Captured Again(The Let Me Go Series)

Chapter 23


GABBY woke up with a heavy heart, no—a fractured heart, as if she were reliving that day, only this time fully awake with no medication to numb the pain. Her memories had flooded into her mind while she was sleeping and assaulted her the moment the sun peeked through the blinds, unmercifully nudging her to get up and face what she had been pushing away for far too long.

Grudgingly, she stripped off yesterday clothes, sour with the sweat of the terrifying panic attack she’d had the night before, and thought back to the young officer that Emma had brought. She wondered if she’d imagined it or if he really did resemble Jake. Maybe that’s what finally released my memory? Or maybe I imagined the resemblance. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself to remember what was real anymore, except the funeral. She remembered that clearly now—too clearly.

She snatched clean clothes from her closet, not bothering to even consider what she grabbed. Almost mechanically, she stepped into the bathroom, piling the clothes on the counter. She twisted the water on and then turned, waiting for it to get hot, staring into the mirror at her reflection as it morphed into Olivia staring back sternly.

“I get it now, Olivia! I remember!” she screamed. “Oh God, I remember. Please, just stop looking at me that way!” she screamed at herself, slamming her hand onto the mirror, slapping her own face and leaving a spider-web design of broken glass still adhered to the wall. She crumpled naked and defeated to the floor.

Tap, tap, tap. “Gabby, are you okay?” Emma asked. “Who are you screaming at? What was that noise? It sounded like glass breaking.”

Gabby continued to cry, not wanting or able to answer her little sister. How could she tell her she finally remembered everything, that this was all her fault, and the guilt was hers to own, but not the grief—the horrific, unbearable grief. That had been thoughtlessly hoarded, stolen by Gabby’s selfishness. All the attention that Gabby had needed in the past few months had robbed that grief from others who rightfully owned it, too. They probably hated her deep down.

“Gabby, answer me,” Emma yelled through the door. She again thumped her knuckles against the door, louder and faster than before. “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in!”

Gabby couldn’t answer. More of her undeserved grief choked her with its persistence, not willing to let Gabby give any of it away, to share it with anyone. It was a harsh and greedy master and she its unwilling host. Her heavy sobbing turned into bawling moans, and Emma quickly opened the door. She gasped when she saw Gabby lying crumpled, naked, on the floor.

“Gabby! What is it?”

“I know, Emma. I... r-r-remember... now,” Gabby wept.

Emma dropped to the floor, to Gabby’s level, and gently lifted her face, looking into her eyes—eyes identical to Olivia’s and her own.

“You do, Gabby? You remember. Wait. What do you remember?” Emma asked hesitantly.

“I r-r-remember... the... f-f-funeral... and everything,” Gabby forced out around her wailing while pushing away Emma’s hand. Emma didn’t have to indulge her delusions anymore or pretend... or dance around the truth. Gabby expected her to be relieved that she was no longer her burden at the very least.

“It’s okay, Gabby. You’ll get through this. We did—we do... every day, and it gets easier.” Emma grabbed a towel from the rack for Gabby and covered her with it. “Gabby, I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry. This has always been Olivia’s area so I’m winging it, big sister. I’ll tell you like Olivia would if she were here. Buck up. Get in the shower. It’ll make you feel better. Then put on your big girl panties and come out. We can talk then—when one of us isn’t naked. This just feels weird, even if it is you.”

Emma took her arm and pulled her up, surprising Gabby with her strength. Gabby offered no resistance but no help either. She was clinging to the towel, finally covering her nakedness, though her soul felt bared.

Gabby watched Emma walk determinedly out of the bathroom and firmly shut the door. She reminded her of a mini-sized Olivia. Was that where her little sister was finding this strength—by emulating Olivia? How could she so calmly handle this, knowing it was Gabby’s fault and Gabby had avoided facing it by blocking it out for six weeks?

Gabby stepped into the shower, letting the water run down her face, the tears repeatedly playing a game of chase with the water streams, not deterred at all. She allowed herself to continue to cry just the time it took to wash, top to bottom, and then sucked in a huge breath, held it, then let it go.

