Working his first assigned missing persons' case, Jackson never anticipated to find dark secrets, kept truths and a new found love for the one girl he can't stand. Will he be able to keep his promise of saving her, even if it means losing himself?
"Could you imagine what they would think of me?! How it would even look for the bureau to have gone above and beyond to hire a killer's son?! There's shame to the Odenkirk name, but I refuse to taint the Montgomery name like that." I let out a deep breath before sliding my back down the door and eventually sitting on the floor. "I don't know what to do. This is all I've ever worked towards. I never planned for this to not work out."
"We take it one day at a time." Doctor Brooks reassures me, sitting herself next to me on the ground. "If we spent all our days worrying about the next few days, we'd all be constantly miserable and anxious. You spiraled and let it all out, so now what?"
"Regain my composure." I sigh, always knowing what pattern I fall into. "It's my biggest shame. I don't want people to think I'm anything like him."
"You're not. You prove it time and time again that you're a good person, Jackson. You were a child that trusted his parent because that's what we're blindly led to do. This constant blaming yourself needs to end somewhere. If you're going to dive into everything, then consider everything. Not just the negative. If they find out about your past, what's worst case scenario?"
"They fire me and society casts me out even more." I immediately reply.
"Now best case scenario."
"I can't think of one." I say after a few moments of silence with just the small water fountain running in the background.
"It's an untreated wound that will always hurt unless you finally start to heal it. Let's say they do find out your history, who's to say it wouldn't bring some good? You always say how you wish you could learn all the unidentifiable victims names to honor them. They could open an investigation and get closure for everyone, including you." Her voice remains soft, yet simultaneously stern.
"Yeah, maybe." I say, fiddling with my fingers. "I hope they're paying you enough to deal with me."
"I've seen you grow up into a respectable young man, Jackson. It's always a pleasure to see your growth over the years." Doctor Brook smiles.
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►"Rain in Numbers" by Beach House
Thursday night transitioning into Friday morning felt like a broken clock counting to infinity. Rain and thunder accompanied my wandering thoughts all night into the morning while Fletcher peacefully slept at the foot of my bed. For once, I'm not awoken in a sea of my own sweat because my mind likes to torment me with imagery that feels too gruesome to be real. I find myself staring at the ceiling, getting lost in the sound of the heavy rain droplets as my thoughts start to recall past memories. Some days, I had difficulty remembering any bit of my childhood. But tonight wasn't one of those blurry days. One vivid memory stands out.
It was some time in late Spring where the San Francisco breeze was relaxing once the sun set. Couldn't have been older than about four or five. I remember wearing denim overalls with permanent paint stains that wouldn't wash out from when I helped him paint the walls to cover his delirious ramblings and drawings. We were sat in a half empty parking lot where he was in the driver's seat and I was in the passenger side enjoying a Popsicle. Words are hard to recall, but I remember him whispering nonsense under his breath and monitoring the automatic doors of the grocery market. Once he saw somebody that caught his eye, he'd send me out there under the premise we were playing hide and seek. My birth father never played many games with me, so I never turned down the chance. Fuck, things are foggy to remember again. There was a woman who helped me try and find my birth father. They're talking. Then we're home and she's crying. I'm not allowed to talk to her, but I did because she was so sad. Why was she so sad? Did I ask her that? Was that why he got angry at me and locked me in the time out crawl space? I never saw her after that. I'd never see any of them again, then we'd go out to the mountains to pile dirt on big holes. Routine. I remember I stopped asking questions after the third or fourth time. I stood further away, drawing onto the dirt with a twig I'd find laying around. Why can't I fucking remember much of those mountain trips?
