“There! Much better!” I state, putting the lid back on the marker. Grabbing my Barbie and Ken doll, I hold them up, admiring their new look. “Now you look just like Aunty Mel and Uncle Rooster.”

Taking in my Malibu Barbie’s new chopped and freshly colored neon red hair and Ken’s drawn on beard, I set them on the toy motorcycle I stole from my brother.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Hearing my dad’s angry voice boom from downstairs, I startle. Standing up, I cautiously walk toward the door.

“I want to see Emma.”

Mommy?

Hurrying to the stairs, I’m stopped before the first step.

“Where are you going, sunshine?” my brother asks, blocking my way.

“Mommy’s here, I want to go see her,” I huff out trying to push past him. “Buddy! Let me through,” I whine, stomping my feet when he won’t budge.

“You should stay out of it, Emmalyn. Dad’s not too happy with mom right now.” Crossing his arms, he holds his ground.

I know something is wrong with mommy. I’ve been hearing my daddy and uncles talking about her a lot lately, saying that she is in some kind of trouble. If she’s in trouble I want to help.

“Buddy, you move right now or I’ll tell Stacy at school that you like her,” I taunt, crossing my arms, mirroring his stance.

Throwing his head back he lets out a laugh. “Sunshine, she already knows I like her, along with all the other girls in her class.”

Rolling my eyes, I start to pull another tactic out of my pocket when my mom’s shrilly voice stops me.

“What I do or don’t do is my business! I can hang out with whoever I want to and I can see my daughter whenever I want to! I’m her mother, you can’t stop me!”

“The hell I fucking can’t! You ain’t no fucking mother. You never have been! All you’ve ever been is a club whore lookin’ for her next fix! If the rumors are fucking true, Maurice, then you are dipping your fingers in the wrong fucking pot and it will be a cold day in hell before I let you bring your fucking mess around my kids.”

“And like you don’t have your hands in illegal shit? I’ve heard the rumors of how big you’re getting, of all your takeovers, so who are you to chastise me?”

“What I do is my fucking business! But you! You come in here to cause fucking drama and upset my little girl, then you’re fucking gone just to do it all over again whenever you feel like it! It ends fucking now. The shit I’ve been hearin’ about you darlin’ seals the deal on that. You step foot on my grounds again…better yet…you step foot in my fucking town again, I will kill you where you stand. That’s a fucking promise. You think this place is hell, Maurice? The fucks I hear you’re runnin’ with make this hell look like heaven. Get the fuck out of here!”

“I’m not leaving without seeing- “

Hearing something crash causes me to flinch. Buddy wraps his arms around me. “Come on, Emma, let’s go play in my room. I’ll let you play with my car collection.”

Opening my eyes, my vision blurs with unshed tears. The dim calming lights do nothing to curb my shaking.

“Was there more, Emmalyn?”

Dr. Hart’s voice calls my attention back to her. With her legs crossed and her red hair pinned to the top of her head, she sits across from me with a notepad in her hand, a blank understanding mask on her face.

Clearing my throat I answer, “I can’t really remember. I think there were gunshots and men yelling but it’s all fuzzy.” Scrunching my eyes shut I rub my temples, trying to chase away the oncoming headache these sessions always give me.

“That’s normal, Emmalyn. Dreams are fragile. Everyone has many dreams a night but only some can remember even one.”

“So, do you think it wasn’t real? That it was just a dream?”

“I don’t know, Emmalyn. I wasn’t part of your childhood. Only you can answer that question.”

Letting out a sigh, I fall back against the couch. It’s been five years since I was rescued. Five years of PTSD and trigger attacks, five years of trying to fit into a world that sees me as damaged, and five years of feeling like something more than my memory is missing.

“You have been making great progress. I know it’s frustrating. Repressed memory is not an easy diagnosis. You think you want to remember. You believe you are ready, but your body and mind are protecting you by unconsciously blocking those traumatic memories. These flashbacks and dreams that you are having, embrace them, Emmalyn. Don’t fight them. Let them come naturally.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. It’s the same speech I get every time I come to these one-on-one sessions. It’s nothing new.

The truth is, I’m still scared to remember everything. I feel safe not knowing. Which I guess is exactly the point of repressed memory, to make me feel safe. But that doesn’t stop them from slipping into my dreams. If it weren’t for that, I would only know the need-to-know details I was told when I first got rescued: that I was a slave, that I was going to be sold, and that the slavery had been shut down. But my dreams remind me of the finer details. Most of the time I forget the extent of my dreams when I wake up, but lately they have been sticking around. And they have all been about my life before I was a slave.

It’s almost as if my mind is trying to prepare me for something, something big. With every new memory, confusion and curiosity cling to me like wet clothes. I can’t shake them and I can’t move on from them. It’s like an unsolved puzzle with pieces missing and scattered around. No matter how hard you try to put it all together, until you have all the pieces, you’re just left with an unfinished picture.

