Freeze Frame

Is this real?

Light slowly split the darkness as the room emerged in a blinding blur. Pounding blood rang in his ears. With each blink, the blurs became clearer. I was sitting in a white-walled, empty room floored with gray tile. My gaze dragged across the room, making out a chair a few feet in front of me, and a tray to my left covered in blood-soaked gauze. A single strip of mirror at eye-level ran around the wall, which trapped my gaze when I caught  a bruised, bloody face reflecting back at me.

 My heartbeat spiked. I leapt to stand but went nowhere as my wrists screamed in agony. The feel of rough rope coiled around my wrists, keeping my arms locked behind my body. I cocked my head back and exhaled angrily. Shit. An aching pulse pounded from the back of my head. 

Was I hit from behind?

Memories started to return: the start of this assignment, the switch from intel to field, a year of recon, and three months of scattered reports back. Yet, I couldn’t remember how I got in this room. I returned to scanning, and my eyes went wide when I noticed a second tray to the right carrying a tube of green gel and needles haphazardly strewn about. Furiously, I fought the straps until a searing burn emerged. Deep slashes ran up my forearms. Every movement tightened the rope and drew fresh blood. 

I attempted to piece it all together. Must have been found while reporting back. My head was on a swivel. Knocked out, dragged here, passed out. I beat myself for being so careless. My eyes searched the room for something to cut myself out. A pair of scissors peered out from underneath the gauze, but it was too far from my tied-down arms. Panicked, my head rolled around looking for anything. Besides the trays and the other chair, the room was empty. I moved my arms as much as I could, running fingers for anything sharp until one caught the edge of what felt like a rough loose screw. Stretching down, I tried rubbing the rope against the edge. After a minute or so, a slight bit of tension gave. Sharp enough, I thought, and went to work. 

Is this real? I couldn’t believe I got myself into this position. How long have I been here? It had to have been at least a day. No doubt the team was already looking for him. Protocol dictates any operative going 24 hours without reporting automatically triggers a search of their tracker’s last location.

The tracker! I stopped sawing straps and reached for my left forearm with the other hand, feeling for the tracker’s slight bump under skin. But the moment my finger made contact with something wet, I drew back in pain. Damn it, they found it. I was alone. 

The room went cold when a door behind creaked open. Heavy steps made their way around the chair to reveal a man in a white lab coat. He took a seat in the chair across from me, holding only a clipboard and a pen. He was clean-shaven with short black hair sprouting puffs of gray along the edges. He made a quick note and then looked up to meet Will’s stare.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Horner.” The man said calmly, hiding any motive from his voice. “How are we feeling?” 

I remained silent, planning my next move. The man in the lab coat obscured my view in the mirror. The door behind me he came out of, did it close? I tested the chair, pressing toes into the floor to feel the chair’s front legs barely rise. If I could throw myself back hard enough into the open doorway and somehow close the door behind, maybe I could run— 

“I need you to talk to me.” The man interrupted my thoughts. “This doesn’t work if you don’t talk.” His tone seemed oddly friendly, but his eyes were analyzing.

I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t know where I was, how I got here, or what they wanted from me. All I knew was that the team wasn’t coming. Fine, we’ll play your game.

I tried to speak, but no sound came out of my dried throat. A painful swallow later, I tried again. “And what would you like to talk about?” I carefully went back to work on the rope.

The man smiled. “Anything you’d like to, Mr. Horner.” 

“How about we start with where the hell am I?” 

The man scribbled something on his notepad before responding. “Where do you think you are?” I was already getting tired of this man’s lack of information. I needed to keep him talking though as to not draw attention to the rope fraying behind the chair. 

“Well, based on the welcoming decor and your sterile smile, I’d say this must be my hotel, which would make you the concierge?” I leaned forward and dropped my voice. “If that’s true, I’d like to lodge a complaint about the room.” The man stopped smiling and put his pen down.

“If you won’t take this seriously, we might as well not do this.” He stood up and headed for the door. “Shall we try at another time? Will could feel the rope tension giving, fray by fray. No, he’ll see the rope.

“Wait,” I said. The man stopped in front of me. I searched his face trying to read how to play the next steps. “I don’t know where I am, but I know they’re coming for me. Which means they’re coming for you.”  The bluff didn’t shake the man, as I expected. They had already found the tracker, but I needed to keep him in front of me. The man sat back down and drew his pen again.

“And who is ‘they’?” he asked. 

“You must know who I am,” I continued on the rope. “Which means you know who I work for and what exactly we’re capable of. My team will be here any minute now, and when they come, they’ll kill you right where you’re sitting.”  I didn’t think this would draw any fear from the man, as he went right back to writing on his notepad. Keep him busy. I looked back at the mirror, wondering if there was anyone behind it watching the two of them. The man finished writing and looked back up at me, only this time he said nothing. The two of us sat in frozen silence, each trying to read the mind of the other. The man didn’t take his eyes away from my face, but there was no anger or amusement in his expression. I noticed he did drop his flat affect, though. That look. Was that, pity? I placed one hand on another and shifted to the front of the seat.

