❝where does a thought go when it's forgotten?❞
ｓｉｇｍｕｎｄ ｆｒｅｕｄ
___
ＶＡＬＥＲＩＥ is not coming back.
No one is saying it out loud, yet between the uneasy looks and the queasy way the subject changes whenever someone brings her up, it's obvious. Valerie Kyle has vanished off the surface of the earth and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Not Morgana, who refuses to divulge any information about it or Redmond who smiles despite it, or any other member of staff that visits the Island over the next week.
There is something off about the whole thing that just gnaws at me.
Valerie had never been one to open up but even this was out of character for her. Not only that, but the mere mention of her name has me instinctively reaching out for necklace and I don't know why.
I feel like I'm missing something.
After meeting Cole, I thought the feeling would go, but it hasn't. In a way, it's gotten worse. I spend all my free time frowning and trying to dig at a memory that is trying its hardest to stay buried, and frankly, it's frustrating.
"You okay there?" a concerned voice asks.
Looking up, I spot Markus approaching me. He rebalances the large history textbook in his arms before pulling out a chair from the desk next to mine and taking a seat.
"Yeah," I reply with a quick nod. Markus twists slightly in his seat, quirking an eyebrow at me. "It's just the Valerie thing that's bugging me."
He nods understandingly, but there is still a look on his face that insinuates he's waiting for more. "Nothing else?"
My eyebrows furrow. I stop twiddling the pen in my hands and ask, "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I was just wondering if it had anything to do with your disappearing act at dinner a few days ago."
He meant when I went to see Cole.
"You've been acting weird since then."
Because Cole doesn't remember anything so kicked me out shortly after telling me so.
"You're also kind of a bad liar."
That statement pulls me out of my reverie. "I'm not a bad liar," I say defensively. "...Not that I was lying. At any point."
"Uh huh," Markus replies, unimpressed. "You're only proving my point."
"I—"
"No, it's cool. You don't have to tell me what your little secret is. You've got issues like the rest of us. I get it. Nothing wrong with wanting to keep them to yourself." I drop my gaze down, pretending to be overly interested in the faint graffiti carved into the table. "Just— if you do ever want to talk to someone... you can trust me or Willow with anything, y'know?"
"I know," I answer sincerely, my eyes flickering back up to his.
Markus looks pleased. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Logan saunter into the classroom, surprisingly on time for once. Markus notices him too.
Leaning in slightly, he adds, "You can trust Logan too. He's just a bit of a weirdo."
"Heard that," Logan says, though not looking particularly offended.
He offers me a lazy smile while he rustles up Markus's hairdo as he walks by, settling into the chair behind him. He lets out a bit of a half-laugh when he notices the scowl that forms on his friend's face.
Moments later, our World History teacher, the elderly Ms Grahams walks into the room, quickly prompting stragglers to return to their seats.
While she greets the class and allows a brief conversation entailing what everyone did over Christmas, I turn to Markus and in a low whisper, say:
"I get what you mean, Markus," I begin cautiously. "If there's anything I need to get off my chest, I know I can come to you guys. But I meant what I said about the Valerie thing. I'm worried."
All the while, Markus had kept his gaze trained forward, but now, he glances at me. His forehead creases and in an equally low voice, he confesses, "I think we all are..."
It's the most troubled I've ever seen Markus look where Valerie is concerned, considering their not-always-amicable history together. Though before I can respond, I am cut off by Ms Grahams clearing her throat.
I quickly revert my attention back to the front, realising Ms Grahams is finally ready to begin teaching:
"Over the winter break, I urged you all to do some background reading on this semester's topic, World War Two. What I didn't tell you was that most —if not all your research will have elements of untruth to it. Which brings us to today's lesson, verifying sources..."
❧
"And that's why you are worried? Because she is your friend?"
I narrow my eyes at Professor Horowitz, unsure as to what he was getting at.
"Um, yes?" I reply.
Today marks our first therapy session of the year. After spending some time reviewing the results of my latest check up with Doctor Soho (Professor Horowitz sends me a knowing look when he reads the part about my 'lightening eye colour'), we quickly move on to the object of my current worries—Valerie and her sudden disappearance.
"When's her birthday? What's her favourite colour? What type of songs does she enjoy listening to?"
I open my mouth, ready to reply. But then I falter.
"I... don't know." I frown. The questions weren't deep, they were banal and for anyone else, would not have required much thought. I could answer the question for Andrew or Willow or Markus or even Logan and Cass to an extent... but when I was around Valerie, she rarely talked about herself. I didn't even know whether she had siblings or who she lived with when she wasn't at the DA.
"What about family?" Horowitz continues, as if latching on to my thoughts. "Favourite food? Hobby?"
"I don't know," I repeat quietly.
"So how can you call her your friend if you don't know anything about her?" Horowitz questions. Before I get a chance to reply, he says, "Do you want to know what I think? I don't really believe it's this Valerie you're worried about. It's something else to do with her."
Again, on instinct, my hand finds the charm on my necklace. Professor Horowitz notices it too.
"You keep doing that," he comments, "touching your necklace."
For a moment, I am silent. Then suddenly, I speak up, saying, "It feels lighter."
A part of me is surprised this abrupt realisation, but it's the truth. My mom's necklace felt lighter than it did when I first got it six months ago.
Horowitz quirks a brow. "You think it has been replaced?"
