Chapter 4 - 2,574 days

2,574 days. . .

Does consciousness move on after death? Is it simply a product of the brain or the brain itself is a receiver of consciousness?

If consciousness is not a product of the brain, it would mean that our physical bodies are not necessary for its continuation; that awareness can exist outside our bodies.

Questions, she still has a legion of them swarming in the swell of her mind. The frontal lobe, she thinks, she's not very sure. That's Derek's department, he's the brain connoisseur and she actually never really excelled at neuroanatomy. Besides her brain's not too refreshed on medicine these days and she has a good explanation for it but she's still very much lucid and perhaps sane as well - to a certain degree...for now that is.

She's not too sure how she's been doing it, really. She hasn't got the slightest clue because at the beginning, she was so certain that she was going to drive herself to insanity. It's the same mundane cycle over and over and over again.

Sleep. Survive. And pray that he doesn't come back.

Or.

Sleep. Survive. And when he does come back, pray he doesn't decide to beat the shit out of her.

But then she realised there was no point in psyching herself out because either way, he is going to come back and she is never to come out. Because he might not be back today or tomorrow but she certainly will stay here today, tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that and for all the days to come.

She used to do the most in trying to escape - the first year only.

Scratching and clawing at the wooden floorings - yes, the concrete floor used to be wood before he 'renovated' this fucking dump - until almost all of her nails ripped off. Literally. Her perfectly manicured nails are now ancient history. She hates her hands, her fingers, her nails; they're calloused, bony and blunt. Ugly. She hates looking at them.

She avoids every chance she's got. She's embarrassed.

Moving the table around so she could stand on it and fist at the skylight above with her bare hands and of course, the glass is shatterproof glass. And her efforts are almost laughable now because it was as if she thought she had the upper body strength to lift her five feet eight inches long self through that opening. Her long arms are of no use in carrying her weight.

Yea. She'd like to ask someone - anyone for that matter - whether society will be ready to accept a misfit, an outcast like her, like them, or if she will be zealous and resilient enough for the world that's probably awaiting her because it has already been seven long years and that's a very long time to be be out of touch with humanity.

It's basic human needs - to belong, to communicate, to be apart of a community, to feel loved by others. It's Maslow's hierarchy of needs. And heaven knows none of the five basic dimensions in that damn pyramid are fulfilled.

Physiological needs are subpar.

Safety needs are nonexistent here.

She's always anxious. She bet her adrenal glands are self-destructing.

And the rest doesn't need to be heard as the two bare minimum aren't even fulfilled yet.

Never, most likely.

She was safe with Derek, actually. Then she wasn't too convinced that he'd be her knight in shining armour anymore. If she were to be chased by a rabid dog, he'd still be glued to his precious BlackBerry. She was convinced. Maybe a few years prior, she could've believed that he'd sweep her off her feet and save her. Maybe. It was his dreamy and blazing endeavour that caught her attention. Sweet, charismatic and quiet. Almost as if he was too shy to be at her presence and she loved that.

His gentleness.

But their relationship after marriage was like any other, she'd like to think. Comfortable with the occasional ups and downs. But the last year before this fucking mess, downs were more prevalent. The usual disputes, arguments and fights really just pushed them to polar ends. Each other's presence became a commodity and he had gotten so ruthless in being absent that she made herself to believe if she were to go missing - the irony - he wouldn't have even noticed.

She wonders if he had noticed. She hopes he had and at least called the cops.

Safe. Yes, she was as safe as she can be and she threw all that away for a momentary high, for a garden of forbidden words.

Derek never hurt her - well, not physically. She wouldn't call prying her fingers off the banister, then gripping her wrist too tightly and shoving her out the front door in any way physical because she have had a taste of physical and what Derek did is nowhere near that.

What was that stupid little childhood saying?

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.

Hah! That's a lie from the pit of the enemy, right there. Words do hurt.

Derek's words cut deeper than any scalpel ever could, leave wounds that hurt worse than any other pain and caused tears as vast as the Pacific Ocean.

It's all just petty nonsense and petty nonsense is what really hurts the most, especially when it's from the person you love the most, whom you'd never expect to be spitting mean and hurtful dredges to your face. He's her husband, and to her, that's really all the reason there needs to be.

You're not that special, Addison.

You yap like it's the end of the world. Just shut it already.

Is that all?

I wish I never met you.

That's when he's at his wits end.

I-wish-I-never-met-you is what he would bash at her to make her shut up and he knew that and he used those words to his advantage on numerous occasions.

I-wish-I-never-met-you means the same as I-wish-I-never-married-you.

I-wish-I-never-met-you hurt in ways he'd never understand.

He has his wish granted. He's pleased for sure.

The walls always dare to look somewhat different at night. Arduous. Not too drastic nor gruelling, just an unfamiliar, unwelcome slant. As if the daytime trees and wind and stones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their place.

While the occasional hoots of a hidden owl was the only sound to permeate the silence, she quietly counted them as she hiked back and forth from either ends of the room, making sure the sink had been cleared of dishes, ground brushed, laundry been put away and books and toys shelved.

Proper, like he wants this room to be.

Stopping on her tracks, she propped a tired hand on her hip - analysing - nodding in satisfaction that this dump is as prim and proper as it can be. And for someone who has never touched a broom and a dustpan as a child and only merely a handful of times as an adult, she thinks she has done a pretty superb job. Really. She'd give herself a pat on the back if she wasn't too exhausted to even raise an arm.

It's almost nine and he'll be here any minute now.

She can't stand it when he nags at her. It's irritating. She doesn't like it when people tell her what to do. Never did. Maybe that was how Derek felt when she nags at him. Irritated. Now, she can definitely relate.

But the only difference is that, he nags at her to intentionally and very purposefully get under her skin, to demean her, to defile her self-esteem and dignity, while Derek, he, for sure, needed the nagging because it will take him an eternity to listen to her.

"Ma, are we still real?" Christopher's soft whisper echoed and she can see his curious blues through the slats of the cupboard.

She had startled badly, almost dropping the mug in hand. Sending thanks to nobody because she can't afford to break one more cup - needless to say he would be furious with her.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Maybe it has something to do with what she tried to explain to him the other day, that there's a whole, wonderful and vastly coloured world out of these four walls.

