Page 13 of Logan (Federal Protection Agency #9)

CHAPTER 13

Clay

The sun had already set an hour ago as I walked the calm suburban streets that were becoming increasingly familiar. In the two weeks since I’d arrived at my brother’s, an evening walk had become my regular routine. I told myself it was in order to get to know the neighborhood around Jason’s house, but that was a lie.

It was my only excuse to get out of the house.

I’d been living with my brother and his husband for two weeks. Logan had left the same day he dropped me off, after making sure I would be okay, and I’d been settling in ever since. It felt like a year had passed since then, but also the blink of an eye at the same time. Each day seemed to drag on, yet when I looked back, I couldn’t believe so many had already passed.

I had been found, but I also felt more lost than ever. When I lived in San Francisco, every day had the exact same purpose. Make enough money to keep living until tomorrow. Now, without that constant motivator hanging over my head, I had no idea what to do.

The lap I took around the neighborhood lasted for about half an hour, depending on which path I chose that night. Turning onto Jason’s street, I could see his house in the distance, lit up from the inside with warm, happy light like a beacon summoning me back.

Jason didn’t rush me to do anything. He didn’t even ask me to pay rent. After getting me set up in the guest room, it had quickly been dubbed “my” room as if I owned it, and that had been that.

He didn’t push, but he also didn’t leave me alone.

He ran a successful construction company, so he was a busy man, but whenever he was home, I could hear him pacing back and forth outside my door every few minutes, like he kept forgetting I was there and needed to double check.

I appreciated it, especially on late nights when I woke up from a nightmare and the sound of his footsteps reminded me where I was.

The front porch was sturdy under my feet as I climbed up to the door of Jason’s house. There wasn’t a single creaky board or loose stone to trip me up.

Had Jason built it himself?

Probably.

The foundation was sturdy, and if it was an example of his company’s typical work, it was no wonder he was doing so well.

It still felt strange to open the front door with my own key. It had been given to me on my second day there, with a promise that I could come and go as I pleased. So far, Jason had lived up to that promise, but it didn’t really matter.

Where would I even go?

Kent Island may have been my hometown at one point, but it was a stranger to me now. Just like with Jason, we hadn’t grown together, and had to rebuild our familiarity from scratch.

Once inside the house, I crept quietly toward my room, but was stopped by the sound of voices in the kitchen.

Jason and Patrick were there, speaking together in hushed tones as they cleaned up the dishes from dinner. I would have left them alone to their domesticity, but the sound of my own name caught my attention.

“We need to do something with him,” Patrick said, his voice barely audible over the clinking of plates and the rush of running water.

“Do what? He just got here. He needs time to get used to things.”

“He needs time, sure, but he’ll never get used to things if he just sits up in his room all day. Some days, I don’t think he even wakes up. That’s not healthy.”

I stepped back behind the shadow of the doorway to ensure they wouldn’t see me, even if they looked in my direction. That meant I couldn’t see what they were doing, but the clinking of plates suddenly stopped.

“Healthy?” Jason’s voice sounded strangled when he spoke, as if someone had a hand around his throat. “None of this is healthy. There’s nothing healthy about a bunch of adults kidnapping a child so they can… so they can…”

His voice grew weaker and weaker until it failed all together. Then the sound of the running water turned off as well and the kitchen was mostly silent.

“I know.” Patrick’s voice was incredibly soft, and nearly brought tears to my eyes just from the sound. “It’s a lot, and this has all happened so suddenly. You’ve been looking for him for years, and suddenly he’s here. It’s going to be an adjustment, but that doesn’t mean we can just let him sit up there all alone every day. Even if he doesn’t want to, he needs to start doing something.”

I clenched my hands at my sides as I was overcome with the instinct to barge into that kitchen and give Patrick a piece of my mind.

Who the hell was he to tell me what I could or couldn’t do?

Even clients that paid for my time never dared to try and dictate what I could do when I was alone.

As soon as it came over me, the anger fled, and a sad emptiness was left in its place. Even such a small flare of emotion drained me, and I immediately wanted to go back to sleep.

Turning away from the kitchen, I headed for my room, but I stopped when my gaze landed on the bookcase near the bottom of the stairs.

Maybe I should grab a few books to take with me. Reading would at least give me something to do, as Jason and Patrick apparently wanted.

Admittedly, I had been sleeping a lot. Either that or sitting up in my room staring out the window at the passing cars and pedestrians walking their dogs. Reading could be a good change of pace.

Most of the books on the shelf were either hefty detective novels, or non-fiction. Neither of which really appealed to me.

