“What is Stockholm Syndrome?” I asked.

“It's a phenomenon that occurs when a hostage starts feeling compassion toward her captor, either because she feels sorry for him, or because she feels like she can identify with her captor. 

I thought about that for a minute and recognized how it might appear that way to everyone. I was indeed kidnapped, but I knew that you regretted it. I did have positive feelings towards you, but I knew that I wasn't fooling myself. I loved you, Zayn. God, I loved you and I missed you so much!

“Well, would it help you to know that Zayn needs psychological care? He needs to have some help, and it's not because he kidnapped me, because he did not kidnap me. His father killed his mother when he was only ten years old. And then his father committed suicide and Zayn found him. On top of that, Zayn's grandfather lived with them at the time, and Zayn managed to keep the deaths a secret from him since his grandfather had Alzheimer's disease. Zayn convinced the authorities that his grandfather was able to look after him so that they wouldn't be separated, but in reality, Zayn looked after him. He took care of his grandfather for nine years until he finally died. Does that sound like a kidnapper to you? Does a dangerous criminal behave the way he did, caring for his grandfather and running a household for nine years?”

The tears were returning as I thought of the injustice of your situation. You were looking for some happiness in your tragic life, and you found it in me. And I found it in you. And now we had to fight for someone - anyone - to believe us.

“Wow,” said Dr. Conyers. Then she got up and went to her computer while I still sat there. She clicked around a bit and then she said, “I should notify the police so that they can have him evaluated by a psychiatrist.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Is there any way that you can convince them to let me see him?”

She looked at me apologetically and said, “I still don't think that's a good idea, hon. I believe what you've told me about Zayn's past, and it is very tragic. Unfortunately, I think that's the reason you feel sorry for him. You want to somehow make it better, but he still did something very wrong and very illegal.”

“He didn't kidnap me!” I screamed, crying even harder.

“I think that's enough for this session,” Dr. Conyers said and escorted me to the waiting room where Nolan was waiting for me.

He just hugged me and led me to his car, thankfully not asking questions.

As soon as I got home, I did something I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of before: I did a Google search on my name. It came back with numerous entries about my abduction and my rescue. And about the man who was supposedly responsible for all of it. I clicked on one link and broke down in tears when I saw your face, captured in a mug shot. I read the short article.

River Tatum's Kidnapper Being Held on $50,000 Bail

Zayn Malik, 21, of Grand Forks is being held on kidnapping charges. Bail has been set at $50,000. Malik is accused of kidnapping River Tatum on November 26. Malik allegedly stopped to help Tatum after her car broke down, and proceeded to take her to a remote cabin in northern Canada. Police are still investigating the case.

“Where are they holding you?” I whispered to myself.

I read over several of the other articles from the days following my disappearance. I clicked on a link to a news report from just after I went missing. The reporter spoke in an overly concerned voice.

“River Tatum, an 18-year-old college student from Grand Forks, was reported missing after she failed to show up for a ski weekend with friends at Frost Fire. Tatum's Subaru Outback was found abandoned on Highway 81, just miles away from Frost Fire. The front tire was blown out, so it is assumed that she was abducted by someone who stopped to help her. If you have any information about River Tatum or Zayn Malik, please contact the North Dakota State Police at 888-555-2100.”

Another link revealed when they began to suspect you, although I can't imagine how they put the two of us together.

“Authorities believe this man is responsible for the disappearance of college freshman, River Tatum.” Then the screen flashed to a nice picture of you. I couldn't exactly tell when it was taken, but your face was clean-shaven, although your hair was long and thick. “If you've seen this man or if you have any other information about the disappearance of River Tatum, please call the North Dakota State Police at 888-555-2100.”

I'm sure it was only a matter of time before someone saw the pictures and reported seeing us as we made our way to Churchill and then to the cabin. Was it someone at the airport in Winnipeg, or someone on the plane from Winnipeg to Churchill, or was it Ferg, who flew the plane out to the cabin? He would be my top suspect, since I was unconscious during that part of the trip.

I went to bed feeling sick with worry and apprehension. I had to find a way to get to you, to tell you to agree with my story, to help you somehow.

As I laid there, my mind racing with too many thoughts, I forced myself to remember your face, your smell, the sound of your voice, your accent. Then I began to think of sleeping next to you, cuddled into your warmth. I remember the steamy morning before all hell broke loose, when we got lost in each other's kisses.

