Stockholm
By Adelise M Cullens
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Adelise M Cullens 2013
This is for my children, who I love more than any words can express.
For Owen, my best mate and more, who stood by me through everything, I
And for Alex and Jo, you are my critics, my editors, my friends, and my parents. I love you.
I am awake. The darkness is thick, suffocating. The air is so still, it is like being under water, deep in the depths of a cold ocean, drowning in a quiet tomb of nothing. I try to move from where I am lying, but I can’t. I feel cold and damp and confused. I look around, but see nothing.
I can’t remember much before now, just my name.
“Hello! My name is Aaron. Aaron Thompson,” I try to speak, but all that comes out is a few inaudible murmurs. My mouth isn’t covered or gagged, so I try again. “Hello, can anyone hear me?” But once again, nothing more than dribble. I sound like a drunk who has bit his tongue.
I feel panic creeping up on me, but I try to out run it. Swim away.
You must be dreaming. Okay Aaron. Just close your eyes and then when you open them you’ll find yourself awake. Okay? Go!
I do as I instruct, it does not work as I hoped. I can barely tell if my eyes are open or closed.
Maybe try pinching yourself? I grasp at straws. I try to lift up my hand to pinch myself, but I feel restrained and weak. I can feel my arms and legs, but I can’t move them.
Fear raises its ugly head, a sea monster in the pit of my belly, in the ocean of nothing that surrounds me. It is coming for me in the darkness; its teeth are nipping at my heels.
This feels so real. This doesn’t feel like a dream. Don’t think such stupid things; of course, it’s a bloody dream. Oh great now I’m arguing with myself. I stop the internal dialogue and try not to think.
...Why can’t I remember anything? Oh, get real Aaron! You know this isn’t a dream!
“Where am I?” I demand. The only thing that passes my lips is a few short shouts and screams. “What the bloody hell’s going on?”
Suddenly, I get a flash of a memory. There is the familiar smell of eucalypts and barbeque in the air. There are two young children, a girl and a boy. They sit on swings. The sun gleams on their smiling faces. The girl’s long, brown hair floats behind her as she drifts through golden sunshine. The boy laughs as he stretches his feet to get higher.
Clara. Josh.
“Oh my god! Clara! Josh! Where are my children?” More squawks. “Please, someone? Just, please don’t hurt my children. I’ll do anything!” Not one of these words actually comes out of my mouth.
A light comes on and I can hear a voice. It is close, but quiet and unintelligible. “Please I’m begging you ... my children ... please,” I scream at the voice.
Thoughts of what could be happening to my children storm their way into my mind. My resolve begins to crumble and I still can’t see clearly. The light makes it worse. I see only glary shapes moving in front of me, coming closer, staring down at me. “Please don’t hurt me,” I cry.
I think they begin transporting me, but my senses are scrambled and the movement makes me feel sick.
I must be drugged. I feel floppy, uncoordinated. I begin to break down. “Where are you taking me?” I say, incoherently again. My tongue feels fat and useless. My frustration and fear build and finally I feel my eyes becoming wet with tears. Be a man! Men don’t cry! However, I think about my children again, drugged and bound and blind, like me.
I say a silent prayer for myself and my children – the only memories I seem to have – as tears pool in my eyes and overflow down the sides of my face. I try shouting again. “Please ... please ... what do you want with me?”
The voice is close to me. Restraining me. The voice forces something inside my mouth. Liquid floods over my tongue. I fight it. Spit it out and scream. It is forced in again, and my reflexes make me swallow and swallow and … it is so warming and soothing. So different to the cold blackness. I swallow and it brings so much comfort.
They are definitely drugging me. What will they do to me while I sleep? Will I ever even wake up again? Will I ever see my kids again? Clara … Josh … I try to fight it one last time, one more shout of muffled protest and then … Sleep.
It is hard to tell the reality from the nightmares, the dreams are so real. My son and my daughter on the swing, surrounded by that golden air. There is screaming, horrible, horrible screeching. Then, it is all gone. I am taken. There is blackness, and a crunching that is so loud that it sounds like it is inside my head. I feel the horror. I feel wet. Agony. Fear. Terror. More darkness.