Back in San Francisco, I had a library card, but because of my living conditions, I could never risk bringing any books home. I’d only been able to read at the library, whenever my schedule allowed enough free time. This wasn’t very often, but the few times I’d found a free afternoon to sit and read, I’d been disheartened by the experience.

Reading a full novel was a lot harder than I expected. It was incredibly difficult for me to concentrate on a book for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time before I started to feel drained. Because of that, I hadn’t visited the library as often as I probably should have, and when I did, I usually stuck to short stories, or books with plenty of pictures to enhance the story.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d lost a lot of my reading ability over the years. I’d never even graduated middle school, and my captors hadn’t been concerned with keeping up my education. While I hadn’t been illiterate before I was kidnapped, I’d lost much of the skill due to a lack of practice.

It was just one more thing that had been taken from me, and I hadn’t even realized I’d lost it until it was gone.

What else had I lost without knowing it?

As I scanned the bookshelf, I eventually managed to find a title that looked mildly interesting. It seemed to be something about pirates, though I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a fictional story or a historical account.

Still, pirates had to be interesting, so I grabbed the book off the shelf.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t realized that the angle it was sitting at had been propping up several other books. When I removed it, most of the books on the shelf tumbled off and crashed to the floor.

The noise in the kitchen went silent, and almost immediately, I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. Closing my eyes, I braced myself for the inevitable barrage of questions.

“What?” Jason said when he saw the mess around me. “Clay? What happened?”

I knelt down to pick up the books. “Sorry. It was an accident. I was just… looking for something to read.”

Jason waved Patrick back to the kitchen, then started helping me with the books. “Actually,” he began to say once we were alone. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I know,” I quickly cut him off as I stacked the books back into place. “You want me to start doing more things.”

One of the books slipped out of Jason’s hands, but he grabbed it almost before it could hit the floor. “Well, sort of. Patrick and I have been talking, and we think it would be good if you started therapy.”

I’d just placed the last of the books I’d picked up back on the shelf, but I nearly knocked them all to the floor again when I spun around to face him. “What? Why? I’m fine.”

Jason didn’t face me directly, and instead, occupied himself by sorting the books on the shelf back into some sort of order that didn’t make any obvious sense.

“No, you’re not. Of course you’re not. No one would expect you to be fine after… everything.”

The only book that didn’t make it back onto the shelf was the one I’d initially pulled out. Its weight sat in my hand, pages fanning the air as I gestured with it to emphasize my words. “Oh, and you know how I’m feeling better than I do? I said I’m fine. That means I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Jason backed up a step, hands held out in front of him. “You’re fine. But it would also be okay if you weren’t fine. I just think that therapy would be a good idea. You’ve been through a lot, and therapy can help you process all of it.”

The book in my hand was worn around the edges and had obviously been read many times. I tapped the cracked spine against my leg as I ground my teeth against the sudden surge of hot emotion that bubbled up my throat.

“All what?”

“I…” Jason’s eyes flickered back and forth, searching my eyes for an answer he couldn’t find. “I don’t understand.”

My hand that wasn’t holding the book curled into a fist at my side. “All what? You keep talking about the things I’ve been through , and everything I’ve experienced , but you’ve never actually said it out loud.”

Jason backed up another step, but I followed him.

“I-I don’t—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but directly at me.

“What? Can’t say it. Fine. I’ll say it for you. I was taken. Imprisoned. Raped and tortured. Everyday. For years. And when I finally got free, I chose to go back to doing the exact same thing because that’s all I know how to do.”

I gripped the book in my hand so hard I could feel the pages bending.

“There. That wasn’t so hard to say, was it? Or are you afraid that saying out loud is going to taint your perfect little home.”

I had just enough sense not to throw the book directly at him, and instead, hurled it off to the side. My teeth ached from how hard I clenched my jaw, and my whole body shook as I stared into Jason’s eyes, watching his emotions fighting each other.

The sound of something breaking was like a slap to the face.

My fury disappeared, evaporating out of existence like a single drop of water landing on the surface of the sun. I practically stopped breathing as I turned to see the book I’d just thrown sitting on the floor, surrounded by a puddle of water and the broken pieces of a glass vase.

Lying on top of it all, like a rose placed on the lid of a coffin, was a single broken orchid stem with its petals scattered across the floor.

I stumbled toward the mess, grasping for the pieces of the broken vase as if I could put it back together.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

My hands were shaking so bad, I could barely hold the delicate pieces without dropping them. The vase had once been perfectly clear, but each piece that slipped back to the ground looked a little redder, like it was stained just from my touch.

“Don’t touch that!”

