So...I know I have another story that I'm writing (one that I've gotten great reception on so thank you!). I also know that I told you all updates will be sparse (which they still will be unfortunately). But I'm a writer. And when writers get an inspiration, they write. Actually, I just sat down and started writing this last night, with no plot or idea at all in my head. Literally. It's a little different, but I like writing this plot a lot.
Also, I know nothing about the Army and have not experienced or known someone who has experienced PTSD. All of my information will come from the internet or from what I know. Just to say that ahead of time. Hope you like it. Thanks for reading!
Chapter One
Breckenridge, Colorado
July 2015
All Callie sees is white. Sometimes, she sees black, too. But only sometimes. Preferably, she likes the white—it is crisp and clean, reminding her of better days, of pure enjoyment and happiness. When the black sneaks into her life, it entrances her in a way she really cannot explain, despite her desire to do so. It is captivating in a cruel way. Thus, she seems to decipher that life is cruel in its own form. It is a beast, magnificent and beautiful, scary and dangerous all at the same time.
Currently, the brunette is sleeping. She has been for a hundred years—maybe more, maybe less. Things have no doubt changed in the world around her. She is an innocent bystander caught up in a phenomena she cannot explain. The only thing that has kept her alive – or so she thinks – is her faith in humanity, God and love. Those three things have given her a renewed sense of purpose. Whatever that purpose may be and whenever that purpose may take flight.
Callie's mind slips in and out of consciousness, with her times of clarity lasting no more than a few days at most. It's a special kind of torture, reserved solely for her. But she keeps steadily reminding herself that God did this to her for a specific reason, lest that reason be unknown to her still. It irks her—this mystery that clouds her simple, primitive life. She scoffs internally (because she cannot do so aloud). Blinking her eyes shut, Callie drifts back asleep, her mind thinking of the past and wondering about the future.
…
…
Seattle, Washington
February 2015
A heavy duffel bag slams on the ground, a dull thud the result. Sweat drips down a tanned face, an equally tan hand coming up to brush away the beads of liquid. People are roaming around, not paying much attention to the solider. But the soldier herself is paying attention to everyone—every movement, every noise, every person. She is constantly on vigil. It's habitual.
As the soldier affords herself a quick, sharp breath, someone from behind her grabs her midsection. All of a sudden, the soldier is transported back to a desert. Without thinking, the trained female spins around, taking the arms of her alleged captor with her. She hears a snap of bones breaking, a scream of pain following. Her mind still in a different place, the soldier slams the body on the ground, locking the stranger into an inescapable position.
"Nix?" A strangled voice whispers, pain and fear evident in the infliction.
That one word, that one nickname, snaps Nix out of her trance and brings her back into the real world. Looking down, the soldier realizes what she's done. Her best friend is clutching his arm as he is pinned beneath her. The people who were roaming around the airport have now paused, everyone's eyes on her. It's a sad scene, with most adults understanding the context of the situation.
Standing up quickly, the solider nods her head at the people in the area, giving them the sign that she is ok and that this is not what it seems. After that, she stares long and hard—not at anyone or anything in particular. Just…thinking. Just staring.
Just ashamed.
She has no idea she is crying until a rough hand tickles her cheeks, the fingertips brushing away salty tears. "It's ok, Arizona. You're home. You're safe."
It's not soothing to Arizona. Guilt eats her alive at the scene she created, the pain she caused. Her brother is holding back his own tears of pain, and whether those tears solely belong to the pain of his injury or the pain in his heart, she cannot tell.
"Tee, I'm—oh my God—Tim. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she cries out, sobs racking her lithe body. "What have I done? I broke your arm."
Turning around, Arizona picks up her duffel bag and starts to stomp away, angered at herself for doing such a stupid thing. Why did she snap the way she did? She knew she was back home; she knew she was safe. But yet.
"Arizona, wait," Tim calls out from behind her. His voice is full of worry as he gets closer and closer to her. "Don't apologize, sis. It's my fault for sneaking up on you. I should've known better." The soldier glares at her older brother, not wanting him to take the blame. "I'd take a possibly broken arm every day if it meant I got to see my best friend."