So cold. So wet.
I am screaming, not quite awake but not asleep either. It is so hard to tell in this place, this cold, gloomy place. I am unable to retain self-control. The high primordial scream that comes out of my mouth is exactly the way my throat intended it. That is a first.
I try to look around again but it is so blurry and murky. I am so frustrated, I want to see, or just feel something. But just, not those dreams. Anything, but those dreams. I can still see my children in my mind. I can hear the screeching echo of the nightmare.
The voice wakes me, but I am still screaming. “Please, please just let me go home. I want to see my kids. Please don’t hurt my kids. I am begging you! Please!” I hate not being able to talk to you!
I cry out my frustration, my pain. I just want my kids. I just want to see. I want to know what you want from me! “What is it! What do you want from me?”
I forced to drink their drugs again. I spit it out and yell. But they are persistent. Once again, my throat’s instinct to swallow takes over and I take big gulps of the sedative.
I feel calm. I think of my kids and the golden sunlight again, but I am calm, almost happy. But, to my surprise, I find myself feeling thankful. I feel gratitude towards my captor for taking it all away. There is a word for that, isn’t there? Stockholm syndrome?
I drift off into a numb, dreamless sleep. No wet or cold. No screaming. No kids or drugs or voices, just sleep. Thank you.
It feels like it has been weeks of being kept in the dark. The same things every day. The darkness. The cold. The muffled voices, but none of them answering my nonsensical pleas.
A blast of light burns red through my eyelids and I squint, trying to see something ... Anything, but still nothing. The strange thing is, is that my eyes don’t seem to be covered; my vision is the problem, just like my voice and my hearing. It must be the sedative. I can hear the voice. It is close and moving me again. I feel cold and wet all the time and it is driving me crazy.
“Hello! My name is ...” is ... is ... I have to think hard to remember. “Aaron?” Nothing comes out clearly, and The Voice reveals nothing. I hold on to the image of my children on the swing.
Suddenly, I feel colder. Really cold. Fresh out of the shower on a cold winter’s day without a towel, kind of cold. I try hard to concentrate on the image of my children and that golden sunshine they are gliding through. Finally, I feel warmth, comforting and dry warmth.
They move me again. They keep me lying down, all the time, on my back. Although, I don’t even know if I could sit up. No one has told me anything nor has anyone told me what they want from me.
They must be giving me a hallucinogen. Colours and lights are moving in front of my face. I try to remember the names of the colours, but I cannot do that either. Why do I remember some things and not others? I remember words like ‘hallucinogen’, but I
don’t remember something simple — like the names of these bloody colours. Some are dark and warm; others are bright and make me feel happy.
I also hear sounds in the background, pleasant tinkering tunes. They sound as if they are playing in a far off land. Not alien, just distant. I watch and listen. I feel peaceful. I have stopped fighting. I feel too tired to fight. Maybe if they wanted to hurt me, they would have done so by now. Maybe.
I can hear The Voice talking to me.
Wait, why am I here again? My memory is becoming slippery. I remember my vision for just a moment. “Clara, Josh, where are they?” I begin to yell but, once again, I only burble. “Who are you and what do you want with me?”
Stop forgetting them Aaron! The Voice is tricking you. The Voice wants you to forget, they want you to forget everything.
I feel myself moving again. “Oi!” I struggle, feeling a little more movement and strength this time. I don’t feel so restrained anymore. I must be so drugged out of my gourd that I don’t need restraining.
“Stop moving me!” Then I feel warm, and safe. The Voice forces more of the soothing, warm sedative through my lips, and then ... Sleep.
Months pass, hopes and memories are fading. When I do remember them, I can barely remember my children’s faces or the shade of their hair. I try to remember my daughter’s name. Lara. Laura. Lauren. I get frustrated with myself all the time, but I can only grumble in complaint.
I am lying down again, watching the colours. They get brighter every day.
The Voice still talks to me. I have begun to notice certain sounds The Voice repeats to me. I just wish I knew what they meant. Maybe they are a different language, but I don’t know anymore.
