Note: This is not mandatory but whilst writing this chapter I found myself listening to music from the band Daughter. Give any of their songs a listen to when reading this to enhance the feeling I'm attempting to get across. Happy reading! :)

(Present time)

I'm drinking coffee in the garden, keeping watch of several bees when I am unexpectedly overcome by an intense, unprovoked tsunami of emotion. My feelings have morphed into excessively exaggerated versions of themselves of late but this surprises me. It leaves me clutching at my chest & heaving, tears forming in my eyes. I release an anguished, animalistic shriek before bawling hysterically. The sensation crushes my chest, causing my lungs to constrict and my heart to pick up the pace. I wail another gut-wrenching groan. I'm almost convinced I'm on the fringe of death. The corrosive nature of this discomfort results in me barreling off the bench I was sitting on in favour of curling up on the grass, knees to my chin. I continue to lie in sorrow for an indeterminate amount of time before I am slowly coaxed into a memory. A memory? Well, it feels like one. It's the same as always; the haunting of the vague teenager being violently attacked by the podgy guy with a receding hairline. The reason I refer to this particular episode as a memory is because of the gentle & non-invasive manner in which it presents itself to me. I am allowed to stop what I'm mentally viewing in favour of other, more pleasant thoughts. Yet my masochism urges me towards uncovering the full extent of the new memory. I probe deeper & deeper into the event, hazy details abound & I initially struggle to fathom what exactly is going on, particularly since my wracking weeps have yet to cease. Nevertheless, I ultimately form a rudimentary sequence of events using the fragments I have been provided with. It is astonishingly pleasant.

In essence, this is what occurred one blustery afternoon in the life of the girl I have been plagued with seeing: the girl was with a man & a woman that I gathered were her parents. The trio were eating lunch at a posh, pretentious-looking restaurant. They were all laughing & joking around, it appeared to be a happy scene – so why was I still bawling with angst?

Her mother & father kept over-exaggerating their prolonged kisses, much to the dismay of the girl & the patrons surrounding the family. As usual the girl's general appearance was blurred & her voice distorted, except, she seemed to be almost greyed out now. I instinctively knew it was her – the girl of my nightmares – but she was more visibly unclear than ever.

Her father snaked his hand down onto her mother's thigh at one point, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She laughed & threw an indeterminate piece of food at him. The girl joined in then, throwing crumbs of bread at her parents whenever they said or did anything inappropriate. I could tell she was enjoying herself by how her hazy laugh increased in decibels. They began to receive an increasing number of disapproving & disdainful looks from the staff & customers around them, noses turned up & eyes contemptuous. The three merely parodied the facial expressions to one another, each face twisting to form a grotesque caricature of anger & derision. This only made the girl laugh harder, causing her to crash against the table, smashing her mother's wine glass to the ground. The shiraz introduced a deeply merlot colour into the light mahogany carpeting. Her laughter extinguished just then.

"Whatever is the matter with you? Numerous guests have complained to management regarding your improper conduct at this establishment. I'm afraid I have no choice but to politely escort you out, immediately," was the stern request delivered by a middle-aged waiter, dressed in a three-piece suit, leather gloves, mirror-shine shoes & a cane gracefully held in the left hand. His hair was precisely gelled back & he reeked of an indiscernible but evidently expensive eau de toilette. I suddenly had the greatest urge to bow down to this obvious element of royalty. Oh yes, he also had a strong British accent. Perhaps the family has taken a vacation.

Her parents fight to keep their faces neutral & solemn, however, the girl does not display such self-restraint, she begins an aria of raucous laughter while the waiter impatiently ushers them out.

Once in the sparse sunlight & bustling street the parents dispose of their inhibitions & hunch over with mirth. They all wipe their eyes a little while later, happily spent from amusement.

"That was awful, we'll never be allowed in that restaurant again!" The mother despairs with a smile still lingering on her face.

"Who cares? That place was too posh & expensive anyway," the father grins lovingly at his wife – I presume they're married?

"At least you scored us a free meal!" He enthuses as he affectionately grasps his daughter's shoulder. The pair laugh at this.

"What? We didn't pay?" The mother asks, astonished.

"Nope," the father chuckles.

The mother whips around & gasps, expecting the owners to come after them. "Let's scram before they notice!" She yelps.