I moved my fingers under my t-shirt and let them wander over the bare skin of my sides and my belly and my breasts. I imagined that they were your fingers, caressing me tenderly. I moved one hand inside of my underwear and imagined you touching me intimately. I hoped and prayed that we would be together again soon, and that some day soon after, we would be able to give ourselves fully to each other.

I was thankful that we had both resisted temptation and that we hadn't gone any further that morning. If we'd had sex, things would have been much more complicated. At least I could prove that I was still a virgin, and that you hadn't forced yourself on me. That had to count for something.

When I slept that night, I dreamed of you.

We were walking in a park, holding hands. You squeezed my hand and I turned to kiss you. You held me tightly and kissed me back as I ran my fingers through your hair.

The dream was much too short, and I woke up with tears streaming down my face.

I missed you so much, it hurt.

The next morning, I woke up with a plan. I was going to talk to the police.

I got up and showered quickly, hoping to leave the house without being detected. I grabbed a bagel and left a note on the kitchen table.

Hey guys,
I went out for a bit. Be back later.
<3 River

I jumped into my Subaru and headed to the nearest coffee shop. I was happy to be driving my good old Outback again. It was strange to think that the last time I sat in the driver's seat, I didn't even know you then. So much had changed in a few short weeks, and now I knew I wouldn't stop at anything to find you, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

I grabbed my favorite cup of joe at the coffee shop. I had to admit to myself that I'd missed it. I didn't mind tea, but I loved my coffee in the morning.

I easily found my way to the Grand Forks Police Department. It wasn't far from my house, actually. I parked the car and bundled up against the biting wind. I had my warmest gloves on and the coffee added to the warmth, but I could feel the sting of the cold through the lightweight jacket I'd chosen. It was nothing compared to almost freezing to death...twice.

I walked up to the reception desk and asked to speak to the chief of police.

The receptionist asked me, “May I ask the nature of your business?”

“I'm River Tatum.”

Her eyes widened in recognition and she said, “I'll let him know you're here.” A few moments later, she opened a door to the side of the reception window and she motioned for me to follow her. I complied and I was soon led to a large office. Harvey Campton, Chief of Police was written in bold white letters across the office window.

I strode in confidently and said, “Hello, Chief Campton, I'm River Tatum.” I extended my hand to him and he chuckled lightly.

“I know who you are, darlin'. Good to have you back safe and sound.” He got up from his chair and gave me a warm hug. Then he offered me a seat. “What brings you here today?”

“I want to know where Zayn Malik is being held.”

A look of confusion crossed his face. “Why do you want to know that?” He asked.

“Did you not get a report from the police department in Winnipeg?” I asked incredulously.

“No, Ma'am.”

“And...so someone you believed to be abducted has just returned after being missing for a month, and you didn't bother to have an officer come and talk to me or take a statement from me?”

“I don't appreciate your tone, young lady,” Chief Campton said in a warning tone.

I took a deep breath. “I apologize, sir. However, I'm quite frustrated at this point. I was in the hospital for three days, and now I've been home for four days, and still no one believes me.”

“Why do you think we don't believe you, darlin'?”

“Because you haven't even heard my side of the story. Zayn Malik did not kidnap me. I went with him willingly,” I said, the words practically falling out of my mouth.

“I reckon you'd better get your story straight, little lady,” he said. He sounded like he was from the south. I studied him as he continued speaking. “Zayn Malik has already confessed to kidnapping you.”

I felt like I had been socked in the gut. Why would you do that, Zayn? We had talked about coming up with a story together.

“Well, he lied,” I stated confidently. "He didn't want me to get in trouble. I had a little...breakdown; emotionally, I mean. I couldn't handle the stress of college, so I chose to go to his cabin with him, but I realize now how silly that was. I'm seeing a counselor to help me to deal with stress."

“Now listen, missy. It's a crime to provide false information to the police. If what you're saying is true, then Mr. Malik is guilty of obstruction of justice.” I nodded, maintaining my confident posture, although inside, I was trembling in terror. I had no idea what I was doing.

“And Miss Tatum, if you are lying, then you could also be facing time in prison for obstruction of justice.”

“Well, then,” I said, “why don't you take my official statement and we'll go from there?”

Chief Campton looked at me with that warning in his eyes again, but then he relented. “Very well, Miss Tatum. Why don't you tell me what happened, from the very beginning?” He pulled out a clipboard and started jotting things down even before I began to speak.