"No," I respond firmly. "It's the same necklace. I can tell. It still has the same... feel to it. It's just... lighter."
"Okay..."
"All this time, I've been thinking it was a charm... but then ever since I threw it at the door—"
"You did what?"
"—the groove's felt off. It sticks out a bit... like a locket." I pause.
Professor Horowitz looks thoroughly confused.
"Sorry," I apologise. I had gone off topic.
"No, don't be. This is progress. I think."
I nod slowly, swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat. Then I continue.
"Once, when I was still in the infirmary, Valerie came to visit me. She was acting weird that day, but at the time, I thought it was just the meds — I was usually given a heavier dose at nights to help me sleep better, you see. Everything was a bit blurry and even now the memory's kind of hazy but... the following day, I couldn't find my necklace anywhere. It showed up again later on that night, so I just assumed I'd somehow misplaced it. Or that one of the nurses must have moved it. I'm not sure what I thought. But now, I'm wondering..." I hesitate, "is it crazy?"
"Is what crazy?"
"It feels like my necklace has been opened and someone's taken something out of it," I admit. "But no. That's impossible. I didn't think my necklace was a locket, well I did when I first got it but— I don't even know how to open it— so how could Valerie— or anyone else?"
Horowitz falls silent.
"Your necklace..." he says slowly, "you said you got it from...?"
"My mom," I complete. "Well, my aunt and uncle gave it to me. But they said it used to be my mothers." He falls into another deep silence. "But what would that have to do with anything?"
It's another moment before Professor Horowitz replies, "Hmm. My take on all of this?"
I look up expectantly. "Yes?"
"It's a metaphor."
My lips form a thin line. "A metaphor."
"The feeling of the lighter locket symbolises something you need to get off your chest. Your paranoia is found on the fact that you are afraid someone will find out and steal this memory away from you the way you feel all your others have been stolen—"
"What I said wasn't a dream. It really happened. My memories have been stolen. That's not a dream either."
There is a stubborn look in my eyes that Horowitz tries to ignore when he continues. "And because you are afraid these thoughts will be stolen from you, you guide them more fiercely than you should. Hence, the reason you have been more withdrawn lately."
My frown deepens.
"My advice to you would be to tell someone. Ideally, it should be someone, like... oh, let's say your therapist. But I see you're not ready for that yet. So, how about we make a deal: sometime this week, try to tell someone—anyone—everything you've been keeping locked up this past week. Then next Monday, we can try this again."
I am about to object—I really want to object—but then, it dawns on me, "Next Monday? I thought we had a session this Friday."
"Ah. Well, Morgana feels you have been making sufficient progress with your training. She feels you are ready to advance to PSD."
PSD. Personal Skills Development. A thoughtful expression draws on my face. Was I really ready to go one-on-one?
"Yes, I know, I know." Horowitz sighs as he picks up a notepad and begins to scribble in it. "One less hour graced with my glorious presence every fortnight. It will be difficult, but you're a tough one. I'm sure you'll survive. Barely, but I have faith."
I throw him a deadpanned look.
"It's a joke," he informs me as he hands me the notepad. "Talk to someone. Someone you trust, who you know'll listen. Let it out before it eats you up. Let it out unless you'll end up like me."
"Thanks," I murmur accepting the notepad, though I wasn't sure what he expected me to use it for now that I had no 'twenty reasons' to write. "I think."
"No problem, kiddo. Just remember what I said." He gestures for me to leave, assuming a relaxed position in his chair and he begins to inspect a set of documents laid on his cluttered table.
"Talk to someone, right," I reply as I stand up and head for the door.
I didn't agree with his refusal to believe my Valerie problem. Sure, it sounded crazy — but considering where we were and what I was, I didn't think 'crazy' would be much of a problem. But on the other hand, he was right, all the secrets I've been keeping from Andrew to the burning building rescue, to Cole, and then this... it was driving me insane. I do need to talk to someone.
And for some reason, I already know who.
Before I am completely out the door, I stop and turn to Professor Horowitz.
"Hey, Professor?" I ask. "Can I ask a favour? No follow-up questions asked?"
He looks up, tilting his glasses down by a fraction. Suspicious. "Depends on the favour."
❧
I am outside his door and I don't know why.
Well, I do. But I don't know why him?
With Horowitz' help, it was much easier to get here. But that doesn't mean I should have come anyway. He made it very clear I wasn't wanted.
With a flash of my newly acquired keycard, the door unlocks. But yet, I knock. And wait a few seconds before going in.
He spots me instantly. It's not difficult to — the room is empty otherwise.
His eyes are narrowed. His lips flatten into a thin, rigid line. "You again."
A sheepish lopsided grin forms on my face. "Me again."
:: 💫 ::
Now, before you say it. I'm technically on time. That's right, check the book details. Yup. 7th-13th. Boom. Anyway. So this is a shorter chapter than usual, which is a bit of a shocker. And — double gasp — it's a two worded title. I know. How risqué.
The other observation I made is: Emma has a lot of guy friends. A lot. And now that that Valerie chick has disappeared (thoughts on what happened to her?), the ratio has gone up again. Must just be the type of person she is. (*She says as if she is not the author of said characters*)
So, that's it from me for now. It must be obvious who Emma is talking to, so more on that next chapter!
♕ Carmen ♕