That cracks a small, timid smile on Arizona's stoic face. She is about to speak when Tim slowly steps forward, using his good arm to wrap around the blonde's neck and pulling her in tight. This – the bone-crushing hug – is what she needed. She needed that familiarity, that comfort. Tears leak once again, the salty mixture soaking her brother's shirt.
"Now, as much as I love hugging my baby sis, my arm is in some serious pain. I think we might need to take a detour to the ER before stopping home," Tim says cheekily, as if the pain doesn't bother him anymore. Arizona can tell he's trying to suck it up to make her feel better, so she plays along, offering a quiet laugh.
"That can be arranged, I suppose," Arizona retorts as the two stop at the car parked in the lane closest to the curb. Opening the back door, the blonde throws her bag in before hopping up into the passenger's seat.
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I always wanted to wear a cast," Tim says as he tries to drive with one hand. So far, so good. "I think I'll get a pink one. Make the ladies all sign it. Actually, you might have done me a favor, Nix. You scored me some serious sympathy points."
Groaning at her brother's antics, the soldier rolls her eyes (even though she won't admit that she's missed this playful banter, that she's missed her brother). "We'll see who gets the most ladies tonight. You know I always win."
Tim turns his head slightly, Arizona noticing the upturn of the corners of his lips. "It's on, Nix. It's totally on."
…
…
When you think of a typical night out at the bars, you think of going to a place like Joe's. It's quaint but not overly so, with traditional features such as dart boards, a long bar and scattered tables and booths. There's a little space for those who dare to dance, though, most people who frequent Joe's go for the low-key atmosphere, the laid back feel.
Taking a drag of her beer, Arizona lets the cool liquid trail down her throat. Her brother sits next to her on a high barstool, sporting a pink cast and drinking the same drink as his sister. She smiles softly, content that she is back home with her brother despite the incident that happened at the airport. She's heard the stories – the ones of soldiers returning home and the difficulties that they faced – but Arizona believed herself to be stronger than that. Never would she have guessed that she would succumb to PTSD or the like. In a small corner of her mind, Arizona is still holding onto the faith that she is the same woman who left. Not some changed person whose views of the world had hardened.
As she brushes back a stray piece of hair, her mind wanders. It's three days until Valentine's Day, and Arizona notices the sparse decorations that Joe, the owner, had incorporated into the interior. Picking up her cell phone, the one she kept from before her second tour, the blonde scrolls through her contacts, stopping at one in particular. Alanna. Letting her finger hover over the contact, Arizona debates whether or not to text the woman, to tell her that she's home. A myriad of emotions swarms through her body like bees in a hive. Her eyes flutter shut as she pictures the other woman in her mind, a shaky sigh escaping her pink lips.
"Joe," Arizona says, indicating with her fingers that she would very much prefer another beer. The bartender gets the message and slides a beer in front of her.
"How was the tour?" Joe asks inquisitively, his thick eyebrows a little downcast as he gives Arizona a look of thankfulness and sadness. She shrugs her shoulders and takes a sip of her beer, swallowing a huge gulp of the drink. "That good, huh? Well, you know I always thank you for the work you do, the sacrifices you make. The drinks are on me."
This is what she hates. In a weird way, Arizona doesn't like the attention, the "free" stuff from people who admire what she does. Don't get her wrong, she appreciates the gestures and knows it comes from a good place, but part of the blonde wishes to be treated normally. But she can't tell anyone that without looking bad. So, Arizona has taken the silent but thankful route instead, tipping her head in thanks. Joe winks, his bulky body walking to the end of the bar to cater to another customer.
"You're off your game, Nix," Tim states, ignoring the elephant in the room. That elephant being the entity that is Arizona at the moment: hard, cold and distant. "I've already scored three numbers tonight and have a date for tomorrow night."
He elbows her lightly in the stomach, causing Arizona to clench her fists. Any random touches do that to her—it triggers something in her that she can't control. "I'm just not feeling it today. It's…I just feel off, you know? Like I'm not myself, and as hard as I try, I'm not sure I'll ever get there again." As an afterthought, she adds, "And then there's Alanna."