I started, once again, from my drive north towards Frost Fire. I was growing tired of telling this story again and again and not having anyone believe me. But I told it in exact detail, the way I'd told it to everyone else.

When I finally finished speaking, he asked me, “Did you know that Mr. Malik kept a journal about you?”

Shit!

No, wait. I had the journal. There's no way they could know about that, or what was in it. I scrambled to come up with a believable answer.

“He had a journal of poetry that we read together," emphasizing the fact that you hadn't kept any information from me. "It wasn't specifically about me, though.”

“Are you sure about that?” The chief asked.

“I didn't read the whole thing. We had been reading it together just before I was rescued.”

“The last several pages are poems about a beautiful blonde girl named River. A girl he'd been watching for years, a girl he wanted to make his own, a girl with whom he planned to have sexual relations.”

Nice. He made sound so unromantic.

“Tell me, Miss Tatum, had you ever met Mr. Malik before the night your car broke down?” He continued.

“No, sir, but I had seen him before around Grand Forks. It's not a big city; I tend to notice people that I hadn't seen before.”

“But he knew you,” the chief remarked.

“So? He had a crush. It was just dumb luck that he drove by after my car broke down,” I said. I knew I was digging myself deeper and deeper and I so badly wanted to know exactly what the poetry journal said. But I knew there was no way the chief would let me read it. I had already pushed my limits too far.

“There sure are a lot of coincidences in this situation, wouldn't you agree?” He asked snidely.

“There certainly are,” I agreed. “But in my mind, that just confirms the fact that Zayn and I were meant to be together.”

The chief's jaw fell open in shock.

“I only have one more question, sir.” He nodded his assent for me to continue. “Where is Zayn being held?”

I knew he was reluctant to answer the question, but I also knew from hours of scouring the internet that a “victim” has the right to know the custody status of the offender at any time.

“He's at Grand Forks County Corrections,” he sighed.

My heart leapt – you were so close! I couldn't wait to see you. I thanked the chief and stood up to put on my coat, but he gave a stern warning before I left his office. “Miss Tatum, I would recommend that you find yourself a good lawyer.”

I had no idea if that was a threat or a helpful suggestion, but I didn't care just then. I was in such a rush to see you.

I jumped into my car, a mixture of happy and angry tears running down my face. The police chief hadn't exactly been compassionate, but I got the information I wanted. I started the car to let it warm up and then I called home. I knew better than to leave them wondering where I was.

"Hi, Nolan," I said lightly.

"Hey, sweetie, where are you?"

I figured I might as well tell him the truth. "I'm leaving the police station. And now I'm headed over to see Zayn at the county jail."

"River!" Nolan yelled, but I just said a quick good-bye and hung up. I knew he'd try to talk me out of it, but I also knew I would catch hell if I just went missing again, even if it was only for a few hours.

I arrived at the Grand Forks County Correctional facility and took a deep breath. Then I said a silent prayer to a God I hardly knew and asked for the best outcome for you. I knew it would take a miracle to exonerate you if you had already confessed to kidnapping me.

I got out of my car and I had just reached the front doors of the jail when I heard Nolan's voice yelling, "River!"

I turned around to see my brother running toward me. When he reached me, I said, "You're not going to talk me out of this. I know my rights."

"I know," he said. "But if you're going to see him, I'm coming with you."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't convince Nolan that he didn't have to accompany me.

I approached the front desk and said, "I'd like to visit Zayn Malik please."

The woman behind the desk clicked on her computer a few times and then she picked up a phone. "Len? Mr. Malik has a visitor."

She stood up and told us to follow her. We were led to a room with a large screen on the wall and a few chairs facing it. 

"Is he going to meet us here?" I asked, wondering about the screen.

"No, Ma'am. You will have audio and video contact with Mr. Malik through the screen. No personal contact allowed."

I bit back my disappointment. I had been longing to feel your arms around me and hoping I would be able to sneak in a kiss. But now, I would have to be satisfied with just seeing you. Hearing your voice. Knowing you were okay.

The woman left, but she informed us that all of our contact was being monitored. Then she closed the door behind her.

The screen flickered to life and there you were, wearing an orange jumpsuit, sitting in a chair identical to the one I was sitting in.

"Zayn!" I shouted with relief.