The trio hold hands & run hastily through the glaringly obvious English streets. They eventually end up on a secluded rocky alcove, a short walk away from the road. The dad shiftily glances at the rippling & crashing waves before swiftly grasping his daughter around the waist, hoisting her onto his shoulder & dashing towards the ocean. She screeches at him with glee & disdain, her mother cries tears of laughter & shouts for her husband to put their baby down. He does so, in the shallow waves. She jolts upwards, screaming obscenities about how freezing it is, winds whipping her soaking clothes around her body. She splashes her father as he runs off towards her mother. The mother, fully aware of what's coming, speeds off towards the road. Her husband, running much faster than her, catches up quickly. He swipes her off her feet as she screams & laughs. He then proceeds to dunk her in the water just as he did his daughter. The girl then scoops up handfuls of water & showers her father with them. She cackles while he vigorously shakes the cold from his bones. The mother has now risen but has remained quiet, removing her cardigan & soaking it in the sea. She then stealthily drapes it over her husband's back, half-hugging him so as to prevent him from removing the shiver-inducing garment. His cries of shock synchronise with the wail of the surrounding seagulls, circling the shore for their prey.

The family continues to frolic in the choppy, unforgivingly cold waters, sharp winds & cloudy humidity until they realise that if they stay any longer they're likely to fall ill. They huddle up & begin the walk back to the street. They catch a taxi & chuckle at the driver's amazement at their noticeable romp in the water, in this cold. As the streets pass by I note the scent of seawater in the vehicle, the itch of the salt on the girl's limbs, the soaking socks of the father & the smeared makeup of the mother. They shiver, even when the driver blasts the heat enough for him to strip down to just a wife-beater. The girl's shoes are filled with sand & her wet shorts chafe her thighs. The mother's wristwatch is discovered to not be waterproof. The father forgot about his leather wallet in his pocket. He removes a saturated mass & vows to only check if his money survived the onslaught once they've reached their hotel. They all talk avidly throughout the trip, about everything & nothing, the important & the frivolous. Although neither family member is physically comfortable neither could be happier. Streaks of mascara tell of happy tears, tousled hair reminds the father of his youth; a youth he now gets to relive with his daughter - a daughter who radiates contentment at the absurdity of the afternoon. I smile as I watch them, not even my close-knit family would enjoy a day together like that. I wonder what happened that allows me to now witness the girl being assaulted at the hands of whoever those men are? I wonder, if this memory is real, did any of these events actually happen to somebody? I wonder, if they did occur, what order did they occur in? Am I experiencing real-time events or a random reshuffling of the deck? Is this real? Am I losing my mind completely? Did I sustain brain injuries through the crash that have gone undetected?

I navigate the existential crisis & wipe my eyes. The grass tickles my exposed skin & a ladybird lands on my knee. The birds continue to peep, the sun still shines, illuminating my quintessential suburban backyard. Nature is oblivious to my inner tumult.

My brother Calvin arrives, announcing himself with a staged throat-clearing.

"What?" I ask, dejected.

"Mother requests your presence within the confines of the residential imprisonment we are conditioned into classifying as "home"."

I snigger at the ludicrous nature of his speech before staggering upwards & inwards.

"Yeah, mom?"

"Aaron, where is – oh honey! You're sunburnt. What were you doing outside all this time?"

"Just daydreaming."

"You might want to add some sunblock next time you do that," my mom says with a wink. I grin & nod my head.

"Calvin said you asked for me," questioning in my voice.

"I'm sure he didn't say that. I'm sure he said something pompous & theatrical," she says with a hoot.

"Okay yes, he said something fancy I didn't care to remember. Now, what was it you required?"

"Oh yes, where are the spare lightbulbs? Do you need anything from the grocery store and also, don't think I don't see you doting on that girl from your group. What's she called? Adrienne! That's it! Pretty girl, seems to make you smile, too. You should invite her around sometime. You hardly go out anymore. Not that I'm complaining, I love having all my boys close by, but I worry about you, Aaron. I worry that you're lonely and a friend can only cheer you up!" She says all of this without letting me even get a breath in.

"Okay, let me recap. Lightbulbs are in the second drawer from the bottom in the garage, if you are going shopping I'd like some pears and I'm not lonely. I have you guys and Nick, I'm fine, really. Though I wouldn't mind having Adrienne over sometime, if everybody's alright with it," I utter the last part rather awkwardly, I've been trying to keep my feelings for Adri low-key but if even my mom could see I wanted her, how blindingly obvious was I?