Jason grabbed both my wrists in a rough grip and yanked me away from the vase.

I forgot where I was.

I forgot who I was with.

In that moment, as Jason’s fingers wrapped around my wrists, all I could see were other hands grabbing me.

Other faces leering at me.

So many unspeakable pains assaulted me at once and I screamed.

“No!”

As soon as it had come, the memory faded, and I was left standing in the middle of a suburban living room, with Jason lying on the floor where he’d fallen after I shoved him.

I ran.

My feet pounded against the stairs as I fled to my room and locked the door behind me. Then the strength left my legs and I collapsed to the floor with my back pressed against the door. I panted for breath, yet I couldn’t seem to get any air. My fingers stung when I clawed at my throat, and I left red streaks of blood against my own skin.

I’d cut myself when I’d foolishly tried to pick up broken glass with my bare hands. Jason had only been trying to protect me, and I’d treated him like he was a monster trying to attack me.

Two weeks.

That’s all it took for me to fuck it all up.

I was ruining Jason’s perfect home. Soon enough, he was going to decide I wasn’t worth the trouble and kick me out, assuming he wasn’t already packing my bags.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and focused on my breathing. My heart beat a rapid pulse in my ears, drowning out the rest of the world around me. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel. I wanted to just stop existing for a while.

Slipping into the Midnight Zone was as easy as breathing at that point. I hovered in the air, looking down at the sad figure of Clay Dahler huddled below me. He created such a pathetic sight, hiding in a bedroom that wasn’t really his. I couldn’t stand to look at him for long.

So, I left. I rose higher and higher in the air until I was floating among the clouds and the city below me was just a glittering pattern of lights. It was a full moon that night, and I entertained myself dancing between moonbeams as I let the world keep turning without me.

Vibration along my skin dragged me back into my body. I was still in the exact same position, huddled in a ball on the floor, but now someone was knocking on the door behind me. The room was dark, giving no indication of the time. I was pretty sure it was the same day, but other than that, time was meaningless.

“Clay?” Jason spoke from the other side of the door.

I tried to respond, but my throat was constricted, and I couldn’t make more than a strange croaking sound.

That seemed to be enough for Jason, however, because he kept talking as if I’d answered him properly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. And… you’re right. I have been avoiding talking about… about how those monsters hurt you. I just didn’t know what to say.”

He sighed, and there was a thump against the door that sounded suspiciously like a human skull hitting wood.

“I’m fucking this up, and I feel like no matter what I do I’m just going to make it worse. So… here.”

Something slipped under the door, and I picked it up to find it was Jason’s phone. The screen showed a video call already in progress, and Logan’s face stared up at me.

“You don’t trust me,” Jason explained. “I had hoped… well, that doesn’t matter. I noticed that you did seem to trust Logan, so maybe he can help where I can’t.”

The sound of footsteps leading away from the door followed his words, and I realized he’d left.

Part of me felt extremely guilty for making my brother worry so much, but I was also so relieved to see Logan that I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I’d missed him a lot more than I realized, and my fingers shook as I unmuted the video call.

“Hey, Clay,” Logan’s voice greeted me through the phone. “How’re you doing?”

All at once, I explained everything that happened that evening in one long ramble. I barely stopped to take a breath as the words poured out of me. I even tried to describe the flashback memory I’d experienced when Jason grabbed me. My description probably didn’t make much sense, but I trusted that Logan would understand anyway.

“Flashbacks like that are common,” he assured me when I was done.

“But, why? I’m safe now. Those memories shouldn’t matter anymore.”

“It’s because you’re safe that your mind is trying to process those memories. Your brother is right. Therapy would help.”

“I’m not crazy.”

Logan quickly cut me off. “I’m not saying you’re crazy. That’s not what therapy is about. I’m not even saying you have to do it. That’s your decision in the end. But I’m going to send over a list of resources that might help you, and I’d like you to at least consider them. All right?”

I scowled, but I didn’t have the energy to keep protesting. “Fine. I’m sick of talking about this now. Talk about something else.”

He thought for a moment, and even through the small screen, I could see the way his cheeks dimpled when he pursed his lips. For most people, dimples were attached to smiles, but Logan smiled so much that his dimples only appeared when he was deep in thought.

“I recently started listening to Tibetan flute music.”

I snorted. “Tibetan flute music? Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s pretty good.”

We spent several hours talking about different things, from music, to movies, and even the books I’d tried reading. In all that time, we never came back to the topic of my most recent panic attack or the suggestion of therapy.

Yet, when I finally ended the call, I found myself seriously considering it with a more open mind.

Maybe therapy wasn’t such a bad idea.