Chapter 42 Ch. 27.1
Ivanna wasn't sure what possessed her to randomly read through the report Dr. Sayid had given her the other day. Maybe it was the growing exhaustion of being stuck on Ethan's case but it didn't matter as much as the note that had scheduled her for an appointment with a psychiatrist.
She had never been one to buy in the idea of seeing such... She hated therapy, let alone psychiatry. Hell, it was meant for people or lunatics who roamed the streets with no idea of what was happening around them.
Yet, she somehow found herself seated stiffly in the leather chair, Dr. Hawthorne's office a gray color that seemed to envelop her in a cloud. The doctor himself was a man in his fifties, silvering hair slicked back, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"Miss," he began, hands folded over a file, "I've reviewed your neurological scans. Everything looks normal."
She blinked, leaning back. "So... nothing's physically wrong with my brain? Why did Dr. Sayid refer me here then?"
"Nothing that would explain the blackouts, the memory gaps, or the episodes of dissociation," he said. "Which leads me to consider another possibility: selective memory repression."
Ivanna's eyebrows shot up. "Selective... what now?"
"Your mind may be protecting you," Dr. Hawthorne said, his tone soothing. "There may be issues in your past... traumas so painful or confusing... that your unconscious mind has resolved to keep hidden. That would explain these gaps in your memory. Sometimes they just linger just below the surface until they are confronted."
"I... don't recall anything like that," Ivanna whispered, twirling a strand of her hair. Dr. Sayid had mentioned the same thing to her, but in different words she didn't expect to remember. She felt like he was just... Talking. Until she saw the note and now this doctor was saying the same thing.
"Exactly," he told her gently. "You don't consciously have to remember. Your mind is still functioning, still protecting you from what it perceives as too difficult. But to go on, you'll have to go cautiously back into your past. Old photographs, birth certificates, interviewing friends you know and trust. It will not be easy, but it's the only means by which you can understand why this is happening now."
Ivanna slowly nodded, her chest hurting with a new tightness. "And. if I don't?"
"Then these attacks may continue to occur at random. But confronting even fragments of the past makes you master of your life."
She was quiet for a moment, staring at the floor. The overhead fluorescent lights hummed softly, as though they were humming in synchrony with her whirling thoughts.
"Alright," she finally said, standing and slipping her coat back on. "I'll try."
Dr. Hawthorne gave her a small, encouraging nod. "Remember, curiosity can be a tool if it's tempered with care."
Outside, the afternoon sun felt unusually sharp against her skin. Ivanna tugged her scarf tighter around her neck and stepped onto the sidewalk. Her phone buzzed immediately in her pocket.
"Hello?" she answered.
"Ivanna! Where the hell are you? You're running behind!" her editor snapped.
"I... uh, just stuck in traffic," she lied easily, making sure no one was close enough to hear. "Everything's okay."
"Traffic? At 3:30 p.m.?"
"Yes, you know, city life." She muttered under her breath: If you only knew...
"Well, get here fast. We're swamped."
Ivanna hung up, shoving the phone back into her pocket. The last thing she wanted was for anyone at work to know about her memory lapses. Like anyone would ever think she was telling the truth.
By the time she reached the office, the room buzzed like a beehive on triple espresso. Phones were ringing continuously, keyboards clattering wildly, and her colleagues rushing past desks with the wild urgency only seen in newsroom chaos.
"Ivanna," her boss bellowed, waving her into his office without preamble.
She went in, seeing his serious expression. "What's going on?"
"A girl... Cleaning staff was found dead in a motel room," he said immediately, leaning against his desk. "And... listen to this... she seems to have been drained of blood."
Ivanna's mouth had become dry. "What do you mean drained?"
"Right down to the line," he said, opening up a file. "No trauma wounds visible, no blood in her system... It's odd, Ivanna. Something very out of the normal went on here."
She swallowed. "I'm still working on the Ethan Moreau story. The high school drug case—"
"Forget Ethan for now," he interrupted, voice firm. "The world has moved on. This girl... is more interesting."
++++
Zara walked back to her bed and sank back against her pillows, the faint trace of Ethan's presence still prickling under her skin.
Of course he's going to use his powers, she thought bitterly. Why wouldn't he? That's what people like him do.
She turned to grab her water bottle and almost fell off the bed when she saw her father standing in the middle of her room.
"Jesus, Dad!" she gasped, clutching her chest. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought you food," he said, holding up a paper bag. But then he hesitated, his gaze sweeping the room like he expected to find someone hiding in a corner. "Was someone here?"
"No," she said a little too quickly.
He set the bag on her nightstand and, without invitation, pulled out her desk chair and sat down. Zara, still frowning, reached for the bag and took out a burrito with a carton of fries.
She took a bite, flavor exploding in her mouth despite her annoyance—and then narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you just sitting there like you're about to interrogate me?"
"I got off the phone with your coach a few minutes ago," he said.
Zara chewed slowly. "Yeah... how's that my business?"
"She's sad to see your season end before it really starts."
Zara swallowed, grabbed a fry, and snorted. "Yeah, well, she still has her winner. Her golden girl—Raina."
Her father's eyebrows pinched. "You sound bitter. That's not very good team spirit."
"Oh, well, yeah," Zara said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I guess you just figured it out. We're not a fucking team, Dad. The season is over for me. I don't need to have any team spirit."
He sighed. "Your coach says she's going to meet the board. Try to get you cleared to participate this season."
Zara rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "That's like hoping you can fill a bowl with water while using a sieve. It's not happening."
"You could have a wildcard entry."
"There's no point in hoping," she said flatly. "They don't grant those. If you have nothing else to say, I'd like to eat in peace, thanks."
"Zara," he said, tone shifting. "Can we talk?"
She gestured at him with a fry. "We're talking. And I think we're done talking."