I don’t know who those handlers are, but if I ever lay eyes on them, they are in for more than a swift kick to the gut. What they did to that sweet lad… Well, it’s indescribable. Don’t know the half of what they’ve done but I’ve seen the result. No one should go through that…
I’ve got – He has a long road to recovery in front of him. It’s his long road, and I am going to walk alongside him as best I can on it. All this panic and heartache is just the beginning. It’s just the beginning, and he needs someone who can be steady while he works out what he wants to do.
A movement out of the corner of my eye prompts me to stop my anxious fidgeting with the remote.
“Well don’t you look grand.”
He settled himself into a parade rest at the compliment, gaze focused above my head.
Be reassuring. Be steady.
“At ease, James. It’s not an inspection.”
Immediately his posture shifts to stand up straight instead.
“I’m making gingerbread cookies, James. Would you like to help?”
When his expression wavered, curiosity in its faintest form making an appearance, I waved him forward into the kitchen. He hesitated to sit at the bar. The smell of warm spices seemed to pique his interest though. Wasn’t long before he took my suggestions to wash his hands and take a seat.
“Just finished rolling out the dough. You can cut out the cookies, and I’ll get them in the oven.”
He leaned over a moment. When he straightened, his knife from before was in his hand.
“Not with that, James. With these,” I said, gently prying the knife from his fingers.
When the hell did he get this knife again? Where was he keeping it?
I’ll deal with that later. Right now: cookies. One thing at a time.
I laid out a set of cookie cutters beside the dough and sheet pan. He stared at them blankly. I chose the flower cutter and gently stamped it into the dough. With some gentle pushing the flower fell onto the parchment paper.
“Like that.”
He studied the cutters and the flower shaped dough, nose scrunching slightly, before choosing the circle cutter to copy me. Then the square cutter. The third was the triangle. The process was methodical as he carefully selected, pressed, and pushed dough onto the pan. He used every cutter I had in a repeating pattern until the pan ran out of space.
Once those were in the oven, I set his drink and a plate of sliced banana in front of him. He swallowed, hands slowly clenching on the countertop, and looked up at me.
“You don’t have to eat it all, but it’s important you try a little.”
I turned away to wash the dishes. Gave him space while he thought it over. When he looked back at me with a hint of terror, I almost dropped my soapy mug.
“Is alright, James. It’s banana, very mild,” I reassured.
His cautious gaze flicked between his plate, his half empty glass, and back to me.
Did those bastards make even eating a dangerous thing?
“What if I ate some first? Prove it’s safe yeah?”
I can do that. It’s a small thing. He needs to eat. If this is the reassurance he needs right now then I’ll give it.
He heaved a quiet breath. Inched his plate a wee bit across the countertop. His gaze was carefully neutral when I picked up a slice to eat.
“It’s good.”
He raised his right hand. It stalled before it could reach far enough to touch me and instead slowly lowered to the plate. I nodded in encouragement when he looked back up at me hesitantly.
He ate two slices while I finished leaning up. Took the cookies from the oven when my phone buzzed a few minutes later.
“You can have one once they’re cool if your stomach feels alright. For now though I need to talk to you. You feel up to that?”
A flash of fear passed through his eyes so quick I almost missed it. He nodded. Slide off the stool. Set himself on his knees with his arms behind his back.
Is this how they made you sit?
“Don’t do that please. It looks uncomfortable. You don’t have to do that with me,” I said as I settled on the floor.
It took longer than a minute for him to set his hands on his knees. A compromise.
“I have tomorrow off because it’s Sunday, but I have to go back to work Monday. Are you going to be alright while I’m gone?”
No fear. No curiosity… No hint of anything really.
How do I word this? Where do I start?
“I spent some time last night adding notes to your diet packet,” I added when he still didn’t speak. “I thought it might help if you had a schedule to go by and a list of what you could eat from what I’ve got in the house. There are portion recommendations in the packet, but the wording felt a little confusing, so I broke those down for you too just in case.”
A small nod.
Good. This is going okay then. He understands.
“About last night, do you remember anything after going to bed?”
A wee bit of confusion bled into his expression.
That figures. Most don’t remember having night terrors. If they do, they usually don’t want to talk about it.
“You had a night terror.”
I paused at the way his posture tensed with a deeper inhale. He exhaled slowly. The way his hands curled into fists gave away his anxiety.
“Is alright. Nothing to be ashamed of. I assume no one has helped you with them before?”
