The last few weeks she’d been having very vivid, yet elusive dreams of whispered words. They swore to protect her, to keep her safe. She always woke up in a cold sweat with fear coursing through her veins. Never sure if she was afraid of
the deep masculine voices she’d been dreaming of, or if she was afraid of the inevitability of a broken promise. She’d never be safe again. Her tormentors were locked in her mind, day in and day out.
Looking up from her drawing she watched Dr. Schroder watch her, studying his weathered face. He was older and had such gray hair it was almost white. His eyes, though, they were kind, caring. It had taken a while before she believed he wouldn’t hurt her. She was still leery and didn’t trust him one hundred percent, but she could count on his honesty.
Clearing her throat she asked, “What do you know of dreams?”
Shock was visible on his features before he cleared the expression and answered her, “Are you having dreams?”
“It’s why I’m asking.”
“Are they good dreams or bad?”
Thinking about it, she wasn’t really sure. There were remnants of the nightmares each time she woke, but the voices kept getting stronger. “Both, maybe?” Letting out a sigh, she thought about how best to explain to get the answer she needed. “You saw my file, right? You read it?” she asked meeting his eyes briefly before looking back down at her drawing and shading the bottle in.
“I did, Kennedy, thoroughly. I have every detail except what you haven’t shared with anyone; what was actually done to you. You’ve never told a soul.” He never asked her to explain things when she did talk to him, which wasn’t often. He let her explain things in her own way. Which admittedly wasn’t very much.
Clearing her throat, she tried to explain about the dark voices that would whisper reassurances in her ear when she was most frightened or brought her back from the brink as her nightmares had her in their grips. “When Emily and I were rescued by my brothers and their two friends, I didn’t know who they were at first and even when I did know their names, they meant nothing to me until I awoke from the coma. But these men, they could touch me and I didn’t feel the pain I did when others had touched me. It wasn’t soothing exactly, but it wasn’t painful.” Glancing up she saw he just sat there watching her pencil.
At his nod, she continued. “The one man, I now know his name is Lincoln, he has this voice that’s smooth as whiskey; it is soothing and deep, and his words wrap around me and I feel safe.” Pausing, she looked up and out the window watching the clouds roll by lazily on the light breeze. “Creedence, that’s Linc’s twin brother, I heard him on the ambulance ride to the hospital from that hell; he sang to me. He probably doesn’t even realize I know he did it either.” She smiled remembering his dark, rumbly voice.
“What did he sing?”
Shaken from her reverie, she looked to the doctor and sang, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray…” Singing the chorus out loud was oddly soothing. She could almost hear his deep voice singing it too.
“So when you dream, I assume it’s their voices you hear?” he queried.
Nodding her head she explained, “When my nightmares get to be too much, too real, their voices are there— they pull me back. But then they suck me into a false sense of safety too.”
“Why do you think it’s false?”
“What?” she asked confused.
“You said they lure you into a false sense of safety. Why do you think it’s false?” he explained as she replayed her words back over in her head.
“I thought I was safe and secure before we were taken. After what happened, how can I ever believe I’ll be safe again?”
“How do you know you won’t be? You’ve explained your family’s dynamics to me, the ménage relationship, how they’re all about trust and honesty. What if this is your subconscious’ way of telling you these men can keep you safe?”
Perplexed, she sat there staring at her drawing, seeing how she drew a sunshine in the center of the bottle. He had her questioning things she hadn’t previously thought about.
Five
Six hours after landing in Italy, they were finally sitting outside the quaint villa Kennedy had been living in for the past two months. It was small, made of logs, and two stories. The second story looked like it was more of a loft because it had a balcony off of it that took up a quarter of the space. It was simple with white rocks on either side of the pathway leading to the front door that was even to the ground. Grass surrounded the structure until it hit about a foot from the back of the house where it turned into sand that led to the rocky beach behind.
Creed was pissed that she would find a place so isolated. She was on the outskirts of town and help was few and far between. She had a couple neighbors but each was, at least, five hundred yards away on either side. If someone were to come here and grab her, no one would know. On the flip side of his anger, though, was understanding. She probably thought she was safer here with fewer people around. She could track who came and went, recognize an outsider faster than if she were right in town.
“What are you thinking, bro?” Linc asked him quietly.
“It’s too open. She’s vulnerable here.”
“You think she’ll move if we ask her?”
“Not a fucking chance,” he muttered.
Walking closer to the house, he heard voices coming from inside. Soft, light, feminine. At least they knew she was home. Knocking on the door just hard enough so as not to startle them, they waited.
After a minute of no answer, Linc knocked slightly harder and leaned closer whispering loudly, “Sunshine, open up for me.”