Having tried explaining and almost giving up because Christopher didn't want to listen to any of her 'stupid' stories, as he called them, throwing a fit when she tried desperately to get him to believe her tales of reality, of the outside world and how his life isn't suppose to be just bound within this small space.

It was all too much for him to comprehend, she should've known. He's only five.

She had apologised and got him to calm down and he had told her to tell him the story again when he's six. Six. He just turned five a month ago and six is another year away. Stubborn, he's just like her. The thought of existing here for another year crumbled the temporary wall she had built and so, she spent the whole night crying.

Crying in fear and in frustration because her son can get annoying sometimes - don't get her wrong, she loves him to pieces but he's still a kid and kids are without a shadow of doubt, annoying - she hates it in here and she wants to go home. Crying because Christopher is only getting older and bigger and it will certainly be much harder for her to hide him away. She don't think he can fit into the cupboard for the next year anymore.

He's a Montgomery and Montgomeries are long. And that's ultimately why she needs to start coming up with a solid and feasible plan or plans for their great escape.

No more time consuming and tiresome chores of shinning SOS signs at skylight at night, she needs to think because there's no time to wilt. But most of all, she needs to stop being afraid of him.

"You said nobody knows about room."

Right. They're not in any map or GPS system. They're unavailable to the world. Kept far away from humanity. Her eyes drifted through the walls. Yea. Nobody knows about this room and it's horror. To the outside world, it's probably just an innocent and harmless musty, old garden shed. They'd definitely be in for a surprise once they come to find out.

Derek, can you hear me?

Another worthless attempt in trying to get the hell out of here - trying, she's always just trying. Trying never really hurts. She doesn't know why she does this - trying to communicate with Derek, because, essentially, she's just conversing with herself in her own head.

I'm really tired, Derek. Please take me home. I don't know if I can take this anymore.

Maybe she just likes the idea of talking to him.

"Outside has everything, you said. Like pets and dogs and baseball and computer and boats and islands and buildings and skyscrapers and elevators. I have to remember that they are all real for real. And people too, Ma. Doctors and nurses and police officers and sports people and teachers and actors. And all sorts. They're all in the outside and I'm not there. Me and you, Ma. We're the only ones not there. So, are we still real for real?"

Wiping away tears, she looked at Christopher through the slats that divided them and gave him a reassuring smile. She's more than ecstatic that he's finally on the first step to understand the outside world. Of course, there's a lot that he still needs to grasp but that's okay because she'll explain everything to him. Every last detail of this fucked up situation. She will tell him but just not right now because he'll be here any second now. "Oh, baby, I wish I could explain it all to you right now, but it's too late. He's coming and I want you asleep when he's here. Ok?"

"Ok, Ma. Tomorrow?"

He's apparently too tired to protest, which she knows he would if he wasn't, and so she gave him a flying kiss.

"Now, close your eyes, sweetie. I'll tell you everything tomorrow. I promise." she said softly and she can see just enough as he nodded and curled to his side, hugging his blanket tighter.

He's late today. It's almost ten and she's sleep deprived. She had turned on the television to drown out the eerie silence because it's just too awfully quiet, scary even, and she sat on the couch with her legs fastened tightly to her chest, waiting and staring at the screen. It's a rerun of a show she can't, for the life of her, recall its name but it's about two brothers in a quest of hunting demons, ghosts, monsters, and other unrealistic creature stuffs.

Why?

She doesn't know.

But it pegs the question of why anyone does anything.

For example, why did he kidnap her?

She don't think she wants to know why.

Why did she cheat on Derek?

She thinks she knows why.

Derek, please don't give up on me. Please, Derek. I'm here and alive. And I love you.

It's probably the sleep talking or the fact that she's basically desperate but she believes that they can still work them out.

He has to give her a chance to show him how sorry she is.

They're Addison and Derek after all. They don't quit.

Yawning, she was just about to crawl herself into bed when the infamous beep beep sounded and immediately she snapped out of her sleep-deprived self, adrenaline taking its usually course.

After the door had slammed shut with a resounding thud, she turned around, giving him a kiss - like instructed - then, lifted the groceries over to the kitchen. They're in dire need for these groceries because he didn't come bearing them last week and it took everything in her to not shout and flip out at him.

Calm down, Addison. You have to relax. It's okay. You just have to lessen your portions from now on.

They already weren't eating enough.

She was just so angry but she kept that anger inside because she can't ever let it out.

"Where are the vitamins?" she questioned, taking a deep breath before glancing up at him. They need their nutritional supplements in the form of pills because God knows they're not getting any.

He's by the other side, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, watching her.

Why the hell is he always watching her?

Pushing himself off the tub, "I decided you guys don't need them anymore. Pharma's making billions of dollars out of shit. It's a giant rip-off." he said.

"I'm the doctor here. I know what's best for us. You want us to get sick?"

"Oh, here we go again. Whine, whine, whine, yapping, yapping, yapping, that's all you fucking do all day."

"It's just that if we had a better diet, I wouldn't need to whine all fucking day." she said bitterly.

He narrowed his eyes at her and for a brief moment, they just stare at each other, breathing heavily. He's most likely contemplating on what he's going to do with her now - beat her, slap her, throw her around like a ragged doll. And she, she's thinking back to when Derek and her were at this exact predicament. Not the whole imprisonment thing but the whole eyes locked at each other, nostrils flaring, barely a feet apart shebang.

Blinking, she stepped back and began pulling the contents out of the paper bag again and into appropriate cabinets with heavy contempt.

She has to stay far away from him. She has to get out of here. She can't keep breathing this stale oxygen. She detests him. She hates it here. She's vibrating in hatred.

Of course he doesn't know this but she's cursing at him and saying every foul word she knows in her head. She absolutely wishes she could scream them all at the top of her lungs.

"I bet we're cheaper to keep than a dog. We don't even need shoes." she spat, folding her shaking hands around her torso to hide its evident quivers.

She wonders if her shoes are still in their bedroom closet or perhaps Derek had donated all of them to Goodwill.

It's okay, she guess, what good will it do to wilt away in their closet.

"You have no idea about the world of today. I mean, where do you think the money's going to keep coming from?" he sighed heavily, brushing his hand through his hair.