"Thank you, dear. Of course we wouldn't mind! Ask her over after your next group session!" She yells, halfway out the door already.

I'm incredulous. "So soon?!"

"Yes!" Comes my mom's muffled shout from the garage.

That's that then. I'm asking Adrienne to hang out with me the next time I see her. I feel an invigorating wave of nerves wash over me at the idea of her here. In my house. In my room. I smile at the thought & reach to grab an architecture magazine when an incapacitating pain suddenly emanates from my chest. I clutch myself & take rasping, heaving breaths. Myocardial infarction now? Before I've even gotten Adrienne into my bed? I lie down on the floor in hopes that this will pass quickly.

Soon the wheezing stops & is substituted with dark spots emerging in my line of vision, followed by crippling anxiety. A reverse panic attack?

Oh no, it's neither a heart nor panic attack I realise, but another haunting by mystery girl. This one differs from this morning's episode by its coercive, invasive nature. It pervades my consciousness & forces me to take notice. It appears to be a flashback or a live event. It's a morbid car crash I cannot look away from. I don't want to see how the girl's naked body is only visibly naked where the blood that cloaks her has not reached, or how her attacker has her wrists tied to an unfamiliar bed's frame with extension cords, or how her legs are so badly bruised I worry about deep tissue damage. I don't want to see the unnatural fashion in which her right ankle has been contorted downwards, I don't want to see the bruises in the shape of fingerprints already developing on her neck where he's been choking her. I don't feel the need to see the fresh semen stains on the sheets & on her stomach. I don't want to hear her guttural rasps for air & occasional screams. But I have to. I have to witness these terrors being inflicted upon this girl. I've no idea why but I am perversely compelled to keep my eyes & mind open, ready to watch the next horror installment. I wonder if she'll die this time, spare us both the regular tragedies. Would the hauntings come to a halt if she was dead? Then again, who's to say she isn't already? I've decided that everything I've watched through my mind's eye has to be real. It just has to be. There's no way something so vivid, painful & emotional could be just creations of my imagination. Besides, I'd never had that much of a graphically-vivid imagination. This girl, whoever she is, must exist, or must have existed. Why I see her I have no answer, but there must be a purpose; a reason that her life & her suffering has been exposed to me in such an uncensored manner. 

I press on, looking for clues about her & her location. She's shackled to a flimsy, low king size bed. The upper frame comprises of thin metal swirled patterns with peeling while paint. The ruffled bedspread is a dusty, mottled blue. The bed creaks & groans with every movement of the girl as she attempts to alleviate her pain. The room is sepia & rustic with its worn wooden floors, walls & ceiling. There are framed pictures of insipid, delicate flowers adorning the walls & some minimalist furniture comprising of a rickety parquet wardrobe, glass table embellished with a china vase of dead flowers & a small, bare nightstand. The Venetian blinds are open, as is the window & what looks like midday sunshine bathes the room in a bright & lively glow, illuminating the still-blurred form of the injured girl.

The scene makes me feel strangely nostalgic. Outside, I see pine trees swaying in the breeze & mountainous terrain in the background. This must be the proverbial "cabin in the woods" where he's taken her to kill her. This is it then, I'm going to witness a girl losing her life to the scent of pine. That's right, I'm so immersed into this violent thriller, as I was with the memory, that I can experience smell. I notice the stench of her new & congealing blood, I watch as some of it trickles down her sides & splashes on the floor, permanently marking her presence. All the while she makes pitiful whimpers until her blood-soaked body convulses suddenly, causing her to smear more of her blood on the duvet. Her cries increase in pitch & I think I even hear a strangled but relieved laugh escape her lips. The reason for her abrupt revival stalks quietly into the room. A man, dressed in jeans & a button-down shirt. I sense familiarity but considering he is also rather blurred I struggle to place him. Until I do. Jesus, it's her father! I just know it is. He stealthily crosses to the bed where the girl laughs & cries, relieved & bewildered. He motions for her to be quiet as he hides himself between the detached wardrobe & the door. The girl quietens but her breathing remains laboured. A few minutes pass without any changes. Sometime later the abuser swaggers back into the room, naked & erect. The girl squeals & attempts to fold her broken body in on itself. When the attacker has his back to the wardrobe the father leaps out onto him, smashing him in the back of the head with an unidentified object. The chorus of the father's enraged moans, the rapist's pained cries & the girl's essential anguish form a sullen a cappella.

