“You can call me Nate,” he interrupts. “If that’s okay, ma’am.”
Finally, a breakthrough. “I’ll call you Nate if you call me Lucy instead of ma’am.”
For the first time since arriving, Nate seems genuinely at ease. “Okay.”
His anger temporarily defused, I continue, “Like I said, the memories will come back. Sometimes at night, sometimes during the day. You will see what you saw, hear what you heard. But you can control what you feel. You don’t have to be afraid or guilty when you have those flashbacks.”
“How?”
“I am not an expert, nor am I a soldier. But I get these…attacks. It’s like my heart beats too fast. Like I’m being chased by an enemy I can’t see or hear.” The panic burbles inside my chest, as if bidden to life by my words. “Sometimes I do it to myself by thinking about what I’m afraid of, or letting my mind wander into painful memories. Or it happens randomly. But either way, I can’t do anything when it happens. I can’t talk or do my job. The fear holds me hostage.”
Private Rodriguez nods solemnly. “How do you make it stop?”
“I focus on what I can do. I focus on my breathing. I try and root myself in the present by looking around and naming objects in the room.” I smile sheepishly. “I know it sounds silly, but distraction helps.”
The weary soldier is rightfully skeptical. “And that works?”
“Not always,” I admit. “On occasion I’m still scared. I cry. But it has gotten a little better.”
Nate reclines and relaxes his grip on the armrests. “You think I can do that?”
“With practice. And, not for nothing, but it could be worthwhile to talk to someone. Doesn’t have to be a shrink. I’m sure plenty of your fellow soldiers could offer useful advice. A few of them get together once a week in the library for a chat. It’s pretty casual.”
“I could maybe do that. I’ll think about it,” he says, pushing himself up from his seat.
“Good. If it doesn’t help and you still can’t sleep, come back and I will set you up with another doc at the hospital, okay?” I tap away at his file, marking a note of our conversation. “If I am not around, which I should be since I don’t do anything else, ask for Leader De La Rosa directly.”
“Thanks, Lucy.” He stands at rest in front of his chair, looking at me expectantly.
I’m not sure what else he could want because he’s exhausted my talents at this point. Well, most of them. “Oh, right. You are dismissed.”
He smirks. “You know, for a leader’s daughter, you ain’t half bad.”
“That right?” I clasp my hands on top of my desk. “You know a lot of leader’s daughters?”
“No, ma’am,” he replies, chuckling. “See you around.”
Within the same week, I’m doing my usual midday routine of resting my head and staring at my black screen. I know Taylor isn’t dead because Theia has spoken to her, and in turn spoken to Delilah, who trickles the information to me. But we don’t have access to her communicative watch, only Theia does. All I have is this screen and the hope that at some point, she’ll turn on the camera and speak.
“Private Piccolo?” A short, female soldier peeks her head in from the hallway.
I rub my cheeks in an effort to wake up. “Yeah? I mean, yes? You may come in.”
“Um, I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. Rodriguez said maybe you could help me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Help you how?”
“I get those attacks you talked about with him. The ones where you think you’re going to die, but obviously you’re not going to die?” She looks like she’s about to have one, face flush and hands wrung.
“Right, okay. Well, I can set you up with an appointment with a doctor, or one of the psychiatrists?” I offer absently.
“Actually, I’d rather talk to you, ma’am. You get them, too, right? I—” She sighs heavily. “I want to talk to someone who gets it.”
“Oh.” With only black void on my screen, I turn to her and nod. “Sure. Have a seat…”
With a grateful smile she skitters to the seat and sits down. “Private Carlson,” she says. “Kate, actually. Thanks. I know you’re pretty busy.”
“I’m good at looking pretty busy.”