It's quiet now and she scattered forward, facing him. For a while, none of them said anything to each other. "What? What do you mean? Money in general or...?" she finally voiced.

"Six months." His arms were folded. They're huge, she must add. Like they belonged to a giant. "Six months I've been laid off and have you had to worry your pretty little head?"

And whose fault is that?

What does he want from her?

Sympathy? Understanding?

There's no way in hell she's ever going to grant him that because she was perfect before this and she never gave him this super bright idea. She's more than furious with him now for putting them in this position.

"What happened?"

For a second, she contemplated giving him the PIN to her bank accounts. Maybe the bank would call Derek or the cops for 'suspicious activity' and the cops could do their cop thing and they'll find them and get them out of here.

He's not that stupid, Addison.

He's been keeping her locked up for seven years and there must be a fundamental reason that he could evade from the police and just make it seem like she had disappeared without a trace.

He's a fucking psychopath.

"Like it matters."

"Are you looking for another job?"

Silence.

For a moment longer than she should, she stared into his soulless eyes, thinking of all the nasty things he's done to her. Swallowing hard, she quickly turned away and trained her eyes over the kitchen table, lining the rest of the goods in a neat line.

She likes that, neat.

How did she get into this quagmire?

Since the day she was born, she was told that she'd never have to worry about finances and money and anything related to expenses because they're very much well off and she has a trust fund. All she had to do is complete her education and while she's at that, get good grades too.

And she did. She did everything right and as she was told. Everything was given to her on a silver platter. But now, here she is, thirty-five years later, worrying about how they're going to survive without any means of income.

"Are you in debt?" she asked, "How are you going to-"

-Support us?

"Shut your mouth." he spat and his tone was a warning one, that she had chose to ignore in countless occasions. But maybe she shouldn't because it just always ends badly for her.

"I need to know this! I need to know-"

She didn't see it coming but she definitely felt the hot sting vibrating through the muscles of her cheek, saw stars exploding right before her, the thunder clasp of skin against skin and the crackles of her neck echoed loudly with her hair wiping violently across her face.

A tonne of bricks had connected with her cheek - that's going to bruise badly - but she didn't stumble at all, still glued and grounded and she's grateful for that.

Nausea threatened her when a soft cry waved from the cupboard. It's Christopher and he's clearly terribly terrified. He must have woken up by their loud shrieks. And it's breaking her heart because he wants his mother - needs her right now and she can't hold him tight and reassure him back to sleep because he's here.

"Hey there, buddy." he took a step, then another, then another before lightly knocking on the slats.

Her stomach lurched harshly.

"He's asleep." she made herself say and dragged her feet closer.

Reluctantly, her hand settled on his broad shoulder and for a second, she was certain she's going to pass out because just like that she can switch back to being awfully afraid. "Just leave him. Come, let's go to bed."

"She keep you in there all day as well as all night?"

Remember what I told you, Christopher? Do not say a word when he's here. Even when he's talking to you.

Silently and in her mind, she's begging Christopher.

"Doesn't seem right to me."

She think she's going to...

He turned to her and she can hear the mock in his tone and the thumping of her heart that's now loud in her ears. "I figure there must be something wrong. You've never let me get a good look since the day he was born. Poor little freak's got two heads or something?"

Her back is pressed against the slats now and there's a dull ache in her head and neck from the earlier slap. "He's just shy."

"He's got no reason to be shy of me." he said, sounding almost kind, "Never laid a hand on him. Right, Christopher?"

Twining her arm with his, she lightly pulled him towards the direction of the bedroom. "Let's just go to bed."

Her voice sounds embarrassingly strange. The desperation is there.

"I know what you need, missy." he laughed, "Didn't your mother ever teach you manners?"

Her mother was all about manners and class.

Relief made her stomach queasy and knees liquid and he slammed her onto the bed, pinning her with his weight.

The lamp goes out, he's harsher tonight.


Seven Years Ago


The sun is setting. Soft. Vibrant hues of orange-red is merging with the sky. Slowly descending, dissolving into a mauve dust.

It's fading away.

It's beautiful.

It's rare.

Because they live in Manhattan and skyscrapers aren't ideal for watching sunsets but today must be a sign.

A bespoke made just for her. Telling her that today will be different. Special. Maybe - just maybe - Derek will keep his end of his word, that they will go out for dinner. As planned. Because she kept hers and switched shifts with Dr. Geller. She's doing whatever it may be to save their impending fall of a marriage.

She's trying. She shamelessly is. But nothing she's doing seem to be working.

She even called Carolyn, Derek's mother of all people, to ask how to make Belgian waffles, Chicken Pot Pie, and if she could get her recipes for his favourite foods because she doesn't just want to get any recipe off the internet since she's doing her best here.

"Is everything alright with you and Derek, dear?"

Her concern was a front. She'd love to see them fail.

She's trying. She's saving them. Because history is repeating itself and just like Bizzy, she'd forgotten how to wear her mask and she can't distract Derek with sex anymore since that doesn't seem to be fixing anything. Not anymore. So, she opt for Plan B. Food. A way to anyone's heart is through a good meal.

She hates cooking and she hardly knows how to work a stove. But she's determined to make him notice her again.

She's scared because Plan B is all she has left. After that - where they are headed to - is anyone's guess.

Her eyes are steady to the window, face aglow with the last orange rays before twilight beckons the stars. Her lips bear the semblance of a smile, just enough to show that she is enjoying this - the warmth, the freedom and just the sun, itself, embracing her.

Derek will be coming home tonight.

She's probably reading too much into nothing. But, really, hope is all she has.

It's just after seven and the sun has now traded places with the moon. It's just as beautiful.

She's all dressed and in red. It's all for him because Derek seems fond of her in red. She don't understand why because, to her, there's just too much red going on. Red hair, red dress, red lips, she could go for red heels too but she's not there yet - she's not yet crazy.

Bloody Mary, that's what she looks like. Oh! Or maybe a bloody tampon. A walking, living, breathing, barely functioning version. But it's okay because Derek loves her in red.

Because only then he'll notice her.

More time flew by and it's almost eight now. She's waiting. Waiting, patiently or perhaps impatiently for her husband's presence to emerge through the front door and peeling at the bed of her nails.

