Chapter 8

San Francisco, CA - 2022

Halona threw on a pair of oversized sunglasses, slipped out the back door, and hurried to the garage. She jumped into the rental car and slammed the door, the thin metal feeling useless against the mess she knew awaited. The second she pulled out of the driveway, all hell broke loose.

A mob of photographers swarmed her car, their cameras clicking like crazy and their shouts a jumbled mess. Halona wouldn't give them what they wanted, though. She kept her head down, chin buried in her coat collar.

As she navigated through the city streets, Halona's eyes were drawn to the stark reality around her. The homeless population, which had always been a concern, seemed to have exploded overnight. Tents and makeshift shelters lined entire blocks, a testament to the growing crisis. She watched in dismay as a clearly intoxicated man stumbled into traffic, narrowly avoiding disaster. At a stoplight, Halona witnessed a scuffle unfold – a young woman clutching her purse as two men tried to wrench it away. The scene left her feeling helpless and shaken, a grim reminder of how much had changed in her absence.

Reaching the building across the street, Halona parked in the mostly empty lot. The quiet was deafening after the chaos she'd just left behind. Stepping into the plain lobby, she took the elevator to the eighth floor. The whole place was unfamiliar – muted walls, muffled voices, everyone wearing masks. It did nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her. "Ms. Blackwater?" The receptionist's voice chimed, breaking Halona out of her thoughts. The receptionist, a friendly woman with a name tag that read "Sarah," gestured towards a cozy-looking office. "Dr. Paulson will see you in a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."

The office was small but tastefully decorated. Soft throw pillows adorned a plush armchair, and a calming nature scene hung on the wall. Halona's gaze drifted towards the window, seeking solace. But the view offered little comfort. Empty office buildings, and boarded-up retail stores formed a desolate landscape. People scurried on the street below, masked figures flitting through the city. A sigh escaped her lips as she sipped the lukewarm coffee.

"Ms. Blackwater?" A gentle voice broke the silence. A tall, slender woman with a kind smile stood in the doorway. Her name tag read "Dr. Paulson." "Please, call me Dianna." She extended a warm hand.

Halona stood, her own hand feeling clammy despite the air conditioning. "Nice to meet you." Taking a deep breath, she blurted out, "I don't know how this works. Therapy. Do I, like, lie down on a couch or something?"

Dianna chuckled, a soft sound that put Halona slightly at ease. "You can if you'd prefer," she said, gesturing to the plush armchair. "But there are no rules here. You can sit, walk around, whatever feels comfortable. We can talk about anything you want."

Halona settled onto the inviting couch. "Why is everyone wearing masks?" She blurted out, the question that had been gnawing at her since she'd stepped outside.

Dianna's smile softened further. "We're still recovering from a global pandemic," she explained. "It's caused a lot of changes in the world, while you were... away." Her voice trailed off, leaving a question hanging in the air. "How are you handling being back home?"

"Not well," Halona admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

"It must feel overwhelming," Dianna said gently. "Imagine waking up to a world that seems completely alien." She continued, "I reviewed your file and the police report before you arrived. I understand you've been through a lot."

Halona's chin trembled, threatening to erupt in tears. "I don't even..." she stammered, frustration lacing her voice. "I don't know what happened to me."

"What do you remember?" Dianna asked softly.

Halona shook her head, despair clouding her eyes. "Nothing that makes sense. It's all a blur." Then, a whisper of fear crept into her mind, "I think I'm going crazy."

Dianna offered a reassuring smile. "We don't like to use that term anymore."

"What else would you call it?" Halona asked, clinging to the doctor's words like a lifeline. "I don't know what's fucking real? I'm loosing my grip with reality."

Dianna didn't answer directly. Instead, she asked a probing question, "Why do you feel like you're losing your grip?"

Halona furrowed her brow, struggling to articulate the chaos within. "I'm not sure," she finally admitted.

"Do you hear voices?" Dianna pressed gently.

Halona hesitated, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. "Maybe?" she said uncertainly. "I think I did, but they're gone now."

"And you seem troubled by their absence?" Dianna observed.

Halona swallowed hard, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over. "The worst part is, I don't remember anything from the time I went missing. These visions, or dreams... they feel so real, but I can't tell what's real and what's not."

Dianna's expression turned serious. "There were no traces of drugs in your system when you were admitted to the hospital," she began, "but some substances can metabolize quickly and leave no evidence."

Halona's breath hitched. "So you think someone drugged me?"

Dianna shrugged, "It's a possibility the police are considering. It could explain the dreamlike state you're in and the memory loss. But there are other reasons why you might be blocking out what happened."

"Like what?" Halona's voice trembled slightly.

"Trauma," Dianna said, her gaze fixed on Halona's face. A flicker of pain crossed Halona's features, a silent confirmation of the doctor's words. "Our minds have a remarkable capacity for self-preservation," Dianna continued. "Sometimes, to protect ourselves from overwhelming emotional pain, we shut out traumatic memories. What's been the most difficult part of being back home, Halona?" Dianna asked gently.

The thought of her family was too much to bear. Every night, putting Isaac and Megan to bed used to be a normal part of her life. Now, those memories of their tiny bodies snuggled close, their kisses goodnight, felt stolen from her. Buck, her husband, the one who always made her laugh and filled their home with warmth, was gone too. His absence left a huge hole in her heart, a constant ache she couldn't ignore.

But these thoughts were dangerous. Dwelling on them felt like a bad idea, something that could send her to a locked room with padded walls. A shiver ran through her as the memory came back strong and clear. Closing her eyes tight, Halona fought back the flood of images threatening to overwhelm her. Each picture was a painful reminder of everything she'd lost.

"Hey," he said, sincerity lacing his tone. He reached out, his hand hovering before taking hers in a warm, reassuring clasp. "I'll help you if I can."

"Promise me…" She hesitated, then met his gaze with a flicker of vulnerability. "Promise me, you won't let them lock me away."

"Of course not." His startled reaction came without hesitation.

"Am I… dead?"

"No, Halona." Buck squeezed her hand gently. "You're not dead."

"Then…" she faltered, her voice cracking. "I'm afraid I'm losing my mind."

"Hey," he soothed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb. "You're not losing your mind. Everything's just a bit… overwhelming."

"That's an understatement." She choked out, a single tear escaping and tracing a glistening path down her cheek. "What year is it?"

Buck's brow furrowed. "Eighteen seventy."

Halona squeezed her eyes shut, another tear escaping. A sob escaped her lips, muffled against his chest as she crumpled into him. He wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her voice thick with emotion.

"There's nothing to apologize for,"

Halona tried to hold on to the memory, but it slowly dissipated. The loneliness setting into her heart.

The therapist's voice cut through the fog of Halona's memories. "Where were you just now?" she asked gently, concern etching lines on her forehead.

Halona blinked, dragged back to reality. "I-I want to say memories," she stammered, "But more like..." The image of Buck's face twisted in fear as she dropped the pocket watch flashed behind her eyes, sharp and painful. "Hallucinations, I guess."

Dianna's gaze softened. "How often do you have these thoughts?"

"It's not just thoughts," Halona choked out, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to comfort herself. She rose and walked to the window. "It's physical too. Sometimes it feels like..."

"Your body is healing, Halona. And so is your mind. It will take time, like any deep wound."

"So I'm not crazy?" Halona asked.

Dianna's smile was both reassuring and sad. "No, you're not crazy. You've endured a trauma. And like any trauma, it leaves scars. It will get better. As you heal, these episodes will become less frequent, until they fade away completely."

Halona turned and looked out the window, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "That's what I'm afraid of."