No All Who Wander Are Lost (Part II)

(Story contains themes of mental health and suicide/self harm)

The white sage and frankincense heady aroma invades the tiny walk-in closet space, singeing Marion and Ava’s nostrils, suffocating their breathing and fueling their headaches. The room feels even smaller by the oppressive oversized velvety purple and bohemian-psychedelic style tapestry draped loosely on the wall, casting shadows that whisper of impending doom, a chilling reminder of the terrors of their past lives, revealed by Maya, their psychic whom they just met upon stumbling serendipitously together in the new-age store. 

“Ladies?” Maya, wearing a ruby red silk kaftan dress, leans in and asks.

Ava shakes her head in disbelief as she straightens up on the emerald Victorian, deep-button tufted-up armchair. “I am sorry. This is ridiculous. No way I was a kid, molested in my past life by my uncle, and no way was Marion, my psychologist, who couldn’t save me from suicide.”

“Ex..Exactly, where do you get off telling people this kind of shit?” Also sitting up, Marion protests with her voice croaking near the end, lending to the uncertainty of her own disbelief.

Maya’s clairvoyance session revealed a connection between Marion and Ava in their past lives. In the 1950s, Marion, named Dolores Barnett, was a forward-thinking psychologist who was treating Ava's, named Adelaide Reed, unknown mood disorder that was wrongly diagnosed as schizophrenia. Dolores believed Adelaide’s condition was not simply schizophrenia, but a rather complex manifestation of dissociative identity disorder, an enigmatic disorder that caused a split personality, which was often linked to severe childhood trauma and abuse. She was pushing the boundaries of psychiatric treatment, employing innovative therapeutic techniques, including cognitive-behavioral therapy, talk therapy in combination with medication management, in an attempt to uncover the underlying causes, alleviate symptoms and provide Adelaide with the correct course of treatment. However, her research, discoveries, and work were constantly being dismissed and stonewalled by her male supervisor or peers.

Adelaide ended up being prescribed the wrong drugs and treatment, worsening her condition. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, Adelaide began suffering terrifying nights alone with her uncle Jack, who was sexually abusing her. 

Adelaide tried to confide in Dolores, but her family and Dolores’ team were convinced this was one of her delusions. The following electroconvulsive therapy that ensued left Adelaide in a state of numbness. Yet inside, she felt so destitute and alone that the only way she saw to take her pain away was to end her own life. Dolores was irreparably broken, as she carried the weight of the guilt for not acknowledging her suffering and advocating more for Adelaide. She blamed the limits of her time when they couldn’t treat Adelaide properly, but most of all, she blamed herself. Her remorse plagued Dolores the rest of her life, ultimately leading her to also take her own life.

As Maya leans back, the creaking sound of the tall cherry wooden chair pierces the air. She clenches her hands tightly. “I don’t. I tell it like it is. You don’t have to believe me. But you must wonder,” Maya emphasizes, “Why is it you two keep bumping into each in the most unlikely of places, in Portland, Maine? Why is it that whenever you two make contact, Marion, you find yourself sitting in that office of yours, feeling as though you are shackled, while blood is rushing in the room? And Ava, you always get images being in a bathtub filled with blood with the same black-horse mug and legal notepad on the ledge. Curious, isn’t it?” 

Marion felt chained to her chair, as though there was an invisible weight pressing against her body. She sat face to face across from a younger Ava, who was sitting on the couch, caterwauling in agony with her face painfully skewed, with no words or sound coming out. She stretched out her arms as if she was trying to reach out to somebody in the abyss. Marion still couldn’t budge to reach Ava, despite all her force. Feeling utterly helpless, Marion buried her head into her hands, wailing. She noticed ruby-red liquid flowing toward her feet, like an army of microscopic-sized soldiers inching their way to the target, tainting each fiber of the carpet crimson red. Then suddenly, she felt drops of liquid dripping down her thighs. She saw her wrist was slit open with a gaping chasm, with blood pouring out. She looked back up and found herself in Ava’s bathroom, seeing her lifeless body in the bathtub, her arm flung over the edge with her wrists slit, pools of blood spilling out of the tub. Marion shrieked in horror.

Gripping the armchair tightly, this flashback, exactly the one they had when met at the scavenger hunt, is sending them into a whirlpool of an otherworldly realm that feels intimately familiar yet alien. Oscillating between both worlds, bodies steeped in blood akin to their skin drenched in cold sweat, a sense of dizziness and queasiness consumes them.

Ava and Marion, discombobulated, look at each other as though their whole lives have disintegrated before their eyes. A cloud of darkness, heaviness has descended, choking the room’s oxygen. 

Coming back to this reality, Marion takes a deep exhale as if she has been holding her breath, and says, “What are we to do about this?” 