“Maybe if I could understand you then I could give you what you want and I could go ...” Where do I want to go again?
I relax again and listen to the quiet plink-plonk of the tunes around me.
They are moving me. They move me so much that I have started to enjoy it. The gentle swaying and the promise of the soothing warmth The Voice gives me, which brings about my slumber. I settle down and enjoy the now comforting smell of my captor. The Voice is still better than any nightmares.
As The Voice forces me to take the soothing warmth, I am happy, so I try to keep my eyes open. My eyesight is improving and I can almost see the face of The Voice. I try to focus. I try so hard it hurts my eyes, but I give in and let myself slip into my sweet oblivion.
The nightmares are always the same.
Crunching. Horrifying. Wet. Agony. Fear. Terror. Darkness.
Two people surrounded by gold.
So cold. So wet.
Please wake up! Please wake me up!
I become conscious while being held by The Voice. I feel safe now, but the fear remains. Who are the people surrounded by gold? Why do I feel like I love them and why does it make me sad? I wish I could ask the Voice.
I sob, confused and saddened by the bad dream. I remember the pain like it was real. I still feel the fear inside. I still feel cold and wet. As if, it is more than just a nightmare.
The Voice will make it better. The Voice always makes things better. I hold on to consciousness a little longer and then fall back to sleep.
The colours are bright today. I wonder what they feel like. I have been getting stronger and stronger each day. I reach out to my colours. Oh wow, what is that? Is ... Is that mine?
A hand floats in front of me. A clear, crisp shape. I recognise what it is straight away. The first thing I have seen in a lifetime. Excitement builds up inside me and I laugh.
Did you just hear that? I laughed! I laugh again, uncontrollably. I hear The Voice coming close, talking cheerfully.
I have also begun to hear other voices, but neither come as close to me as The Voice, but they are there, in the background.
I try to stop laughing, but I can’t, I am so overwhelmed. So happy. It’s my hand! I can actually see my hand!
I cannot stop looking at the rare vision. I hold it out in front of myself for a while longer – turning it and twisting it, trying to get a view of it from every angle – before I have to put it back down from fatigue.
The Voice moves me to the close-by place where I have my soothing, warming drink. Excited from the day’s progress, I prepare myself to stay awake. I feel determined. If I can see my own hand, I am sure I will be able to see you, Voice.
I lay there drinking, when I see them. Big eyes. Beautiful brown eyes. Deep and bright and loving. I relax. I smile. The Eyes smile back.
“Hello,” I gurgle. I still cannot talk, but I don’t mind so much right now. I know, at one time, I wanted to be somewhere else ... but I don’t know why I would want to be anywhere but here.
The Voice and Eyes speak to me as always, repeating some words, but I still cannot quite tell what they are saying.
As sleep comes to take me away, I pray for no more nightmares. No more visions of pain and darkness. Of strangers of gold, without names or faces. Just sleep.
Just sleep.
I see her, The Voice, clearly now. She has big brown eyes and a smile that I try to mimic every time she gives it to me. Some days I move well and others not so well, but I know one thing, everything is gradually improving. Today she holds me up in front of a mirror and I look back and forth at her and then at the reflection.
I can see you twice. I smile and laugh. I love watching her.
My legs still feel too weak to hold my body, but I don’t worry, The Voice will not let me fall.
She repeats particular words to me. I still recognise the sounds, but not the words. I watch her mouth. Her lips push tightly together, curling in only slightly and then part open again. They then repeat this motion.
I try to copy the movement with my mouth. Is this right? As if she can hear my thoughts she nods her head and repeats the words.
Go on give it a go.
“Maa ma.”
I spoke! I finally said something!
Mama shows the same amount of excitement, “Mama,” she says happily. She turns her head to face behind her. He spoke kids, he finally spoke!”
One of the other voices comes close. I can hear them both.
This is amazing! “Maa maa,” I try it out again.
“Hey Clara! Quick, he is talking. Errr …” Mama sighs and shakes her head. “Your little brother is talking for the first time!” Mama calls out.
Clara? Why do I know that name?