She won't nag. She won't shout. She will not get mad.

She'll get in the car and forget.

Like she always does.

Kind of.

But he could have at least called or texted or ask one of the interns to do that for him.

Sitting on Derek's vintage Chesterfield leather button armchair, his prized possession - a must-have as he stated on their last trip to Europe - she poured herself another tumbler of Hendrick's - it's the best of best in terms of gin if anyone is asking - and dig into her purse for her phone.

Nothing.

She'll wait. And she is because it's now eight-forty. She've been sitting here for almost an hour.

Impatience turned to annoyance. Her hands clenched the blanket beneath tightly around her and her cold toes curled under her detectably.

He's not coming.

She knew it.

So much for hoping. So much for signs. So much for trying.

She's going to drink herself to sleep now. Until she passes out. Until she's stupid drunk. Until she can't remember why she's even crying in the first place.

But that never happened because the door bell rang.

Derek!

All hurt is forgotten because he's here now.

She didn't even stop to think why he's ringing the doorbell and not just opening the door with his keys.

Power walking - more like running to the door, she flung it open with a smile that soon turned upside down.

"Ouch."

It's just Mark. Her friend. Their friend.

It makes more sense if Mark lives here because he have been here, in the house she shares with her husband more nights than she could count. Crashing on the couch or in the guest bedroom, which basically is his now, having dinner with her, or watching a movie more two.

"Expecting someone?"

Derek lives here but then again, he doesn't. His name is in the property but then again, he doesn't really live here.

"Derek." she shrugged and beckoned him inside.

"Well..." he frowned, skimming up and down her length, which looks as though he's smiling at her sadly.

Great! Now he's pitying her.

Just what she needed. Pity.

"He's a fool because you look...nice. Well, really nice actually."

A compliment out of pity, that's just what she needs tonight. But really, she's clinging onto his words like it's the holy scripture.

"Thanks, Mark." she forced her lips to smile, "Make yourself at home. I'm just going get out of this ridiculous dress."

It's really not that ridiculous. Itchy, yes. Ridiculous, definitely not.

It's short, but not so that she'd be mistaken for a working girl.

"Hey, Red." he called out, "You're beautiful and your husband's a mad man for not noticing...anymore."

And he smiled, that stupid smirk that would make any lady blush.

It turns out, she's no different.

She's ridiculous because here she is, stumbling down the staircase after voiding her face of makeup and pulling on loose and worn out sweats, after spending a lot more time than she should in the bathroom, wallowing in self-pity.

She's the one who's ridiculous since she's watching baseball with her husband's best friend. And she doesn't even like baseball. She doesn't understand it. She doesn't understand what happened to them.

She thinks she's going to cry.

"Addison."

She glanced at him and he looked worriedly at her. A question lingered on his brows.

"You're crying."

Apparently, she have been and she swiped the clear stains from her cheeks.

"No, don't." she waved him away when he scoot closer, "It's okay. I, I just-"

But he didn't listen - it's no surprise that all of the men in her life doesn't listen to her - and is barely an inch away now, taking her wrist and gently drawing circles with his thumb.

He's looking at her while his other hand massaged her thigh.

Why is he looking at her like that?

"What are you doing?" she asked firmly, looking into his eyes. Quick and in one breath. She can already feel the heat he's radiating and she swallowed hard, embarrassingly.

Her mind is panicking. But her body is clearly responding to whatever he's doing to her.

"Sorry." he pulled his hands away and she almost yelped, "No," before grabbing his hand back and placing it on her thigh again. Only inching higher this time.

"I like it."


She isn't too sure what woke her tonight but something definitely did - a sound, a creak, a breath, that embarrassing memory that started all this, it could be anything really. Intuition probably. Most definitely. And when she pushed herself off the cold wall that she was basically pressed into, and when she only felt an empty space beside her, her eyes shot open to reveal the dread she've been awaiting.

He's crouching low right in front of the cupboard, and his hands were on the edges of the opened door, whispering and muttering something to her son.

Time slowed down - no - perhaps time stopped, halted in it's tracks while fear quickly trembled down her spine. She can't hear what he's saying and that's only because she can't hear anything above the blood rushing in her ears.

But just as quickly, time resumed to it's normal pace.

"Get away from him!" she pounced out of bed like a pouncing Siberian tiger. Quick. All limbs flying around from here to there and she shoved him away.

"Get away from him!"

He looked just as surprised as she was at her new found courage.

Hard and with every last ounce of energy she's got, she strike at his face, actually landing a blow to his jaw.

"Get away from him!" she kept screeching over and over again. "You said you wouldn't!"

Of course, he couldn't be trusted.

Ready for the next hit, he caught her wrist in lightning speed before she could make any real contact and slammed her to a nearby wall. Knocking wind out of her chest.

"You said you wouldn't!"

"Shut up!" his thick hand mangled in her hair, twisted around his wrist, and forcibly yanked her head back. She gasped desperately at the pain ripping through her scalp.

DEREK!

Clumps of brittle hair are being pulled out, she can feel it.

She doesn't care.

"I trusted you! You promised! You said you wouldn't!"

He's screaming at her to fucking shut up and she's screaming at him because he had promised her he'd leave Christopher alone.

She've given herself to him - she kept her end of their deal.

"I've been too generous with, missy. I let you run this place like it's yours. I shoulda known you'd be exploiting a hardworking fella like me. You don't get to pay no bills. You don't gotta work. And all I ask is for you to shut the fuck up."

Both of his hands are on her throat now and she cried out loudly, choking, fearful, when she can't feel the cold cement on her soles anymore.

"Stop that noise."

Scratching and clawing and pulling at his arm, she struggled to get a breath in, struggled to touch the ground with her feet, struggled to not slip into a deep slumber. "Stop...I can't breathe...Please..." she choked.

DEREK! DEREK!

Letting go of the hold on her neck, "You're a nut case, you know that?" he roughly poked a finger to her temple and she breathed desperately. Choking on air as she tried to hog most of it into her feeble lungs.

It doesn't seem to be enough.

"I can be quiet." she whispered painfully. "You know how quiet I can be so long as you leave him alone. It's all I've ever asked."

"You ask for shit every time I open the door."