The mention of her name sends tingles down her spine and into her feet, makes her stomach erupt with butterflies and creates a light-feeling sensation in her head. It's a dangerous mix of feelings and emotions; one that can only be attributed to that specific name. It's obvious Tim has noticed the change in her demeanor at the saying of the name. Anyone would notice.
"Have you told her you're back yet?" Tim asks sincerely, though, Arizona doubts he thinks highly of her sort-of ex-girlfriend.
Again, Arizona opts to shrug her shoulders.
"Do you want to talk to her? Don't you want to tell her you're home?" He's pushing her buttons and she knows it. Because Arizona loves her brother, she lets it slide, though she wants to punch him.
"I do but I don't." Arizona sighs. "It's like she has this…this hold on me that, no matter what I try, can't be released. It's frustrating."
Tim hands her another beer. It takes her a second to realize that she had gulped down her second beer in less than five minutes, the now-empty bottle sitting in front of her with its taunts of nothingness.
"So, are you two still together?"
Arizona ponders it for a second, trying to force herself to not rewind time. Her heart aches for her lover, however. "Mmmm, I think so. We, well, we wrote to each other and Skyped a few times. It seemed that we were together. At least to me."
The door rings, the little bell making its ruckus to let Joe know someone has entered his establishment. Arizona looks over, a familiar face entering. Tim must have done this, she reckons, a smile now adorning her face. The feelings of self-pity and helplessness have now left her body, replaced by happiness and joy.
"Teddy!" Arizona exclaims, her eyes locking with her best friend's across the bar. Standing up, she runs to the other blonde, enveloping her in a hug. Happy tears stream down her face. "You're here."
"Of course I am, you knucklehead. Why in God's name didn't you clue me in that you were coming home?" Teddy says, hurt in a way Arizona hates to see her. It's not that she didn't want to tell her – or anyone for that matter – it's just that she craved time alone, time to adjust to living this sort of life again. "Hey, you know what? Never mind. I'm just glad you're home. I've missed your face."
That cheers her up slightly. Teddy knows when to push and when to back off. That's what being a best friend is about—that sense of knowing and understanding. "I've missed your's just as much. It's so great to see you, Teds."
"So, tell me everything."
And, feeling a little more like herself than the past hours, Arizona starts to talk. Slowly but surely.
…
…
Three days later has the soldier stationed outside of a brick apartment building. It's rustic in look and appearance but modern in the interior. Her eyes scan up the building, mentally calculating which room would belong to the person she came to see.
Third floor, three rooms to the left.
Quickly, before losing the courage, Arizona notices the lights on in the apartment and presses the buzzer for that room number. Her heart is pounding, a nervous energy taking over her tough body. She waits, and, despite the light being on, no one replies or buzzes her in.
Another ten minutes roll by, and the blonde has lost hope. A bouquet of roses is lying next to her on the grass, Arizona herself sitting on the porch step. She's wearing her uniform, pressed and stiff but comfy at the same time. Her messy blonde locks are in a tight bun, an Army cap on her head and brown boots on her feet.
Suddenly, as she is about to leave, another tenant walks up. Quickly, Arizona stands to attention (without the salute) and patiently waits. The woman walking up is older, her hair graying at the roots. She offers the soldier a smile.
"You need in?" The woman asks as she fetches for her keys. It is obvious she is having difficulty juggling all her bags and groceries.
"Yes, m'am, I do," she pauses. "Would you like some help?"
"Oh, I am ok. But thank you." The way she says thank you is in that tone that means she meant it as an all encompassing thank you. For her offer and her service. "Valentine's date?"
Arizona nods. "Yes, m'am. I want to surprise my significant other. I just returned home from tour three days ago."
"How cute! Also, no need with the m'am's. You're making me feel old," the lady chides, opening the door finally, ushering Arizona into the heated building. Immediately, she feels a little bit better, the heat helping with her nerves. "Well, good luck to you. And thanks for all you do."