The father's passionate blows to the attacker become painful to watch as he jabs the naked man's eye repeatedly, knees him in the bare groin & snaps his nose with a deft hand movement. The girl, somewhat reluctantly, shouts for her father to end the savagery, lest he be imprisoned for murder. Her father ignores her & only continues to fight dirtier. He incurs a black eye & split lip once the attacker somehow obtains the upper hand & rolls the brawling pair to allow him to be on top. The other man is a mangled mess of fat & blood but he's enraged enough to round on the father. The dad effectively defends many of the strikes as he maneuvers them closer to the wardrobe. The pair shuffle & crash, an uncoordinated dance of bloodshed. The father straddles the criminal & distracts him with one hand as the other hunts blindly for something in a lower niche of the wardrobe. Once victorious, the father slams his left hand forcefully onto the balding man's creatively tattooed chest, slightly to the left. The father places his right hand over his left & twists strenuously. Blood spirts & rains down upon both men. Once the father is satisfied he removes his bloodied hands to reveal a corkscrew protruding from the other man's chest. A la The Girl On The Train.

The defeated lies in a promptly widening rapid of his own aortic flow. He gargles blood & murmurs unintelligible slurs. The father wipes the blood of his conquest on his jeans & looks up when he finally notices his daughter's incessant wails. He pads over to her & is set to cautiously embrace her when he unexpectedly disappears. Literally. He suddenly vanishes, like he was a trick of the light; only a mirage. The man haemorrhaging on the hardwood floor has also been vaporized, not even his arterial spray is left behind. It is as though neither of them were in the room at all. The hell is going on here?

The girl takes in a sharp breath before unleashing a raucous scream laced with wrath. "Just an illusion!" She screeches. Ah, so she wasn't expecting these latest developments, either.

Her anger falls to despair as she curls up as best as she can with her restrains & begins to sob. A loud, morose, body-rattling weep. I want to comfort her but I'm merely an invisible spectator. She probably feels as powerless as I do.

When the sky ultimately glows auburn & the room becomes hazy golden, the birdsong cheerful & the flies buzzing with contentment, the unfortunate girl stops crying. Her tears have saturated the pillowcase & her cheeks glisten. The room becomes progressively warmer with the setting of the sun & I can tell she wants to sleep, I do too. The place, sans the dying girl, smells more like home every time I take a breath. The outdoors, the mountains, the heat. I love this. The dusty-coloured wood emitting an aroma of midnight bonfires, log cabins in forests & memories of long-gone holidays with my father, when we still knew what to say to each other.

∞

The show ended over an hour ago but I'm still lying here. I haven't bothered to wipe my tears or rise as the gravity of these scenes has yet to cease. Why did that girl's father appear to her in a hallucination? Why wasn't he there to legitimately save her? What happened to her afterwards? Was she left attached to that bed, left to die of starvation or thirst? My ponderings are interrupted by my father's return. He strides into the living room where I'm lounged uncomfortably on the floor.

"Aaron," he says by way of greeting. Ignoring my current ground-floor position.

"Dad," I reply similarly.

I get up when I hear my mother's car arriving, I know she'll wonder why I'm slumped on the floor. I walk into the kitchen to meet her so that I can unpack the groceries.

"Hi honey, I found you two bags of pears & some steak for your father," she enthuses as we unload.

"Thanks, mom," I grin & bite into a pear.

"Hey, you've been crying, what happened?"

"Ah, nothing really, just the flashbacks again," I answer vaguely.

She hugs me & reminds me that I have group in the morning so I can talk about it then, if I want.

Afterwards, I proceed to my room, passing the mirror by the staircase on the way. I catch sight of my disheveled brown hair, slightly sunburnt face & tear tracks originating from my green eyes. I look paler than usual, which only accentuates my new lobster look. Adrienne & the guys are going to tear me a new one at group tomorrow, I think, happy to be seeing her again.

Once at my bedroom I drop onto the unmade bed & ruminate on the day's events. I still struggle to believe I whiled away the greater part of an entire day being beleaguered by unsolicited gratuitous violence & sickeningly sweet nostalgia.
I snap upright once I realise at last why I was crying so passionately after this morning's memory.

Loss.

It was loss. No wonder it felt like a memory; that trip to England happened, that girl had a loving family. That girl must surely exist. Her family is most likely no longer here, which explains why none of her parents were present to save her from her abuser's manacles in that cabin. I wonder what happened to them. More importantly, I wonder what happened to her.