“There is one option,” Maya leans in, narrowing her eyes. “And this is...complicated, and I am not saying it’s going to work, but I can call upon the spirits of your pasts to help rectify past misgivings.”

Ava and Marion both interject at the same time, “That…” Ava resumes, “That’s…that’s ridiculous. No way am I participating in this farce.” 

“Exactly, you’re just making all this stuff up and want to make money off of us,” Marion chimes in.

“Ladies, I did not put these flashbacks in your heads. Why do you think you keep having them every time you see each other or are in contact with one another? You can certainly leave this all alone.” Maya transfixes her gaze, her voice dropping to a menacingly slow and deliberate tone, “But remember, as I said earlier, these poor, trapped, afflicted souls will continue to visit you in your sleep, in your waking life, screaming in agony, begging for your attention—even more so now that you’ve met each other and awakened each other’s past souls. Anything and everything that feels familiar can easily trigger flashbacks, even if you’re not in each other’s company. The more you resist, the more they persist. You will soon realize you’re no longer living your own life—not the one you want.”

A deluge of crimson blood breached through Marion’s office door, surging in with fury, flooding the room with items beginning to sway and float. The rush of blood was overflowing Marion’s mug with an image of a black Friesian horse, eventually cascading onto a two-tiered pie-crust mahogany table, reminiscent of a flowing chocolate fountain. Marion, frozen in place, was halfway submerged in the pool with the tide rising slowly to her chest. Unable to speak or move, Marion’s face contorted and grimaced in desperation, her widened eyes pleading for help, as she remained trapped and helpless. Completely immersed, she fought for her breath, choking and suffocating, eventually losing consciousness. As her eyes fluttered back open, she found herself sprawled out face down across Ava’s black-and-white mosaic hexagonal tiled bathroom floor. She watched, her eyes widened in terror, as Ava was in the tub, slicing across the thin film of her skin with a small blade, which gradually unfurled like a zipper, revealing a bottomless void.

“Fuck!” Ava, waking up from the trance, buries her head into her hands and starts sobbing. Marion tries reaching out, comforting her, but Ava recoils. “Don’t touch me!”

Maya stands up and consoles Ava with both her arms caressing her shoulders. “Ladies, I won’t charge you for the seance session, either. As I mentioned, I haven’t seen something like this….in quite awhile. In order to start truly living the lives you want, you will need to speak to the souls of your past, to reduce the recurrence of dreams, of flashbacks, of whatever may spill into your current lives. You need to release this lingering trauma.”

Marion releases a deep exhale and says, “Fine. How do we get started?” 

“What? Are you serious? I am not doing this.” 

“What choice do we have, Ava? I can’t put up with this. All my life, I’ve always known something is wrong with me. I always feel this impending guilt, this doom in my life, like nothing I ever do is good enough for my family, for my husband, my daughter…I can’t seem to want to be close to any of them. I bury myself in work. And why? Why this fear of being close?” 

Maya, still standing behind Ava, “Why don’t you two take a break and think about it? However, my schedule is quite full. I am only free this Sunday and then blocked for the next couple of weeks. I do urge you to start sooner rather than later.” Maya heads toward the exit. “When you return, go to the check-out counter, tell the clerk you’re here for me. They should know.” Maya disappears into the drapes. 

Marion leans into Ava, pleading, “Ava, I know this is a lot to process, but I am begging you to think about it. You told me about your manic mood swings, not being able to talk to your family about your issues because of their religious upbringing. Doesn’t all of this sound strangely familiar?” Ava, with her arms and legs crossed, nervously bites her lips, as she silently stews in her thoughts.

“There’s a reason we keep bumping into each other on this trip. There’s a reason we connect so inexplicably well. There’s a reason these flashbacks keep happening in each other’s presence. Maya even said they will happen more, even when we’re apart, because…something has been awakened.” 

Ava clings to her silence, hoping to find refuge from the chaos. 

Marion continues, “Ok. What if you just give ourselves this evening and tomorrow to think about it? If you want to do it, just meet me in front of the store at noon on Sunday? That is the only time I can make it. I am flying back on Monday with Roan and Reya. You have my number, too.” 

In a desperate frenzy, Ava rises abruptly and yanks the curtains open, blowing a gust of wind in Marion’s direction, its acrid incense fragrant intensifying the atmosphere. Marion slumps in her chair as she sighs in defeat, realizing she may be trapped in this unending nightmare for the rest of her life.