Again, Arizona nods as the woman walks down the steps to the basement level. All but sprinting up the steps, she hits the third floor in a jiffy. Nerves come over her as she lifts her fist to knock on apartment 313A. But she does it: three swift, hard knocks.
"One sec!" A muffled voice calls out from behind the door. She hears the unlocking of the door, and, seconds later, a beautiful face comes into view.
"Hi," Arizona says sheepishly. Brown eyes stare back at her in disbelief. The soldier swears she notices a brief flash of panic in those chocolate eyes. "I'm back."
She's waiting, waiting for that squeal, that hug. That kiss.
"Ari?" The name rolls of Alanna's tongue. "When? How?"
The last time the two talked was months ago, and the soldier had mentioned her tour being extended longer. Since then, the two had been in limbo. Arizona had no idea where they stood. All she remembers is the silence and the dial tone once Alanna hung up the phone.
"I told them that was the last tour for me. I have things at home that I miss." Pause. "These are for you."
Arizona shows her the roses, hoping that the way she phrased her sentence indicated that one of the things she missed is Alanna. What she didn't plan for is another voice chirping in the apartment.
"Who is that?" A deep voice rings out from the background. In that moment, Arizona feels, literally, her stomach and heart drop. "Babe?"
Alanna's eyes widen. "Arizona, it's not…it's…"
Refusing to let herself cry in front of this woman, Arizona's soldier mentality takes over and she becomes stoic. "It is. You didn't even clue me in. Didn't let me know."
She's trying to talk coherently. Trying.
"I didn't know how long you'd be gone. Ari, I couldn't wait around anymore. My life felt on hold for you, and I just didn't want to wait forever," Alanna says at the man starts walking closer towards the door. From the glimpse of him, Arizona can tell he is a male version of herself: blonde and buff with blue eyes.
Arizona clenches her jaw. Anger is boiling up inside of her. "Perfect. So, you dump me without telling me and then go back to dick? It's…it's whatever. God, I really thought I loved you. I guess I was wrong."
With that, the soldier turns around, dropping the flowers into the ground as she leaves.
…
…
Seattle, Washington
September 2015
Tim has never seen his sister this desolate, this hardened. She's become a person he doesn't know or get. And nothing he can do will help. It's been five months since her return. Seven months since she's taken up drinking as a full-time job. Moping as her part-time job.
From what he's heard from her best friend Teddy, Alanna broke up with her without informing her, leading his baby sister to discover her ex with a man on Valentine's Day. Since then, it's been all down hill.
Slowly, he approaches his sister. She's been staying in his apartment in the spare room. However, currently, she is on his couch, her cold eyes staring at the TV in front of her. Part of Tim wonders if she actually is watching the screen or if she just stares. He thinks the latter.
Picking up the remote, he turns off the TV.
"What the hell?" An annoyed voice rings out.
"I'm done with this, Nix. I get it. You went through hell. Then, when you came home, your heart got trampled. But do you think you can live like this forever?" His voice has raised an octave higher. "Because you need to stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself! Get on with your life. Or, at least, fucking try!"
He couldn't help himself. He tried being the sensitive brother, the doting brother and even the drinking buddy brother. But nothing worked. Maybe the dick of a brother act would work best. He had to hope.
"You don't think I'm trying? You don't even understand! You. Don't. Get. It," Arizona said in the coldest tone he's ever heard escape her mouth. She's stood up at this point, her mouth in a tight line, her chest puffed out.
"I get that you're wasting your life," he says more gently. He's made his way inch by inch over to where she is standing. There only centimeters apart.
"My life is already a waste! I feel useless!"
Before she continue her rant, Tim pulls her into a hug. At first, she backs away, punching him in the stomach a few times. But Tim tightens his grip, forcing his sister to let go of her tension. When she does – minutes later – he feels his shirt become wet. Arizona is crying and hard. He lets his sister cry for minutes on minutes before he dares to speak again.
"I think it's time for you to go see someone. Or go to a group." He knows she will protest. So he keeps talking. "Go for me? Please. I miss you. And I shouldn't miss you because you're here."