Hacking, "It's all for Christopher." she's still forcing air into her lungs, rubbing the redden skin on her neck.

"Yeah, well, don't forget where you got him."

He doesn't stay.

Beep beep.

And she disappeared under the covers. Possibly forever, if she had life her way.


Unease. Unsettling. Unjustified.

It's an unprecedented and uncomfortable accord that he's feeling. Unapt. It's a pulling of the chest - heavy and seizing his every air supply. It's a stomach churning ache somewhere in his body - he can't exactly pinpoint where. Probably his heart. It's contagious, at least he'd like to believe it is. And that is the reason why he's here, in his office, in the middle of the night, going through all of his patient's negatives - oh, how Addison would love to mock him for using that word - for the third time, fourth time, fifth, sixth - he doesn't know because ultimately, he had lost count hours and hours ago.

He doesn't care because he's not actually studying the tedious files intently. He can't get himself to concentrate even if he really wanted to.

He's preoccupied and he feels awful for treating Meredith with the same neglect that he did with his wife. But it just doesn't feel right to lay down next to her and be pensive of a whole other woman.

This time, the only difference is the what he's preoccupied with.

For Addison, it was his career, his job, his goals and ambitions. And with Meredith, it's Addison that's distracting him.

But, here he is, Head of Neurosurgery - goals achieved. Well, halfway there since he'd very much like to be Chief of Surgery. And he's still where all the problems began.

Maybe it was all his fault all along.

He doesn't want to loose Meredith too.

He has lost enough.

A completely different woman and he misses her. Sometimes, he'd find himself thinking about her, remembering her bright smile and red hair. He doesn't ever want to forget.

He's afraid of that - forgetting. Losing memory of how she sounds, of her gentle touch and the long fingers that would tease him mercilessly, of her playful laugh and the snort that she emits when she does.

She hates it but he thinks it's cute.

He wants to tell her that he has forgiven her.

He's not mad.

"I can't be angry with you anymore, Addie." Looking out the small window, he can see a star twinkle amongst the others. That's Addison. She's bright and shiny. Always wanting to standout. Always the one with her arm raised in class. Always craving for approval. Always wanting to be noticed.

He wishes she doesn't believe that he still is mad.

He was.

Of course, he was. He had caught her in bed with Mark.

Mark of all people.

Now, seven years later, it's a pointless anger because it took her to disappear without a trace - he prefers that term instead of what everyone else is using, dead, he'll only believe that she is in fact dead when there's a body, her body to corroborate that theory - for him to realise that he doesn't want to lose her, that he actually needs her in this world.

He wants to tell her that he has forgiven her because he knows now; what she did with Mark was out of desperation. It wasn't the reason for the catalyst of their fail marriage. It may very well be the cherry on top but it wasn't the cause.

He's equally to responsible.

Wherever she is, he wants her to know that they're okay. Wherever she may be.

But really, it's been seven years with no traces or leads or sightings, statistics says it's unlikely.

She's dead.

He's a man who has been true to statistics all his life, he just hopes statistics is very wrong this time around.

"I'm really sorry, Addison." he said softly, taking his reading glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose, rubbing tears away.

It's all really unfair for Meredith. He feels disgusting, like he's cheating on her. And essentially, he kind of is, with a woman that doesn't exist anymore. She doesn't know any of this. It's his secret.

She didn't need to know and he needed a fresh start.

But he loves her too.

He loves Meredith.

He needs a complicated distraction because this feeling that he's currently feeling is leaving him breathless.

"Niklaus Mikaelson, 36, presented with a rare spinal subependymoma manifesting as progressive weakness of his right lower extremity over an 8-month period. MRI showed diffuse enlargement of the spinal cord from T-2 to T-7. A laparotomy is needed to remove the tumor." he said.

Subependymomas are surgically curable tumors, so if the tumor is well demarcated, the mass can be totally removed.

He can't do this. Grunting, he pulled at his hair. It's Addison's favourite part of him. His hair.

Goodness! Addison is everywhere today. Why?

He needs to know.

Even his patient's files aren't fulfilling his need of a distraction.

What's wrong with him tonight?

He felt fine all day.

What's this feeling?

He's got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and so he grabbed his phone and dialled a number he never thought he'd have to dial ever again.

After a few rings, the uncannily familiar voice echoed, "Detective Beckett."

It's been years since he left New York and he's not certain if she still remembers him.

"Detective Beckett, umm, this is Dr. Shepherd. Derek, I mean. I don't know if you still-"

"Yes, I remember." she interrupted, "What can I do for you, doctor?"

He don't know. He don't even know what he's hoping for with this phone call.

"I was wondering if you got any more leads on my wife's disappearance."

Silence.

Disappearance. He's using that word loosely because truly, it can mean anything.

He'd rather that she be missing than dead because a world without Addison is a world he wouldn't want to be in.

"Your wife's case has been handed over to the Cold Case Unit ... It's been seven years, Dr. Shepherd."

She's saying that like it should mean something. Seven years. They're not mutually exclusive. Seven years. That doesn't mean she's dead.

The cops have already given up in her.

He's trying - he have tried to look for her. He had hired a private investigator. He even assisted on field searches to look for her body. He even worked with Mark to find her.

"... I'm so sorry, Dr. Shepherd. But the likelihood of-"

He knows.

He doesn't want to hear it all over again and so, he hang up.


I open my eyes and I'm still in cupboard. Ma didn't come get me. I think maybe she is still sleeping. I hear all yesterday night. All loud banging and roaring and Ma sounded so weird. Crying. He was hurting Ma and I didn't help because Ma always says to never go out of cupboard when he is in room, even if he is hitting her. But I was so scared also. I don't even think I can help.

Yeah, he is called he. Sometimes, him or his. I don't know his name. Ma never told me. She says it's not important, but I think she don't even know what he is called.

Ma should ask him, so we can call him his name, like Ma calls me Christopher because that is my name and I call Ma Ma because Ma is her name. He, him, his is confusing sometimes.

I really wonder what his name is. Maybe he has no name, that's why. Maybe he is not real for real. Maybe it's because he's a ghost, like Casper the Friendly Ghost. But he is not friendly, so I don't know.

Ma hates him. She's scared of him, I think. She doesn't like talking about him and she always shouts at me when I do.