“Mr. Horner, where are you?” He asked. The rope had almost given out. Just a few more moments.” 

“I told you, you sick –” 

“Will, answer me. Where are you?”

Will? Using my name caught me off guard. There was almost a touch of protection in his voice. What is he playing at? What does he want from me? Questions rolled around my mind as I searched my captor for answers, but the man’s expression hadn’t changed. He calmly awaited a response. Who is this monster?

“Please talk to me, Will.” Please? The word echoed in my ears. What kind of monster uses words like ‘please’? Just another minute and the rope would break free. I glanced back at the scissors hidden in gauze, wondering how fast he’d be able to grab them and slice the man’s throat once the rope broke. And even if he could, how many people would be waiting for him behind that door?

“Will, I need you to help me. Focus. If you can’t tell me where you are today, where were you yesterday? Or last week? Ground yourself, Will, remember.” My eyes rolled at the man’s mind games. Where is he going with this? Have I been here longer than a day? No. No, yesterday I was infiltrating their – no wait that was last week. Was it? Yes of course it was, I left for assignment a month ago – no was it three? When did I leave again? The world collapsed. I was no longer trying to break the rope, but rather remember the assignment. What the hell is happening? Was I drugged?

“Will, talk to me. Tell me about your team. What are their names?”

“My team? Yes, they –” My mind went blank. Why can’t I think of their names? I sat motionless trying to come up with their names or faces, but the harder I tried the more their faces faded. “I–I don’t know their names.”

“That’s ok, that’s ok. Then try telling me again, where are you?” The man was no longer wearing his white coat. When did he take that off?  

“I’m –” I stopped myself. The walls had somehow changed from empty and white to light blue carrying various artwork and photos. What the hell did he give me? A window appeared in the corner of the room, revealing a pine tree in the sun. In the other corner a dark oak desk, littered with papers weighed down by a laptop. This isn’t real, I’m seeing things. My chest tightened with panic.

“Breathe, Will. Breathe” I had forgotten how. I looked back and forth as the room kept changing like a mirage on a highway. A lamp appeared behind the desk, the tiled floor grew into rug, and the mirror that once encircled the room rolled up frame by frame until it was just a single panel hanging to the right. I took a long look at myself. The ends of my dirty blonde hair were no longer soaked in blood, and my face was free of bruises. What is happening to me? 

I closed my eyes and clutched my chest trying to steady each breath. My heart pounded under my hands, each beat giving the small consolation that I was at least still alive. My breath started to slow, and the storm in my head began to subside. That was until a thought occurred, How are my hands on my chest right now? I opened his eyes and looked down at two clean hands, the slashes on his left forearm now well-healed scars. Each wrist was perfectly fine with no rope holding them down. My eyes darted to either side of the chair praying to see two halves of cut rope on the ground. There was nothing. Now, I was sitting in a comfy armchair, and everything came back.

“Will? Can you tell me where you are?” The man asked again. I wiped my eyes and breathed deeply.

“I’m–I’m in your office, Dr. Richards.” The man smiled and let out a slight sigh, his posture relaxing ever so slightly. 

“Good. And can you tell me who you are?” A silly question to be asked in any other circumstance, nonetheless one that I had been asking myself frequently as of late. 

I prepared to recite the answer they had practiced last session. “Will Horner. I’m sixteen. I live at 803 Woodland Drive. Mom’s name is Amy, Dad’s is Clarke. ” Will took a pause between each statement as if each was like lifting a heavy weight.

“Great. And one more, can you remember, Will?” It took a moment for this question to register. Images of the interrogation room still danced in my mind. I shook my head and reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and took out a polaroid with chipped, brown edges. I was standing beside my older brother, Henry, and their parents. The four of them smiled while Henry was fake closing a film slate over my neck. It was hard to believe it had already been two years since the family had visited Hollywood Studios. My brother in classic fashion insisted on the cheesy photo. 

I flipped the polaroid towards Dr. Richards. “This is real.” 

“Glad to have you back with us, Will,” said Dr. Richards. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I woke up from a dream but never went to sleep.” I leaned back and ran fingers through my hair. “How long was I gone this time?”

“Only a few minutes,” said Dr. Richards. He started writing again, and I was painfully curious as to what was being written down.

“Was I saying anything, Sir?” I asked. Dr. Richards wobbled his head in an inconclusive answer, continuing to write. 

