Page 23 of Dark Angel

Terrifying––this proximity to raw emotion, to the complexities of the human mind. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering between reason and chaos. After a brief and rather awkward silence, the doctor says, "Rayne, I’ve been meticulously studying Summer's behavioral patterns, trying to crack the code of her consciousness. I think you might have just provided a clue, a pattern in her catatonia.”

Rayne’s eyes narrow with an urgent need for understanding. "Break it down. You’re talking dissociative disorder?"

"It's as if Summer has cocooned herself in a separate reality, disconnecting from what's emotionally insurmountable," B.J. elaborates, a soft cadence to her voice that feels almost soothing.

Rayne nods, like she's clicking pieces of a puzzle into place. "She's shutting down, going dark inside her own mind to survive."

"Exactly.” B.J.’s words are a comfort despite the weight they carry. She dives deeper into the psyche’s architecture, discussing ways to coax Summer back from her psychological exile. It’s like watching two generals strategizing for an impending battle.

Rayne’s eyes blaze with a determination that could topple empires. "Whatever it takes to bring her back, count me in.”

B.J. smiles, and there’s an unspoken promise in that smile. "You won't be alone, Rayne. We’ve got an army to fight for Summer’s soul."

Rayne stands, her hand gently coming to rest on Summer's head. Soft words are whispered like a lullaby or a prayer. "Hold on, Summer. I’ll find a way to reach you. When I come back, I’ll have some of your favorite music and I’ll sing to you.”

In the frayed tapestry of their interaction, threads of profound connection glisten. I can’t help but be moved, the sensation churning through me—somewhere between awe and something far more precarious.

And then the world shifts on its axis. Voices rise in the hallway, an outburst punctuating the air. Emotion—shock, mortification—ricochets through the tether I share with Rayne. Summer, too, stirs, a minuscule twitch that feels monumental. B.J. barely has time to react when the door bursts open, revealing a woman who looks like she’s walked straight out of a Dali painting. "I am Jesus Christ," she declares, "and I’m here to see my daughter."

Everything freezes in that heartbeat of absurdity, the moment stretching like molasses. A surreal twist that kicks up dust in the crossroads of sanity and disorder. What I do next, well, it’s inexplicable even to me. Maybe it’s this heightened exposure to emotional fragility. Maybe it's Rayne's unwavering resilience that’s chipping away at my own fortified walls. But in that instant, I realize my carefully curated detachment might just be my own brand of dissociation—a way to avoid confronting my deepest fears.

And that, for reasons I can’t yet articulate, scares the hell out of me.

14

RAYNE

My mother's voice slices through the air like a cold blade, extinguishing the fragile glimmer of hope that had dared to flicker within me. The usual surge of emotions floods through me—horror, despair, and something deeper that's difficult to put into words. But right now, it's abject horror that wins out, for my mother's current state is no less than a full-blown psychotic episode. And what's worse, she's proclaiming herself to be Jesus Christ, sending shockwaves of shame coursing through my veins. This is bad. Really, really bad. She'll ruin everything if she's here.

Her eyes lock onto mine, a sick triumph gleaming within them. In this chaotic mess, I find a small sliver of relief, an unexpected silver lining. The fact that E.S. sold us to settle his debts made it easier for us to slip under her radar. But now, the universe seems to be playing a cruel joke on me, introducing her back into our lives at this pivotal moment. I almost collapse at the irony. Calling the woman in front of us a "mother" feels like a twisted misnomer. Dressed in an outfit more befitting her role as a madam in a brothel, she's a far cry from the woman who once held a touch of beauty. Heavy makeup masks the past, and her surgically enhanced figure is on full display, complete with fishnet stockings and go-go boots. It's an image that haunts me, mocking any lingering sentiments of love I might still harbor for her. How could she have fallen so far?