He feels her nod into his chest. Maybe in a year, maybe more or less, his little sis will be herself again. All he knows is that Arizona will try. And that gives him hope.
…
…
Breckenridge, Colorado
June 2015
"I'm glad you made me go hiking with you," a young woman says, her breath ragged. "This is gorgeous. Just what I needed." The pair are a little off the beaten trail, but it's more beautiful in this area of the hike, more scenic and rustic.
The young man is about to respond, ecstatic that is girlfriend is enjoying herself finally. What stops him, though, is a glimmer to the right of him. There's a huge ice chunk (since they're on the mountains, there's still snow) with a darkened mass inside it. It seems…odd. His eyes are drawn to it like a magnetic.
"Huh?" He stutters. "Oh, yeah, I'm glad, too, babe."
His girlfriend gives him this look.
"Do you see that? Over there?" He points to the ice chunk about 100 yards away. "It looks strange. It's dark.
Without waiting for an answer, the man starts walking towards the ice, his body possessed by some force he cannot explain. As he nears it, ignoring his girl's shouts behind him, he slows down. His head looks down at the ice and he screams.
Actually, he almost faints. There, in the ice, is a body. A frozen body of a young Latina woman. She appears serene, calm, inside that ice. Despite realizing that this woman has to be dead, he whips out his cell phone, begging for reception.
And, as if all the stars have aligned, his phone catches a signal and he dials 911.
…
…
Seattle Grace Hospital
October 2015
At first, Teddy laughs.
"Dr. Altman, if you can't handle this case, if you believe that I am bull shitting you, you can excuse yourself," Chief Webber states, his tone solid and commanding.
Teddy stops laughing.
"This is…real? How can that be?" A team of doctors around her all shrug their shoulders, each as confused and shocked as she is.
"That's what we've been assigned to figure out. This Jane Doe is perfectly healthy and shows no signs of any long-term effects. It's a miracle. It really is. I've never seen or heard anything like this in my medical career nor do I think we ever will again."
Her mind cannot fathom this—that a woman frozen in ice is alive. That this is real. Medically, it is impossible. Downright impossible. It's right next to humans flying on their own ability. To make matters worse, the woman is claiming that she was born in 1910. That she's 30 years old, meaning that she's been frozen for 75 years.
That's impossible. It's a lie. At least the 75 years is. But yet.
"Can I talk with her, sir?"
"I allow you ten minutes. No more, no less. And do not irritate the patient, Doctor Altman. We don't want our progress ruined," the Chief says in a kinder tone.
Teddy nods and strides in the room. The blinds are shut on the windows by the door; however, the windows on the back wall are open, letting a warm breeze blow in. The woman has long, dark hair. Her face, despite being supposedly in ice for 75 years, is tan and round. Soft.
She is sitting in a chair, half her body facing the window. Her eyes are closed and there's a smile on her face. She looks content and peaceful. Not at all worried or scared. It's quite confusing, perplexing even.
"You're here to ask me whether I am submitting the truth," the woman states, not asks, her voice calm and kind. She turns to face Teddy. "Because, I assure you, I am indeed."
Teddy resists the urge to bombard her with questions.
"I see you're struggling. You want to ask me questions. Like, 'How is this possible?' But I will answer you the same way I did to your colleagues. I cannot tell you. I myself do not know."
Everything about this woman seems normal. She doesn't seem mentally unstable. She seems fine. Except there is no way she is telling the truth.
"Do you remember your name?" Teddy questions, pulling over a chair to sit in. The mystery woman puts her hands in her lap.
"I do," she simply says. "However, if I tell you, you will tell the rest of the nurses."
The blonde stifles a laugh that this woman thinks she is a nurse. "Oh, I assure you I am not a nurse."
"Women are surgeons now?" This seems to take Jane Doe by surprise. All Teddy can think is how good of an actress this woman is. She must have done her homework to figure out how to act like a person from the 40s. Teddy figures it wasn't the norm back in the day for female surgeons.
"I am a cardio surgeon, actually," Teddy responds, not exactly answering the question. "Why won't you tell me your name?"