Stop it, Christopher!

I don't like talking about him!

Would you just drop it already!

When Ma shouts, she is scary and sometimes, I hide and sometimes, I cry because Ma can get real mean when she's angry. But I always forgive Ma because she is my Ma.

Today is one of those days when Ma won't wake up properly. She's here but not really. She stays in bed with the pillow on her head. I'm scared maybe she is ... So, I hurry to climb up onto bed and go up really close and listen till I hear her breathe. I whisper really softly. "Ma, are you wake?"

I'm just one inch away, my hair touched Ma's nose and Ma moved a little further to wall and made a soft sound.

I now can see red and purple dirty on her neck and wrist and cheek. I rub the one on her neck and Ma went jumping a little, hissing like an angry snake.

"Christopher...don't -" her voice is higher now. Maybe she is crying.

"Sorry." I kiss Ma like she does when I am sad. Three kisses. Forehead, nose and lips. But I can't because pillow is covering Ma's face, so I just kiss Ma's hair softly three times.

Ma's hair is red and mine is not. I don't know why. If I come from Ma, then why my hair is not red. Mine is brown.

But my eyes are like Ma's.

Jumping down of bed is fun. I pretend I am Superman and soaring through the clouds. Whoosh! Ma doesn't want me jumping because I might break a something in room or my bone. Ouch! But Ma is in bed now. She can't say anything.

I eat my cereals slowly, one square at a time, so I won't get hungry fast. Cereals, I don't really like. Just a bit. I like eggs and toast but I don't know how the stove works. Ma says to never touch the stove because it can burn me.

It burn Ma once. Bad stove! It made her skin all red with bubbles that had water in them and her skin was peeling. It was disgusting.

I stand on my chair to wash the bowl and spoon. It's very quiet when I switch off the water.

I think he put the marks on Ma yesterday night.

Maybe he squished her neck.

I don't have a bath today, I just get dressed. Ma and I bath together so we can save water.

There's hours and hours, hundreds of them. And I don't know what to do now. I can't do math because Ma is not here. Ma likes math. And I like it too.

Maybe I should do some jogging. From this wall to that wall. I run and I pretend Ma is next to me. I tell Ma she is so slow. Slowpoke! Ma doesn't answer because she is not really next to me. Just pretend.

Ma is actually really really fast. Her legs are so long and I can never catch up to her. Sometimes I can but I know she is only letting me beat her.

I'm really tired now and I try to breathe. Ma gets up to pee, no talking with her face all blank and her eyes all red. I put a glass of water and crackers beside bed but she just gets back under blanket with her orange painkiller bottle.

I hate when Ma's like this. It makes me so sad. But I like that I get to watch TV all day because Ma normally doesn't like that. I put it on really quiet at first and make it a bit louder at a time. Too much TV might turn me stupid like him or into a zombie but Ma's like a zombie today and she's not even watching TV.

There's Bob the Builder and Spongebob Squarepants, Ma's favourite. Maybe I should tell her it's on. Maybe she will get out of bed.

No. I don't think Ma would want to today.

Barney and Friends do hugs and Barney is now telling me to hug my friends but Barney don't know I can't today. Ma is not feeling well.

How can TV pictures be of real things?

Ma says they are all real for real. I don't understand how.

I think about them all floating around in the outside. You know, Ma said there are people and things outside of this walls and I don't understand that. Ma said the bald moustache doctor who gives advice to people is real for real. But not SpongeBob or Bob the Builder because they are only drawings, coming to life for TV.

It's so confusing.

The cars and the police and the airplane and all the hes and shes and the doctors and their patients, all are floating past skylight. There are skyscrapers as well and cows and ships and trucks, it's all crammed out there. I counted all the stuff that might crash into room. Oh my god! It's all so scary.

I go really close to Ma again and whisper wake up but she doesn't.

Ma is still breathing. And that's good.

Ma will be back tomorrow, I tell myself.


Stepping into the clean, sterile operating room, he greeted the doctors and personnel with a simple good evening (it's not a good evening because the dread in the pit of his stomach is still very much present.) while the surgical technician fitted him into latex gloves and tied the light blue surgical gown around his waist. He thanked them for their assistance because he's not the Great God of Neurosurgery, he's just an ordinary human being. It's the polite thing to do. And besides, the surgical technicians are always under appreciated.

It's just another standard, straightforward and routine aneurysm clipping to prevent the swelling from rupturing.

Textbook surgery.

It's something he's done a billion times before - nothing new or interesting.

He'd like to think he could do this procedure with his eyes close.

Cut. Suture. And close.

No messy emotions in between.

He'd really like to distance himself from this irk that's been eating away at him since last night. He's been ignoring it all day but she's still there, she or something that's making him think of Addison is here, poking relentlessly at him to notice her.

Cut. Suture. And close.

Ok, not so literal

It's more like; cut, drill, saw, cut, clip, suture and then, close.

It's basically more or less just like that.

Everyone else is already ready. Scrubbed. Sterile. Sanitised. He can feel all of their knowing gaze on him, more than a dozen pair of eyes were waiting, waiting for him to say those words. It's luck, practice, fortune. Maybe magic, even. Because every surgeon has that one thing that they do right before their first cut and his is his words of wisdom.

"On your count, Dr. Shepherd."

It's a beautiful day to save lives.

They're all waiting for that.

But today is not a beautiful day.

"Ten blade." he held out his latex covered hand and he can almost feel the atmosphere shift. Almost. The scrub technician was hesitant at first but she handed him the scalpel.

It's just mindless superstitions anyway. It's not like his patient's life solely rests on the hands of those words.

It's simply just a meaningless quote.

Looking up at the gallery, it's Meredith that he sees and she nodded at him with a thin smile. Meredith - she's different, very different than Addison in someways.

Humble. Patient. Young.

Different but also similar one way or another.

He doesn't know what he's rambling about in his head. He isn't too sure of anything today and so he made the first incision, behind the hairline.

Her outfits are impeccable.

No - were.

Her outfits were impeccable. Impeccable, pretentious, and classy, just like her.

Sweet like vanilla or sometimes even like flowers. Chanel No. 5, he absolutely misses that scent. He even went as far as gifting Meredith with that bottle for Christmas just to smell it again. She liked it, she said she really did. But he never smelt that floral-citrus scent on her. And when he nonchalantly asked her about it, she apologised for not wearing it because that scent wasn't her liking.

