Kristen Day - Forsaken

“Savannah?! Today?!” I moved my cell phone back from my ear several inches so Dee’s voice wouldn’t break my ear drum.

“That’s what she said.” I read over Dr. Hansen’s messy handwriting again, “My appointment is scheduled for 4:00pm.”

She sighed and took a deep breath. I could tell her blood pressure had increased in the five minutes we’d been talking. “Okay, I’ll cancel my plans and be home as soon as I can.”

“Thanks Dee, I’ll see you soon.” I didn’t want to go to Savannah any more than she did, but it didn’t look like we had a choice. Apparently, my issues were that severe. The dream was odd, sure, but I didn’t expect them to slap me with a psych ward bracelet just yet. Or maybe that’s where she was sending me. Maybe ‘Dr. Campbell’ was code for a straight jacket and padded walls. It might not be too bad. Instead of pity and sympathetic looks, they would just give me a shot of something strong to knock me out for a few hours. I could live with that.

Five hours later, we finally pulled into Savannah. I’d only been there twice before. Once when I was fourteen for a St. Patrick’s Day family trip, and once before that when I was too young to remember. From what I’d been told, I was left on the porch of the Police Station on Skidaway Island, which was located several miles southeast of Savannah. Unfortunately, they didn’t know where I had been born or who had dropped me off; just that I was discovered when I was approximately 8 months old. I tried not to think about what could drive a person to abandon their own flesh and blood.

Thankfully, the Sheriff found me when he came into work that morning. I was turned over to the state, put into foster care, and the rest was history. Anytime I thought about it, I was overcome with so many emotions; I had no choice but to push those thoughts out of my mind. Even if I had wanted to find my real parents, it would have been impossible. There were no records of my birth, so there was no way to track them down. Even my birthday, April 17th, was a guesstimate based on how old I appeared to be when they found me.

“Looks like we made it!” Dee wove through the already heavy traffic towards downtown Savannah. On the outskirts of the city, it could have been any other place in America with gas stations, McDonalds, and a Starbucks on every corner. But once we entered the city in earnest, the history and beauty were hard to ignore. As we passed beneath the canopies of the mangled live oak trees, I gawked at the 19th century buildings and cobblestone streets of the historic district. Finding somewhere to park near the River Walk was no simple task, however. We found a small spot between a massive truck and even larger SUV and finally found the door to Dr Campbell’s office on River Street.

“Go have a seat and I’ll take care of everything,” Dee assured me. The receptionist area had a simplistic beach theme with wooden pelicans and bright seashells adorning the white wicker tables, while potted palm trees stood watch in the corners of the room. I took a seat on one of the wicker chairs and picked up a magazine to read. I got no further than the first page, when a swinging door opened, and a young woman with golden skin and jet black hair came out to greet us. She appeared to glide across the floor in her long flowing cream-colored dress. I caught a glimpse of purple toenail polish, several toe rings, and realized she was barefoot. Her arms and hands were covered with silver bangles and rings of turquoise. Nothing about her resembled my vision of straight jackets and padded rooms which was instantly reassuring.

“You must be Hannah!” She stepped around Dee and shook my hand with enthusiasm, “I’ve been looking forward to our visit ever since I got the call from Diane.” Still grasping my hand, she led me back through the swinging door and into a large office. Dee trailed behind us, watching her with skepticism. Her office reminded me more of a small apartment, with one large room sectioned off into smaller areas. To our left was a sitting area dominated by a ceiling-to-floor bookcase overflowing with old books. The aroma of hazelnut and cedar warmed my soul and I imagined the depth of knowledge stored in that one bookcase. Toward the windows in the back was a small area full of toys for younger patients. The only thing missing was a big official desk that would look out of place anyway. I found a fluffy circular chair to fall into and began to wonder how I’d gone my whole life without sitting in something this comfortable. Dee took a seat on an elegant arm chair across from me. Dr. Campbell gracefully sat in the other chair next to Dee and smiled at both us.

“Would you girls like some water or maybe a cup of coffee?” She asked politely. Her genuine personality contradicted my personal stereotype of psychologists.

Dee instantly perked up, “I would love a cup of coffee.”

“How about a cappuccino?”

“That would be lovely!” With that one peace offering, Dee’s demeanor had taken a one hundred and eighty degree turn for the better.

“And for you Hannah?”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” I replied, anxious to get the session started and more importantly over with.

Dr. Campbell floated over to a slight kitchenette on the right side of the room and began punching buttons on what looked to be a very impressive Cappuccino maker. I could tell Dee was beginning to like her, too, or at least her taste in coffee.

After gingerly handing Dee a steaming cup, Dr. Campbell sat back down.

“Mrs. Whitman, I’m sure you’re aware as to how important patient/doctor confidentiality is, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside for a little bit, while Hannah and I talk.”

Dee seemed surprised at first, then gathered her purse, thanked her for the coffee, and walked back out into the lobby. Once she was out of sight, Dr Campbell turned her undivided attention on me.

“So, Hannah,” she began leisurely, “tell me how old you are.”

“Seventeen.”

“And when did you start having nightmares and blackouts?” she asked, writing furiously on her notepad.

“How’d you know about my nightmares?” I couldn’t help feeling paranoid.

“Just a guess.” She smiled encouragingly at me, but I felt there was something she wasn’t telling me.

“I used to have nightmares about normal stuff – people chasing me or falling. But then about three years ago they started changing and becoming more…um…real? And harder to forget.” I shrugged my shoulders, hoping to convince her it wasn’t a big deal.

“And the blackouts?” she prompted.

“I’ve never had them before last night. That was the first time. But it didn’t feel like a dream. It seemed like something more. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Your answer is perfectly fine.” She covered my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Looking down, she eyed the design on my wrist.

“How do you…?” She leaned in closer to get a better look. “I mean, how long have you had this?”

“For as long as I can remember. It’s just always been there,” I said.

“You don’t remember getting it? Seems like something you’d remember.” I started to feel like she was trying to catch me in a lie, so I decided she wasn’t going to get any more answers, no matter what she asked.

Giving my hand another squeeze, she sat back in her chair in deep thought. “I’m going to step out for a minute and speak with Doris, alright?”

“Okay…” I said with slight hesitation. The visit really wasn’t making much sense to me so far.

She gracefully rose from her chair and disappeared to find Dee. A couple of minutes later, they walked back in and both sat down watching me with serious faces. I had a bad feeling I wasn’t going to like what she had to say next.