“Sort of mumbled a bit under your breath here and there, but you didn’t move or try to get up even. You just held a blank stare. “ I took this in and nodded relieved. I’ll take it, not the worst that’s happened. Dr. Richards continued “What about you? Could you hear what I was saying?”

My gaze dropped and I shook my head. “Not sure. I think so, maybe towards the end. But I’m not sure, Sir.”

“Will, I’ve told you, you don’t have to keep calling me sir.” 

“Well, Dr. Richards is a mouthful to keep saying.” I wasn’t a fan of doctors. Maybe it was from years of the subtle jabs my mother got from working as a nurse. Also, there was something off about the cookie-cutter persona they all seemed to portray. Each one walks into a room smiling, pretending they have a deep relationship with a total stranger. How is that remotely honest? They all act the same way too. Forced laughter in uncomfortable scenarios, and generalized cordial answers to tough questions. Not that it’s bad or hurtful. It just never seems real. I kept my distance from people like that. That and my fear of being looked at like a nutjob made coming here a taxing parental request. The first session I barely said a word, just listened on autopilot as my parents described the situation to Dr. Richards. The second session, I met with him alone, and to my surprise, all we talked about was ranking our favorite Star Wars films. Dr. Richards said his favorite was Return of the Jedi yet begrudgingly admitted the one he had seen the most was Attack of the Clones. His six-year-old always made them watch it for family night. I felt in good company to be around a fellow nerd. It wasn’t until their fourth session that Dr. Richards asked me about the episodes he had been having.

By now we had made it to session seven? Nine? I had lost count. Every time an episode occurred, my parents would call in an emergency session. After a few months, I stopped telling his parents when they happened. It was easier to lie. Still, Dr. Richards, against all odds of the cookie cutters, wasn’t the worst person I had ever talked to. I was even starting to like the man, but I sure as hell hadn’t grown comfortable with needing him. “How about Doc?” I asked.

“You can call me whatever you want. You’re in charge.” Will nodded.

“Ok then, doc. Why does this keep happening to me?”

“Emotional lability,” Doc answered. “These seem to come about during stress or emotional changes. At least the ones you’ve told of so far.” Doc sifted back through his notebook. “There was the time that you were an astronaut working in a space station by yourself? That happened soon after you got in that argument with your father.” He flipped forwards a few more pages. “Or the time you believed you were on a… quest for a lost amulet? I think I have that right. You mentioned an old friend was asking about those.” He gestured to Will’s forearm, which Will uncomfortably then covered with his sleeve. “And of course, there was the time at your old school –”

“I get it.” I didn’t want to think about that right now. This didn’t go unnoticed by Doc, however, he didn’t push. He put his pen down, folded up the notebook, and tossed it onto his desk.

“Do you remember what we were talking about before you went away this time?” Doc asked. I had to think for a moment and was embarrassed to not be able to come up with anything. “We were discussing your new school. You’re supposed to start next week.” 

Someone end my misery. I could not be less excited. “Doc, I don’t think I’m ready for another school. It’s just another group of kids that won’t understand.” Will was leaving Redboro High and starting his junior year at Pinehurst Academy, the arts school on the other side of the district. Under normal circumstances, I would actually have been excited by this. But after what happened at Redboro, it was hard to get excited about anything. 

Doc nodded and sat up straight, almost as if preparing for a speech. “I have homework for you. While we’re working at getting to the root of this. I need you to practice grounding yourself. Whenever you’re feeling emotional, or out of control, if you feel an episode coming on. I need you to repeat what we came up with.”

“I can’t ever tell when they –”

“I know, I know. But I think the more you practice this and the more we talk you’ll start to recognize the signs, and then you and I will be that much closer to getting control of this.” I hated this part, feeling out of control of the world. So much had changed in the last year I barely recognized normal anymore. His sessions with Dr. Richards had been some of the most reliable times of the year. God, that’s pathetic.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad this happened,” Doc said as if reading my thoughts. “At least that it happened here in my office this time, so I could witness it. Now, I know a little more about what we’re up against.” 

I could still feel the ghost of rope wrapped around my wrists. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, Will. You’ve been through a trauma. And the mind can stray to wild places when that happens. Which we’ll talk more about next time. ” He stood up and walked behind me, opening the door. “You’re a great kid, Will. And I want to help you. That is if you’ll let me.” I didn’t like opening up about my life, let alone the worst parts of it. But this new school, new people, I was terrified history might repeat itself. 

I stood up and nodded slightly. “Yes, Sir. I mean Doc. Sorry, sir. Shit.” I cupped my mouth, but Doc smiled and patted my shoulder.

“Tell me again. What do we say?” I held the photograph in my hands, my fingers tracing over their faces.

“My name is Will Horner, and this is real.” 

“One more time.”

I took a deep breath and clutched the photo tightly. “This is real.”