or sick—she didn’t smell good either. It was late; maybe she should let Gabby sleep and just check in the morning to be sure she made it to work. She looked around at Gabby’s usually spotless room, noticing piles of clothes on the floor, a mound of unopened mail on the desk, and shoes haphazardly sprinkled about.

This is so unlike Gabby,
she thought.
She’s getting worse—not better. If I leave, nothing is going to change. It’ll be the same thing tomorrow, and she may not make it to work again.
Olivia had already spoken with Gabby’s boss weeks ago, and while he’d been very understanding so far about her situation, Gabby couldn’t afford to miss any more work.

Olivia crossed her arms and cleared her throat. “I’m not moving from this bed, Gabby. You may as well get up and get in the shower. We’ve got to go bail Emma out in a few hours anyway, and I need your help. You need to get up and talk to me... I want you to try harder. If I leave, you’ll go back to sleep, stay in this bed, and probably call in to work again tomorrow.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Olivia. I’m trying here... I’m really trying. I’m living my life, going to work every day—well, almost every day,” she said, breaking eye contact and looking down. “I’m eating again. What more do you want me to do?” Gabby stared at Olivia with a pinched expression while tugging at her T-shirt, straightening the too-big neck to sit right across her too-thin frame. Jake’s shirts were much too big for her.

Olivia threw up her hands. She had so many things she wanted to say, things Gabby should be doing...
people
she should be seeing, but per doctor’s orders, Olivia was not allowed to say those things or push her. Gabby was still fragile since the accident. She and Emma had to be careful what they said and how they said it. She couldn’t just outright ask her anything related to
after
the accident. The doctor said it was best for Gabby if she came to grips with it on her own—in her own time.

“Well, since you haven’t asked, I’ll just tell you... Emma was drinking tonight and got picked up for driving. There are other people in this family, besides you, dealing with issues, but we’re still living...
You’re
not living, Gabby. You barely exist. You’re functioning like a robot. You work, then come home and eat and go straight to bed. Why can’t you leave the house for something other than work? Find something you’re interested in doing, or... maybe go
visit
someone.”

Gabby stared at her like she’d grown a third eye.
Okay, definitely still in a full-blown attack. Enough poking and prodding,
Olivia thought. She drew in a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. She looked around for something to do with her hands, settling on picking at the tiny balls of matted fabric dotted on Gabby’s worn-in blanket, pulling them off with one hand and dropping them into her other hand.

“Alrighty then. How about let’s just start with one day at a time. Tomorrow, after work, let’s go to a movie. Just the two of us,” Olivia suggested.

“Olivia,
please!
I don’t want to go to a movie. And I don’t have time for your definition of
living
right now. My job keeps me busy enough.”

“Gabby, just listen to you. You’re hiding behind that job. Just try a little harder, okay? Open your mind to possibilities. I know there’s something we could do together, just to get you out of this house and back in the world again—back to reality.”

“Yeah? Well, you go do them, then. I’m staying here until I can sort myself out.” Gabby looked into Olivia’s eyes, imploring her to just leave. She slumped back down into her pillow, half burying her face. “I... I... don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to focus on any one thought, Olivia. As soon as I grab onto something, it rolls away from me and I can’t find it again... I feel like my mind is nothing but dusty corners,” she answered, her voice snagging as she forced back unexpected emotion. “I’m just broken, Olivia.” She sucked in a huge breath, fighting back tears.

This is as far as it’s ever gone. She needs to cry,
Olivia thought.
Maybe that would help.

“You’re not broken, Gabby. You’re just still hurting. You need more time. You can’t give up yet,” Olivia said, starting to feel like she was finally making some progress in getting Gabby to talk—maybe about the accident or maybe about the six months she’d been terrorized by the insidious René, both subjects the doctor felt were the cause of her PTSD.

Gabby had never opened up about either of those things, at least as far as Olivia knew. Other than sharing a few times in their survivor support group, which Gabby had stopped attending after the accident, she had never filled in the gaps of what all had happened with René—or what happened the night of the accident.

“You know I’m here for you. When you’re ready, I’ll listen,” Olivia said.

Gabby rolled over in the bed, her thick hair lying in tangled clumps across the pillow, and buried her face. Olivia knew her well enough to know if she was rolling over—not cussing and threatening—then she must be going to either shut down again or let it out. She just needed a tiny push. Better out than in...

Olivia fidgeted, scooting over to get closer to Gabby, trying to see if she was crying. She softened her voice to a whisper. “Gabby, do you still feel responsible for that accident—responsible for Jake?”

Gabby’s shoulders started to shake. She was crying. Olivia looked at her watch, then kicked off her shoes and climbed in, wrapping her lean body against the back of Gabby’s. They still fit perfectly together—two perfectly matched bookends.