𝌀

In the dimly lit, sienna tinged French style cafe, Ava’s body stiffens against the windowpane, eyes darting around the room, frantically inspecting every inch of her body, hands, her chest and legs, in an effort to confirm this is her own body, desperately clinging onto any last shreds of sanity. She nervously clutches her cappuccino, her hands shaking with unease, causing drops to spill onto the saucer. She tries to shake off yesterday’s meetup with Maya and Marion as if it was all a nightmare. Yet, she cannot help but wonder if this is part of her manic episode, or whether she has exaggerated the incident in her mind. 

She decides to call her cousin, Clare, who she sometimes confides in about her struggles. Clare, just like Ava, left the Catholic faith, albeit halfheartedly. While Clare no longer observes and abides by the strict practices of Catholicism, she still holds onto certain beliefs that resonate with her on a personal level. 

“Clare? Oh, thank god. I thought you wouldn’t pick up.” 

“Hey Ava, what’s going on? I am kind of in a bind, doing write-ups for a patient…” 

“I know, sorry.” 

“You ok? You sound weird. How’s Portland?” Ava remains silent, which she embraces, as silence has been her peaceful solace. 

“Ava?” 

“I…I don’t know how to describe it…”

“Ava? Are you having another episode again? Look, did you take our meds? You know, call Dr. O’Hara.”

“No. no. I can’t. I don’t want to talk to her…I just have to tell you…Do you believe…?” Ava stops herself before uttering words she believes to be insane, as she is trembling with tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Ava, honey. Ok, tell me. Let’s talk it out for a bit…” Clare covers the receiver and whispers to her colleague beside her: No, can you help finish up the after-visit report, ok thanks. “Ava, I am back. Breathe.”

“Ok, so, I met this lady. She was so nice, warm, and easy to talk to. But every time we accidentally touch each other…like brush up against each other or whatever, I get these instant flashbacks of this child in a tub filled with blood…” Tears stream down Ava’s face, her sobs echoing throughout the quiet cafe, causing curious gazes from other patrons around her. Trying to stifle her crying, Ava turns her head to the side facing the window and covers her mouth to gain some semblance of control.

“Ava, did you take your meds?”

“Yes, I took my meds!” Ava bawls, suddenly aware of how loud she is getting again. The barista peers over at Ava with concern. “I had been doing fine until I met this woman,” Ava attempts to whisper. 

“Ok, ok, who is this woman? Why the…tub? The blood?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Ava responds speedily. “Her name is Marion, she’s… really kind. There’s something about her that makes me feel as if she’s some kind of a maternal figure in my life.”

“Is it possible you’re tired from traveling? Causing these…occurrences?”

“You know, I wish. These flashbacks happened a few times, the last time being at the psychic’s…”

“You went to a psychic? No, Ava, no. This is not the course to deal with your ailment. I suggest you come home right now and see Dr. O’Hara right away.”

“No, Dr. O’Hara wouldn’t understand! She’d just force me to try more meds!”

“Ava, going to a psychic is a dangerous path. No wonder you are having these hallucinations. You are dealing with this dark magic that you have no idea what it’d turn into…You must at the very least protect your…”

“Stop…stop it…you sound just like mom and dad!” Ava buries her head into her hand, wincing as if she’s trying to suppress an inevitable pain from rising. Suddenly, she notices droplets of blood splattering on the marble tabletop. She checks everywhere to find where the blood is coming from. Suddenly she notices a gash forming on her wrist, slowly unraveling into a fissure, with blood seeping through the tear. 

“Shit, shit!” Ava shrieks as she jumps up from her chair, sending everything, including her leather jacket and crossbody handbag, crashing to the ground. The soft chatters abruptly cease, as everybody is staring at Ava, who’s now kneeling on the floor examining her wrist.

“Ava, Ava?” Clare is screaming into the phone that also flew on the floor.

With each melancholic clop of her ankle cowboy boots, adorned with black and red outlays, the barista moves mindfully toward Ava, her eyes filled with concern, trying to unravel the mystery of Ava who seems lost in her own world, desperately scratching at something.

“Ma’am, are you ok?” Startled by the barista’s sudden approach, Ava snaps her head and meets her gaze. 

The barista notices the prominent red scratches and marks on her wrist. “Uh…do you want me to call someone?” 

“No, no, thank you.” Ava desperately wipes her face, her hand trembling hands seeking support as the barista extends a helping hand.

Ava untangles her coat and purse straps from the chair and grabs her phone. She dashes out, fearing the patrons’ scrutiny.

“Ava, Ava?! What’s going on? You’re scaring me…”

Ava stands outside the cafe entrance, struggling to put her coat back on, as the rain is pouring down relentlessly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I am ok…” Her voice trails off as she reassures Clare, which is barely audible over the sound of raindrop pounding the ground. 

She rummages through her coat pocket, searching for the crumpled tissues to wipe her runny nose, like a frenzied person in disarray. “I gotta go. I have to go meet someone at noon. I’ll call you later.”