She dried and dressed quickly, then jerked the comb carelessly through her wet hair, pulling hard at the tangles. She tried to avoid looking at the shattered mirror, but she couldn’t help it. One glance up and she saw dozens of miniature Gabby/Olivia meshed faces in the cracked glass, looking back at her. Her chin quivered as she closed her eyes forcefully, not wanting to see her face or Olivia’s. Not that Olivia would blame her; she knew she never would, but she knew that the three-minute head start Olivia got down the birthing canal had always made her think she was the big sister, the strong one, the one that always had to pick up the pieces, but she wasn’t here to pick up the pieces now. This was Gabby’s responsibility, and like the mirror, her life was shattered and barely held together. She had to be the strong one now, to do this on her own, without Olivia.

She stepped out of the bathroom, wet head and unembellished face, but ready to go. There was no use in expending too much energy fixing herself up. She had no illusions that the ugly bastard, grief, had gone for good. He’d be back any minute, and she’d end up just looking a mess anyway.

Before she left her bedroom, she glanced down at her outfit. The black pantsuit she’d grabbed before coming into the bathroom looked off, just... wrong. Maybe too dressy? Gabby thought as she rummaged through her closet, choosing jeans and a top instead. She stripped and redressed, slipping her feet into her knock-off Jimmy Choo heels—these shoes usually gave her confidence. She’d take any help she could get.


Now, she was ready.

Gabby opened her door to find Emma sitting primly opposite a still-uniformed Officer Rowan—another shock to start her day. She stood gaping at him, ignoring the fluttering in her stomach. She tilted her head, still staring, and asked, “Why are you here?”

“Um, I’m Officer Rowan. Emma asked me to stay,” Dusty answered sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was a good idea after all that ruckus last night. Just in case... And you can call me Dusty.”

Gabby shook out of her daze and tried on a smile, but it felt forced. Her face fell back into its grave expression. She hesitated and then answered, “No. Of course not... I mean, I don’t mind you being here, and I will... call you Dusty. Thank you... for helping us—me—both of us. You’re welcome here anytime. I hope you didn’t get into any trouble with your job?”

“No, ma’am. My shift was nearly over anyway. I’m good. Everything’s cool,” Dusty said nervously, then quickly realized how it came out. “I mean... everything with my boss. I know everything’s not cool with you and all... I, um—”

“Officer Ro—I mean, Dusty. I know what you meant.” Gabby smiled at his nervousness, so much like Jake when she’d first met him. Little sister had picked Jake’s doppelganger, although probably five or so years younger. His personality, demeanor, and even looks were eerily similar to her husband. She noticed the striking resemblance last night when he’d saved her from her self-imposed box of captivity. She hoped Emma would grab onto this one; he seemed very nice and genuine.

“So. Where we going?” Emma asked, wide-eyed, as she looked Gabby up and down.

“WE are not going anywhere, Emma. I’m going alone,” Gabby answered firmly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Gabby. You look like you’re dressed for a funeral. Where are you going?”

Gabby grabbed her purse and keys from the end table and faced Emma and Dusty. “Since I was mostly out of commission the first time, I’m having a redo. I’m going to the graveyard.”

“Gabby, you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll go with you. Or me and Dusty can drive you. Give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Emma, as you said, it’s time I put on my big girl panties and talk. And talking to you isn’t going to help. I know who I need to talk to.”

Gabby turned around and walked to the door. “I’m not taking my cell. So don’t call.”

Emma waited a moment, staring at the closed door, then jumped up and ran into the spare bedroom she’d slept in—opposite the one where Dusty had refused to sleep—preferring instead to camp out on the couch with his gun nearby. She returned with her purse and settled back down in her chair before digging into it and finding her own phone.

“She said not to call her, Emma,” Dusty reminded her. “She doesn’t have her phone.”

“I’m not calling Gabby,” Emma answered firmly.

“Who you calling, then?”

“Reinforcements.”