"Because, I'd prefer not to become a freak show." That seems logical, though Teddy knows it might happen regardless of the dark-haired woman's request.
"Miss, we want to help you. Can you just explain to me anything you remember? How did this happen?"
The Latina clicks her tongue, pondering what to say. Teddy just watches her, entranced at the scene. "I lived in Breckenridge. I wanted to clear my head for a weekend, so I told my husband George that I was going to the mountains. He didn't like that idea. Though, he was more lenient than other men and allowed me to do what I pleased. On my third day, a huge snowstorm came through. The next thing I recall is waking up, my body encased in ice. But I was alive. I was aware of everything. I stayed like this until I was found. I'm told the year is 2015, which means I was frozen for 75 years or so. It was quite strange during those years. I slept for many of them."
A knock on the door interrupts the conversation. Dr. Webber strides in, his eyes scanning the room. "May I check your vitals?"
She allows the man to do so, Teddy watching the whole interaction. This Jane Doe is so confusing. There is still little doubt in her mind that this woman is lying. Hell, she hasn't aged apparently, and, if she was encased in ice for 75 years, Teddy suspects that she would look a smidge older.
"Dr. Altman," the woman says after Webber left (he gave her five more minutes to talk). "You think I am diseased. That I am mentally unstable. I assure you that I am not. I am very much telling the truth. And I'm scared, though it may not seem like it. I just, well, what am I going to do with my life now?"
"I think you need to go to attend a group session. Any one that you would like," Teddy says. "But, first, you need to tell us your name so that we may contact your family, so that you have somewhere to stay."
The Latina seems to consider this. "You know, everything looks completely different. The whole outside world. The cars, the small square things that you can control with your fingers. Everything is different. This is not the world I know."
Teddy sighs, this conversation going nowhere. "Please, tell me your name."
"Calliope Torres," she says softly, almost so quietly that Teddy didn't know if she heard her correctly. "And I have no family anymore. I have nothing."
At that moment, for a reason unbeknownst to her, Teddy believes this woman. The way she says things, the way she is, makes her think that some miracle out of a fairy tale happened. That sitting before her is a real life Sleeping Beauty. Boldly, and rashly, she offers an invitation. "Callie—can I call you that?" She nods. "You can stay with me until this gets figured out. I don't know how or why or if it's real, but you are special. And I think you know that."
Callie smiles. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Don't thank me yet," she mumbles.
…
…
Cars zoom past the car she is sitting in. Callie looks at the outside world, her mind confused and jumbled. It all looks…different. She is trying to take it all in, to wrap her head around what her life is, but it seems too tall of an order.
It's been a few days since Dr. Altman opened up her home to her. The apartment itself is big, like a full-sized house back in her day, with appliances that she had no idea what they did or how they worked. But she always keeps a smile on her face. She is here for a reason.
Currently, the doctor is taking her to a group therapy place. Other people there are suffering from something (Callie will not say much during it. Dr. Altman told her not to share her story—at least, the doctor now believes her). So, she will sit there and listen.
"We're here." The car stops. "Remember what I said. No sharing specific details and make sure to be outside at 8:30! Good luck!"
Callie thanks her and exits the car. Teddy took her shopping the other day for clothes, and Callie feels extremely uncomfortable in what she is wearing. If George saw her wearing this, he would freak out. She has on dark, tight jeans, a red, flow-y blouse and a leather jacket. Yes, she feels uncomfortable.
Stepping into the worn down building, Callie follows the noise to the basement. The second she enters the room, she scans the crowd. No one stares at her. Well, except for one woman.
The woman has on an Army uniform – because now women can serve it appears – but she seems unhappy and sad. Immediately, Callie's heart beats faster. She doesn't know why it does or why she is drawn to this forlorn woman. But she is. The two pairs of eyes connect, neither dropping the gaze for what seems like minutes, though Callie knows it lasted for only mere seconds.
Her body feels unusual under the gaze of the blue-eyed, beautiful blonde soldier. But, for some reason, Callie feels in her heart that this is why she was meant to live. Meant to be a scientific phenomena.
This woman is her reason.