My sister's flinch pulls me back to the urgency of the moment. I can't let my mother's presence derail us. I need to act, to protect Summer. Panic surges within me, my mind racing for a solution. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Jaden moves. His motions are graceful, cat-like, as he slips beside my mother. His touch under her elbow guides her out the door, his voice adopting an intrigued tone. "That sounds fascinating, Jesus. Why don't you come with me and tell me all about it?" It's a simple gesture, but it's a lifeline thrown to us in the midst of chaos.

As my heart rate begins to steady, I realize something startling. Jaden's actions, his concern, his willingness to step into the fray—they all come through the connection that's formed between us. And in this moment, it's not disgust or avoidance that I sense, but genuine concern and compassion. It's an odd feeling, a thread of connection that weaves itself stronger between us, defying logic and reason. I find myself giving him a piece of my heart, a sliver of trust that I had sworn never to offer again.

But Summer needs me now. She sits there, a shell of her former self, lost in a world we can't reach. The connection between us remains murky, frustratingly incomplete. There's so much I want to ask, so much I need to know. I give Summer's limp hand a reassuring squeeze before focusing on the psychologist, Dr. B.J. Patton, who has been observing the chaos with a keen eye.

Our conversation takes a more focused turn, and I direct my attention to Dr. B.J. "Who gave our mother Summer's location? Isn't that a breach of privacy?" I can't help the hint of confrontation in my tone, but my mother's intrusion scares me to death.

Dr. B.J. studies me for a moment before responding. "In most cases, that would be true. However, Summer is a minor with a missing person alert. We have an obligation to cooperate with law enforcement in such cases."

Her explanation makes sense, and I nod in acknowledgment. "I see. What's the next step then? When can I bring Summer home?" Despite the whirlwind of emotions, the psychologist's office feels like a sanctuary, a haven where I can begin to make sense of the storm that rages within me. The softness of the armchair cradles my restless soul as I settle in, ready to delve into the journey of rescuing my sister. Dr. B.J.'s presence is both grounding and mysterious, a guiding light in the darkness that shrouds Summer.

Dr. B.J. leans forward, her voice a soothing melody that draws me in. "Rayne, given Summer's delicate condition, I propose an innovative treatment approach that could lead her back to herself. Our program typically spans six months to a year, depending on her progress."

Hope flares within me, mingling with a hint of anxiety. Dr. B.J.'s words carry the promise of salvation for Summer, a lifeline that might pull her from the depths of her catatonic state. It's almost too good to be true. I narrow my eyes, a skeptical thought surfacing. "Will this be covered by our universal healthcare plan?"

"All treatment is funded through research grants," Dr. B.J. assures me. "I've developed a pioneering program centered around abuse healing through role play. But let's focus on the first step: Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy, or EMDR. This technique has shown remarkable success in treating trauma-related disorders, helping process distressing memories and emotions through guided eye movements."

A spark of hope ignites within me. EMDR could be the key to unlocking Summer's captive mind. Dr. B.J.'s unconventional approach resonates with me, igniting a sense of faith. I gaze at her intently, my mind racing with possibilities. "And then?" I prompt, eager to learn more. Maybe a program like this could help me.

Her eyes hold mine, steady and unwavering. "Additionally, we'll explore the therapeutic power of music. Music therapy has the potential to reach Summer on a profound level, even in her catatonic state. Melodies and rhythms can bridge the gap between her conscious and subconscious, allowing her to express and process emotions. Does Summer have an affinity for music?"

A smile tugs at my lips. "Yes, she does. She loves to dance. How can I assist with this?" The concept of music therapy resonates deeply with me. It feels like a way to break through the barriers that have kept Summer locked away from us. The thought of her finding solace through music fills me with a renewed sense of purpose, a determination to bring her back from the brink.

We both turn our attention to Summer, her stillness a haunting reminder of what Jaden had been like last night. I can sense her, just beyond reach, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to bring her back. "Dr. B.J., I'm ready to help in any way I can. What's the next step?"

Dr. B.J. leans back, a warm smile on her face. "I'd like to meet with you to complete our intake forms and discuss your family history. Understanding Summer's journey will guide our approach. After that, we'll establish a schedule for music therapy sessions, based on your availability."

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