He should've known that not everyone shares the same taste.

It's a memory that he's reminiscing right now.

Blue. Big smiles - grinning from ear to ear. Perfect white shiny enamels. Arm in arm in arm. All three of them.

Well, technically the four of them.

The fourth being Mark's girlfriend-of-the-month/date to their Graduation Dinner. She was practically glued to him the entire night and no matter how hard they all tried to unglue her off of him, she melded back to him even stronger.

Addison thought she was annoying since she was a talker. She wasn't like them - doctors. She was a ... he doesn't even know and he don't think he ever even knew what she does for a living. And he hasn't got the slightest idea what her name was because he gave up knowing the names of Mark's conquests a long time ago.

Well, he knows one, remembers her name like it's half of who he is. He knows one because she never was suppose to be one of his conquests.

Needless to say, they didn't even get to take a decent picture of just the three of them without Mark's date inserting herself, in the literal sense, into every picture.

A psycho. Mark has always had a taste for the crazies.

The skin and muscles are now lifted off the bone and folded back, allowing him to make four burr holes in the skull with a drill to expose the brain and meninges.

She wore midnight blue that night at the dinner. Low-cut with a slit along the side that made her legs look even longer. He can still remember the itchy feel of the rough sequins that was embedded in the dress as it scrapped at his palms, overlapping one tiny sequin over the other that really looked more like fish scales than anything else. But she looked beautiful in midnight blue, in that dress that scintillated their reflection across the room.

It was a night of laughter. A night void of pressure and stress. A night to celebrate their success and the fact that they had survived. A night to commemorate their four years of continuous studying, staring at tongue twisters, memorising hair-jarring words. It was one night out of a lifetime of forever sleepless nights.

She again wore midnight blue at Savvy's wedding. A bridesmaid, of course. She was only his girlfriend, then. He quickly realised that ruby red wasn't his only favourite colour on her. And something within him, in that joyous day for their dearest friends, came to the conclusion that he'd love to see her in white too.

He had shared that very conclusion with Mark that day. He's now nauseous all over again.

And she looked even better in white.

Phenomenal, actually.

It's a smooth entry to the sylvian fissure.

See, he doesn't need fallacies to do his job right. He's a good surgeon. He has this all under control.

So, when he brushed past her at the doors that day on her last surgery, he never ever thought it'd be her last, covered in midnight blue scrubs, there was nothing, he realised and that shocked him. No spark, the flame doused, the power cut and she parted her lips and he can see her forming the beginnings of a sorry because she always was that; sorry, even when it's all his fault. Only this time, she's not sorry, and neither is he.

He's sure, even then, he was in total oblivion as to what they were in cahoots about.

Were they even arguing that day? Or perhaps just mad at each other because that has become the norm.

He remembered that they made plans to go out to dinner. Obviously that night ended so so terribly wrong for the both of them.

He had fallen asleep at an on-call room, telling himself that he'll just rest his eyes for half an hour. But half an hour turned to two and he rushed home in a frenzy because he knows Addison and she must be livid and was probably halfway to Canada by now.

What went down that night is history. And he never saw her again.

Why were they always arguing?

He's smiling as he added a temporary clip on the A2 ACA distal and he doesn't even know why because the memory he's recalling isn't even a pleasant one.

Luckily the surgical mask is masking what can only look as though he's going insane.

Now, with the aneurysm neck exposed, he placed another clip.

Suddenly it's become crucial to recall what her last surgery was and he's now wrecking his brain to retrieve that knowledge.

A birth or five perhaps? C-sections? Hysterectomy? Ligation?

They've always looked for each other's names on the boards.

A. Shepherd

D. Shepherd

And he found himself looking for her name even after.

He vaguely recalls her telling him that she was picked to assist on a TTTS case. It surely would've been a great opportunity for her. She've always talked about wanting to specialise in maternal and fetal medicine.

She would've been on the top. She would've been the best of the best. She would've surpassed all expectations.

It's sad because she just ran out of time.

A continuous screeching noise resonated somewhere and he just can't seem to stop it.

He's still calm. Maybe even too calm, to be honest. But in a pivotal situation like this - his patient coding on his table - collectivity is key.

He's trying, he really is trying to stop the blood from gushing everywhere but really, it's pointless now as the nurse read him the BP.

He had ruptured the aneurysm during the remodelling.

8:56pm

Time of Death.

Now it seems like a great idea to have said those words.

It's a beautiful day to save lives.

Why couldn't he have said it?

What's the harm?

It's simple. Nine syllables. Seven words.

He's walking away like he does best, defeated. It's actually the best way to deal with difficulties. Like he did when he walked in on his wife and best friend, in the throes.

He opened the door to their bedroom and saw what he wish he hadn't, then walked away.

But really, what could he have done?

They were both naked and he couldn't stand to look at Addison.

He squinted into bright lights at the pit and then stopped, his chest tightening when he saw uniformed officers and two in suits looking his way.

They're not looking at him but at his direction.

He's taken back to New York again, seven years younger.

Scrubbing in and in the middle of cleaning subungual areas with a nail file, his Chief and two detectives in suits barged in unannounced.

In all truths, he was actually waiting for that to happen because it's always the spouse that's the first suspect. Always. And he knew that.

And somehow, the cops just really wanted him to be it, the man who obliterated his wife's existence off the face of this earth. And he can't really blame them for concluding that because he had motive to want his wife dead and he was the last person who had seen her.

"I'm sorry, Derek. I tried." Chief had apologised sincerely.

He didn't utter a word when they told him to put his hands behind his back or even when he was roughly pushed out of the scrub room with handcuffs that were very purposefully fastened too tight.

"Derek Shepherd, you're under arrest for the murder of Dr. Addison Shepherd. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney ..."


I read the five books all by myself and only bits of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, I'll wait for Ma to read it to me. Mostly, I just sit and tell myself that Ma will be back tomorrow.

I think of drawing but I don't feel like it now. Maybe I can draw Ma in hospital with her friend, Addison. But I don't even know what Addison look like or her hair colour. I'll have to ask Ma tomorrow.