Too still. Too quiet.
Maybe having night terrors… Maybe those handlers- I don’t even want to think about it but if they… And they treated him like a weapon so maybe having night terrors was regarded as…
Well, I don’t know how they would have thought of them. Or how he thinks of them. Does he know that they’re dreams?
“You were speaking in another language. I don’t know it. Something you said was ma ny boy na. Does that mean shoulder pain? You patted your left shoulder a few times while you said it.”
His throat bobbed around a swallow. He lifted his right hand to clutch his left shoulder a moment later.
“I’m probably saying it wrong but hopefully you understand what I’m trying to say. What does it mean, James?”
He glanced at his left shoulder. Let out a shaky exhale.
“It hurts,” he whispered.
I nodded. “Thank you. Ma ny boy na means it hurts. I’ll write that down. What language is it?”
His hand slid down to grip at his elbow.
“Russian.”
“That’s impressive.”
His brows pulled closer together. I smiled.
“It’s impressive that you’re fluent in Russian. I only know Gaelige and English.”
He broke eye contact with a few blinks. I watched as he repeated something silently to himself a few times. His expression morphed into frustration. It was one of the most open expressions I had seen so far.
Do you know that language too?
I greeted him in Gaelige. It was very quiet but I’m sure I heard him whisper, “Good morning?” And then I think he said something back but it was too rushed for me to understand.
“You know Gaelige?” I asked in surprised delight.
Frustration shifted into uncertainty and caution.
“You can answer,” I said when the silence dragged on. “You’re allowed to speak. You don’t have to wait for permission to speak.”
His right hand shifted to grip the material at his knee, knuckles turning white briefly as he bowed his head.
“You don’t have to wait for me to ask a direct question either. Or… or for orders. I’m not giving you orders,” I added.
His fingers tightened and loosened in their grip agitatedly for a few moments before the heaving of his shoulders caught my attention.
I’ve struck a nerve. Triggered something. Just like earlier I’ve made him remember something painful maybe. Or I’ve just upset him in general somehow.
“That’s alright, James. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
He glanced up at me, and I caught the slight grimace before his hair fell forward again to hide his face.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry... What would you like to do now?” I asked gently.
I had to strain my hearing to catch the murmured stutters. With his voice so quiet I couldn’t pinpoint a tone but, “That- Those words… Want. Like. The Ghost doesn’t…” conveyed confusion loud and clear.
“You are James. Not the ghost.”
He froze.
“You told me it was your name. Your name is James.”
The vacancy reentering his gaze when he slowly looked up in my direction made me want to reach across and pull him into a hug. I didn’t let the urge win though. He’s fragile right now. Suddenly pulling him into a hug would definitely startle him. It could be bad.
“Would you like someone to help you with your night terrors?” I asked.
He clutched at his left shoulder again. His eyes darted to the window on the far wall.
“It’s alright if you haven’t sought help before. No judgement here.”
I doubt your abusers would have helped you. They most assuredly just made them worse.
His eyes darted between my face, a point on the floor, and the window. The fingers of his prosthetic closed into a tight fist. His chest heaved with quick breaths. I held up my hands in a placating gesture when his gaze jumped to my face again.
“Is alright. I’m no expert, but I feel like the first step we should take is me letting you know that it’s alright to talk about them if you want. You don’t have to feel ashamed about them. I can help you find someone, a professional, to talk to if you’re ever interested in that.”
He leaned back a fraction as I readjusted my position on the floor. His gaze became more analytical than cautious when I looked back at him.
“In it together with you James. Until the police locate some relatives of yours, I’m your family,” I gently reminded. “We’ll make it work.”
Escape. Need to move. Back on the street, but away from the questions that struck at raw nerves. I could practically see the wheels turning as he glanced toward the window a fifth time.
“You can stay here long as you like. Consider the place home for the time being.”
He looked toward the window again. This time his gaze lingered. He rubbed his palm repetitively over his metal shoulder. Pulled his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment as his gaze turned anxious.
“I know I don’t look like much.”
My statement pulled his gaze back in my direction.
“But I can hold my own in a fight. I can at least buy you some time to get away if anyone comes looking for you.”
His eyebrows scrunched together in that familiar expression of confusion.
I smiled. “Any of those ole handlers of yours come looking I’ll give em hell you hear? Give em a beating for treating you so badly I will.”
He looked me over again, gaze lingering on my prosthetic this time. I stood up after a minute to collect cookies for us.
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