It’s scary knowing…but sometimes I wonder if it’s scarier to not know. Which brings me to the main point of this session. Reaching up I wrap my hand around my necklace, the tiny gold heart sends calm waves through my palm.

“Dr. Hart, there’s something else.” Taking a breath, I meet her caring eyes. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, you still have 10 minutes-”

“No. I’m moving to California.”

“California? What’s in California?”

“I don’t know, but I just have this feeling.” Looking around the room I scramble for the right words to explain myself. “Every time Drifter comes to visit he brings me something from California. A picture of the beach by where he lives, souvenirs from the stores in his town, but it was what he brought last time he visited.” Pulling out the rumpled picture from my pocket, I unfold it and hand it to Dr. Hart.

Looking at it, a puzzled expression crosses her face. She turns it over and reads the date, place and photographer’s name on the back. “It’s a picture of a butterfly?” Her tone comes out as a question. “This picture was taken almost ten years ago, Emmy. I don’t understand. Why does this make you want to go to California?”

Leaning over the table, I point at the picture in her hand. Just staring at it now, an anxious feeling flutters in my stomach. “It’s not the butterfly that makes me want to go… it’s what’s behind the butterfly… the bigger picture.” Sitting back, I watch her observe the photo more closely.

“It looks like nothing but a dirt road and trees, Emmy. There are tons of those here in Texas.”

Shaking my head, I answer the best I can without sounding crazy. Leaning forward again, I point at four of the trees in the background that line the dirt road. “See those trees here? Those are Weeping Willows. They grow everywhere, but usually only where there is a lot of water… in this picture there are two trees on each side of the dirt road; four total,” I say in amazement, a small smile of wonder stretches across my face. “All the other trees that surround them are different. It’s like they were put there on purpose.”

Sitting back, I meet my doctor’s curious gaze. “I swear I have seen this before, Dr. Hart.” Unable to sit down any longer, I stand up and begin pacing in front of the table. “I don’t think it’s just a coincidence Drifter is living in a town that calls to me,” I proclaim, stopping and meeting the confused stare of my doctor. “I think it’s fate.”

Glancing back at the picture, she says the name of the town printed on the back. Just hearing it out loud sends goosebumps across my body. “Providence, California.”

Handing the photo back to me, I carefully fold it back up and place it in my pocket before sitting back down.

“Have you told Drifter?”

“Yes.” I nod with a small smile. “I can tell he’s a little worried, but he can’t stop me.” I say, lifting my chin in defiance, the action getting easier to do. “I need to do this.”

“Does this have to do with the hooded man you’ve been seeing around?”

A blush creeps to my cheeks and I try to hide my reaction. “No. This has to do with me moving on with my life. I feel like I am at a standstill here. I feel like all I do is try to remember a past that I don’t even know for sure if I am ready to remember. I want to focus on my future and something inside me is telling me that I will find it in California.”

Ignoring my comment she asks, “Are you still seeing him?”

I know she doesn’t believe me, she thinks my sightings have to do with my PTSD playing tricks on me, but he’s real…my stalker. He doesn’t scare me, though, there is always something about his presence that just seems right. It’s like the heaviness of every day dissipates when he’s around. He never approaches me, he always just stands there in his boots, ripped jeans and worn hoodie that covers his eyes; he just watches me.

“Emmalyn.”

Snapping out of my daydream I look to my doctor. “No, I haven’t,” I lie, unease unfurling.

Staring at me for a moment she answers, “Well, Emmalyn, like you said, no one can stop you.”

Closing her notebook, she uncrosses her legs and removes her glasses. Looking me over, something crosses her face. “Emmy, I’m going to say this, not as your doctor, but as someone who has been watching you grow and become a beautiful woman despite the hardships you have faced.” A lump forms in my throat as she continues, “I have had many patients come through here from that slavery. Many of them with no life left in them at all and some with anger so strong I worry for their future. Since the beginning, you have been so positive, so uplifting, that it brings hope to many of the kids who suffered just like you. When you enter this hospital, those kids look to you with adoration and envy; you give them the encouragement they need to move forward from that place. I know what you went through Emmy, I know all the details that you refuse to remember. From Buck, from Drifter and from other kids… but it’s not what you went through that they talk about. It’s how you lived through it all that they talk about. Your repressed memory is your body’s way of protecting you, but Emmy you don’t need it to protect you. You are strong enough to handle anything life throws at you.”

Feeling tears streak down my face I quickly wipe them away, causing Dr. Hart to hand me the tissues before she continues.

“When you go to California, don’t forget what I have just said and what you have learned here. You can and have made a difference in people’s lives. You are loved, but most important, Emmalyn, you are strong.” Standing up, I follow her lead and head to the door. Holding it open she places her hand on my shoulder, giving me a warm smile. “I wish you the best of luck, and I truly hope you find what you are looking for, because I don’t think anyone deserves their happy ending quite like you do.”