So many questions are in my head, I don't think I can remember all.

I want to wake Ma up and ask about outside with the actual humans and the many things all zooming around.

I wasn't believing her before and Ma got mad because I wasn't listening and wouldn't let her talk.

Ma, I believe you now. Please wake up.

I want to shake Ma but I'm scared Ma might be angry if I do that. Or maybe she will not switch on at all even if I shake her because he squashed her neck so hard. I go up very close again. Ma's arm is covering her eyes. The marks are all red and purple and bright. It look so scary and painful.

I think I can see his big fingers on Ma's neck.

I hate him too.

I'm going to kick him till I break his butt. I'm going to help Ma when he comes back later. I'll kick him and kick him until I break him, like he broke Ma. I'll zap stupid door open with TV remote and whiz into outside and get everything at the real stores and bring it back to Ma.

I cry a bit but with no sound.

I watch a show of weather and one of police detectives finding the bad guy so they can bring him to jail for killing the good guy.

So, are policemen real for real?

Are they floating outside?

I nibble my fingers, Ma can't tell me about germs.

Germs can make you dead but I'm not, so I guess Ma is lying.

I wonder how much of my brain is gooey now and how much is still ok.

Have I turned to zombie already?

Ma's never like this for more than one day. I don't know what I will do if I wake up tomorrow and she's still like this.

What if she's sad like this again tomorrow?

Then, I'm hungry again. I have a banana even though it's a bit green. Ma haven't eaten all day. Her water and crackers are still beside bed. I worry about Ma because she's always not hungry. She says she's not hungry but I know she is because I can hear her tummy.

I'm always hungry and she's always giving me her food to eat. I tell her no but she tells me not to waste food. Maybe she doesn't like the food she cooks but they're always so yummy.

Ma should eat so she can be healthy and strong like me. But I don't know why she's not eating.

Sometimes I like poking the bones on her shoulders because it's always sticking out.

Go back inside, bones. You're hurting Ma.

When Ma stands, she's so long. I don't think I can ever be as long as her.

Dora is in TV now. She's finding her way to the castle. Yea, she's my real friend too. She's pretty like Ma. She's real for real, Ma said, but only cartoon real.

It's confusing.

Superman is cartoon real but there is a real man who plays him on TV. Trees are real in TV and in outside too.

Skateboards and cars and so are girls and boys, they're all real for real.

How can they be real when they're so flat?

I don't know. I'm still trying to understand.

When he comes again, Ma and me could make a barricade. We could shove bed against the door so it doesn't open.

Won't he get a surprise!

I'm laughing now.

"Let me in," he will shout, "or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house down."

Stupid he!

Grass is only in TV and so is fire, but fire could come in room for real if I push the stove button and red jumps onto my sleeve and burns me up.

I'd like to see that but not it to happen to me.

Air is real and water is real for real only in bath and sink. Rivers and lakes and oceans are only in TV. Because if rivers, lakes and oceans just whizz around in outside, wouldn't it would make everything wet?

I don't know.

I want to shake Ma and ask her if ocean is real.

Room is really real, but maybe it's got a cloak of invisibility on like Harry from Harry Potter and nobody knows we're here.

I want to be in bed with Ma. Instead I lay on rug, making snow angels like I saw on A Christmas Carol. Ma makes me watch that on Christmas Day. I don't really like it but Ma does and it makes her smile, so, I guess, it's okay.

I do snow angels hundreds of times until my arms and legs ache.

When it's dark, I try and eat more baked beans that I had before but they're disgusting now. Mushy and gooey. Maybe that's what my brain looks like. Yuck. I have some bread and peanut butter instead. I'm looking for the jar of jelly but I can't find it anywhere. I think we finished it all already.

I'll remind Ma to ask for some for next week's grocery shopping.

I open freezer and put my face on the bags of peas and spinach and yucky green beans, I keep it there till I'm numb. Even my eyelids. Then, I jump out, shut the door and rub my cheeks to warm them up.

I still can't feel my face, it's all cold and numb. I like the feeling.

Looking up, it's really dark in skylight now. Maybe moon is here today. I don't know. I can't see him showing his big shiny face tonight. Maybe clouds are covering moon.

I get into my sleep t-shirt. Right arm into right sleeve, left arm into left sleeve. I wonder if I'm dirty because I didn't have a bath today. I try to smell myself, I think I smell okay.

Ma didn't get up all day and she didn't have a bath too. But Ma always smells nice, sweet like flowers.

In cupboard, I lie down with blanket tight around me but I'm still so cold. Oops! I forgot to up the thermostat today. That's why it's cold! I only just remembered. Silly me! But I can't do it now. It's night.

I want to sleep with Ma tonight but I'm scared that he might come tonight.

What if I'm in bed with Ma and he comes?

I don't know if it's nine yet, it's too dark for seeing watch. But I tiptoe into bed extra slow so Ma won't notice. I'll just lie near Ma. If I hear the beep beep then, I can jump back to cupboard real quick.

What if he comes and Ma won't wake up, will he be madder?

Will he make worse marks on Ma?

What if Ma can't protect me?

I stay wide awake so I can hear him come and kick his butt when he hit Ma again.

He doesn't come but I still stay awake.

Ma is wake now. I can hear the orange bottle rattling, she's taking another painkiller.

Sometimes I think Ma eats too much of that and not real real food. If Ma stops eating those pills, maybe Ma will be hungry then. Ma says she needs it or she'll be sick. But Ma is still sick when she eats it. So, maybe she should just stop eating it.

"Ma." I whisper in her ear, "Are you hungry?"

Ma's face is buried in pillow and she just shake her head, "No, baby...I-" her voice crack and I know she is crying again. She doesn't let me see her tears but I know she is crying. So, I hug her middle tight and tell Ma that I love her so so much.

She doesn't tell me back because she's crying but it's okay because I already know she loves me very much.

It's so many hours now and Ma is making sounds which means she is sleeping. I can't sleep because I want to ask Ma why he said don't forget where she got me.

Don't I come from Ma?


How did you like this chapter? I hope you enjoyed. Please REVIEW. And once again, I apologise for the late update.

Don't worry The Montgomeries and Mark are coming next chapter.

Also check out my one shots of this couple of the year! Haha!