What happened to Lindsey?

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙶𝙴𝚁𝚂, 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳. 

 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟼 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝙿𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝙻𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙻𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚣. 

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚜, 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝟽 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜. 

S E S S I O N  4

After the session, I wasn't in my usual self. After making our lunch, I excused myself. Lindsey ate alone, my eyes casually watched her. 

Her silent presence was a constant reminder of the unanswered questions in my mind. The urge to understand her better, t̶o̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶i̶f̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶g̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶c̶r̶a̶z̶y̶, to piece together the fragments of her past, became overwhelming.

I went to my room, determined to know about what really happened. I knew there were some articles about that case here. Looking in different drawers and checking every closet, I soon found compiled papers that I was looking for. I searched through its contents until I found the yellowing newspaper clippings and printed articles.

Breathing heavily, I began to read. The first article was about the chilling incident that had left an indelible mark on our small town, Pendle. Eight Teenagers Kidnapped, Only One Survivor. It is what is written in the headline.

The story unfolded in grim detail. Eight teenagers had vanished without a trace, leaving their families and the entire Pendle in a state of panic. Search parties had scoured the town and surrounding areas, but it was as if the earth had swallowed them whole—maybe hell did. 

Weeks passed with no leads and no clues.

After weeks of searching, one by one, bodies have been found. The images of the bodies continued flashing as I read the articles.

As I read, my imagination took over, filling in the horrific gaps. I pictured Lindsey and the other teenagers trapped in a dark, dirty room, crying helplessly. I saw the fear in their eyes, the hopelessness that must have consumed them as days turned into weeks. I could see the captor, a faceless monster who kidnapped them, having fun playing with them like a cat with its prey.

But the criminal was never found. They never knew what happened . . . for Lindsey r̶e̶f̶u̶s̶e̶ can't talk. 

The images were too much. My stomach churned, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I dropped the articles, clutching my head in my hands as I tried to calm myself. The room started spinning, the place was getting dark as the walls closed in toward me.

I'm doubting myself, starting to think that her actions now are normal. And it's my duty to help her. But . . . there's still something in me that wants to know. What really happened? How did she survive? What if there was something more to her silence? Something darker?

Is her actions now really because of what happened? Was she haunted by memories of her captivity? Did she see her captor in every shadow, hear his voice in every creak of the house? Or was there something else?

I hate myself. Doubting the patient I should help. But . . . 

My mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I need to think straight and normal. 

I set the articles aside, my mind is full of thoughts and emotions. Maybe the case is also eating me alive, making me think this way.

Maybe . . . I'm just overthinking everything.

⌖

Night came, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. The continuous chopping of vegetables is the only noise in the room. But as if my body was just moving on its own, my mind was nowhere near cooking. Thoughts of Lindsey and the dark mystery surrounding her never left the back of my mind.

I couldn't stop thinking about the articles I'd read earlier, about the horrific ordeal she'd endured and the strange, unsettling behavior that had followed. The fear I'd felt, t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶, is still in my head. I tried to push it away, to focus on the task at hand, but my hands were trembling as I cuyt through the vegetables.

As I lost myself in my thoughts, the knife slipped. A sharp pain snapped me back to reality, and I looked down to see blood welling from a deep cut on my finger. 

"Ouch!" I let out a small sound, breaking the silence of the kitchen. Instinctively, I brought my finger to my mouth, licking the blood away.

It was then that I noticed Lindsey standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. She was so silent, so still, that I hadn't heard her approach. The dim light from the kitchen cast eerie shadows on her face, making her look almost like a ghost.

Her dark eyes seemed bigger, maybe because of the position of the light. Her skin is paler, making the mole under her eye more visible. Her dark long straight hair makes her more standout.

For a moment, our eyes locked, and I felt something take over my mind. My gaze drifted to the knife on the cutting board, still slick with my blood. A disturbing thought popped into my head, a thought I couldn't hide in my mind.

If I hurt Lindsey, would she speak? Would she finally break her silence?

The idea horrified me, but I couldn't shake it. What if her muteness was a facade, a barrier protecting some deeper, darker secret? What if forcing her to speak was the only way to uncover the truth? The knife gleamed under the kitchen light, and my bleeding finger throbbed in time with my racing heart.

I imagined what it would be like to confront Lindsey, to demand answers from her. Would she cry out in pain? Would her voice, stolen by trauma, finally break free in a moment of desperation? The thought of causing her harm twisted my stomach, but the curiosity, the need to know, was overwhelming.

I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know. I want to know-

As quickly as the dark thought had come, the realization hit me. 

What was I thinking? I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶. What kind of person was I to even consider such a thing? I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶. Lindsey was a victim, a survivor. I̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶. She deserved compassion, not cruelty. I felt sickened by my own mind.

I tore my gaze away from the knife and looked back at Lindsey. She was still watching me, her expression unreadable. Did she sense the turmoil within me? Did she know what I had been thinking? The thought made me feel even worse.

"Lindsey," I said softly, my voice trembling. "I-I cut myself." I shove my thoughts with a smile and chuckle.

She didn't react, just slowly took away her eyes from me. There was something in her gaze, making me think about the thoughts I had, seconds ago.

I gulped before going back to making dinner. My thoughts didn't stop eating me.

My fear of Lindsey didn't disappear but I started fearing myself too.

⌖