Olivia put her arm around Gabby and squeezed her, burying her breath in Gabby’s hair. She wanted Gabby to feel how close she was, to know she’d never let her go. She would just have to hold her so tight that all of her broken pieces would stick together until Gabby made it through this. No matter how mad Gabby got, or how hard she tried to push her away in her pain, they were in this together, and unlike the last time they went through hell and back, where they had both hid the horrible truth from each other and drifted apart, they would go through this together, as many times as it took to finally get Gabby to the other side.

CHAPTER 5

EMMA
sat on one side of the cell, on the bare concrete floor with her dress stretched to pull over her legs—little did that cover—and her arms wrapped around her knees. Trying to keep her eyes averted from her three cellmates, who glared at her from the cold metal bunks, she willed herself to stop shivering. She didn’t want them to think she was afraid. She wasn’t. She was just very anxious... and cold. She guiltily wondered if Rickey knew where she was yet.
How am I gonna explain this to him?

Emma matched their glares. She wanted to let them know she wasn’t intimidated. She tried to act cool, as if this wasn’t her first time in a jail cell. None of the three spoke to her, and there was at least that to be thankful for. One looked like a tired hooker—
at least she dresses like one anyway—
and seemed happy to just have an empty bed for the night.

The other two looked like junkies, and they were on one bunk together, sitting Indian-style with their backs to the wall. It was obvious who the leader was and who was the follower just by looking at them. While they were both small, one looked weak and used up, her arms covered with sores and her hair thin and brittle. The other woman had a tough and gritty look to her—scary even—and if she had sores on her arms, they couldn’t be seen for all the ink. She was covered in tattoos.

The stink was overwhelming. Emma tried to breathe through her mouth while her brain couldn’t help but work to dissect the smells around her: sweat, alcohol, vomit, and worse... human urine and feces. There was no way to get away from it. On her walk to her assigned cell, she’d peeked into several others and noticed everyone was on the bunks—thus, she chose the floor, even though two bunks remained empty and were probably warmer just based on gravity—warmer air goes up.

They must’ve turned the air down very low to make it as uncomfortable as possible in the jail cells—further punishment. It was everything she could do not to ask for a blanket from the guard, but no one else had one and she wouldn’t be the first to complain. For all she knew, maybe they’d already asked before she’d gotten there and was told no. The other ladies looked cold too. And she had to pee. But there was no way she was squatting on that freezing, disgusting metal toilet in plain sight of everyone. She tried to just not think about it as she sat all the way down, stretched her legs out, and then crossed them, squeezing her thighs together against the hard floor. She gasped as the coldness of the concrete touched her bare skin.

It seemed like hours since she’d been processed—a humiliating experience of fingerprinting, mug shots, and disapproving stares. She’d been charged with under-age drinking and driving under the influence.
Where the hell is Gabby?
Maybe she was taking so long to get her out because she was trying to argue the charges. Emma hoped Gabby hadn’t slid into one of her episodes and couldn’t make it there. Her thoughts kept drifting off to Gabby and the accident that had changed their lives six weeks ago, filling it with shock and grief, until Emma hadn’t been able to stand it... and had tried to drown out the thoughts with booze.
You’re an idiot,
she scolded herself in her head.
Like our family really needs this on top of everything else right now. Way to go, Emma.
Her thoughts drifted away...

CHAPTER 6

“Olivia
, it was my fault,” Gabby finally said, after her weeping had rolled through her, leaving her weak. Her words still sounded as if they were struggling to get out.

Olivia continued to run her fingers through Gabby’s hair, gently trying to untangle the knots as she came to them, as she’d been doing for the last ten minutes that Gabby had been releasing the pent-up emotion. She thought of Emma, then pushed her to the back of her mind. It was good that Gabby was finally talking—Emma would have to wait.

Olivia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Gabby took three quick jagged breaths, crying breaths, reminding Olivia of when they were little girls and always knew when the other had been crying... It was always followed by that three-breath intake—they called it The Crying Sigh—no matter how quiet the actual weeping had been. But Olivia wasn’t sure it was over yet. She couldn’t see Gabby’s face, but she could still feel her body shuddering against her.

“No, Gabby. It
wasn’t
your fault. It was no one’s fault. It was an accident, that’s all,” Olivia whispered in her ear. “You have survivor’s guilt.
Google it
. You haven’t gotten over it because you haven’t really talked about it. Just tell me. I’ll listen. Just between me and you,” she promised.

Gabby continued to cry, her racking sobs shaking the bed, hot torrents of grief finally breaking through the dam. Olivia silently held her. She knew this process was just as important as actually talking. In worry for her sister, she’d spent hours on the internet, researching post-traumatic stress disorder, hoping to find something that would finally break through to Gabby. She’d known for six weeks Gabby had been on autopilot and Olivia had been warned not to push. But it was time—time for Gabby to live again.

When Gabby was all cried out, Olivia got up and walked around to the other side of the bed where she knelt down to face her sister. She wiped Gabby’s face, using the wadded up edge of the sheet, which looked like it needed a good washing too. “Gabby, I’m going to make us a cup of hot tea. Please get up and take a shower. You’ll feel better if you do. Put on some clean, comfy clothes, and let’s talk.”