After meeting with the lawyer, I headed back to the jail to see you again. I had to find a way to communicate my story to you so that you understood exactly how I had told it. But I had a feeling that I'd been cut off abruptly the day before because it was becoming obvious that I was trying to feed you the lies - no, the “modifications" - I'd been telling.

I went to Grand Forks County Corrections and asked to see you. They didn't hesitate to let me in, so I guess I didn't screw up as bad as I thought I did the day before. However, when I was led to the visiting room, the guard bluntly told me, “No discussions about your case.”

“Do I have a time limit?” I asked, wanting to avoid yesterday's scenario when I didn't even get to say good-bye.

“No, just press this button when you're finished with your visit,” he said, indicating an intercom button on the wall.

He left and the screen flickered to life. You weren't in the room yet. I sat with my eyes glued to the screen. Soon you walked in and came directly to me.

“Hello, love.”

I rushed to be close to you. “Zayn!” I sighed. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, River.” You didn't call me by my name very often, but I liked hearing it with your accent.

“I'm so glad. I miss you so much, baby,” I said, trying out my new nickname for you again.

You smiled again and it made your eyes dance. Oh, how I loved your smile.

“I found a lawyer and spoke with her this morning. Her name is Janeen Stallings. She should be contacting you any time now.”

“Thanks,” you said.

“Do you need anything?” I asked. “I can bring something for you if you need it. Or I could go to your apartment and get something for you – books, your laptop, whatever.”

“I can ask if they'll let you have the key, but I think they were going to search the place,” you said.

“Aww, Zayn. I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“I just feel like you have no more privacy. Your life is like an open book,” I said, winking. Your life had literally been an open book to me.

You just shrugged. You seemed to be handling everything very well.

“Speaking of books, the lawyer had your poetry journal. She read me one of your entries because she thought I might be interested, for some reason. And I was.

My darling River,
I can't stop thinking about you
Your alabaster skin
Your flowing hair
Your abundant breasts
How I long for the day when I will take you
I will taste you and feel you
And make you mine.”

You seemed to be blushing with pride when I finished the words I had memorized.

“I can't wait,” I whispered, letting my desire fill my eyes so you could see how much I wanted you.

You let a lazy smile drift across your face, and I knew you were imagining us together.

We just stood face to face, in front of our respective screens, breathing heavily, regarding one another with longing. I imagined myself lifting your shirt off of your toned shoulders, revealing your tattoos. In my mind, I ran my fingers over the designs and then skimmed them up your neck and into your hair.

I let myself get a bit carried away, imagining what it would be like for us to discover each other completely. I had no experience by which to gauge my imaginings, and I'd only seen you naked after you almost drowned. But your body was so cold then. I knew when I touched you this way, it would be warm and inviting.

I was glad we were able to share a glimpse of our future together, when this mess would be far behind us. For the moment, it gave us both a small sliver of pleasure.

“Zayn?” I asked.

“Yes, love.”

“Do you still love me?”

“Do you even have to ask?” You replied.

“I...I just wondered, you know, now that you know me better and I feel terrible that you're going through all of this.”

“River,” you said. “I will love you til the day I die.”

I smiled in relief and then I told you, “I love you, too. We're gonna get through this, okay? You'll be out soon, I promise.”

“Thank you, love, for everything you're doing. But I'm content just knowing you love me and you're here for me.”

I nodded and then I decided to speak quickly so I could say as much as possible before I was stopped again. “Janeen will be coming to speak to you soon. Please tell her everything the way it happened, okay? Don't lie for me anymore; my family already knows I made some risky choices by going with you. But I told everyone everything, so you don't have to cover up for me - I went with you when my car broke down, you offered to take me to your cabin and it sounded inviting because I'd been under so much stress at school, I got on the plane with you, I took the pills you gave me to help me sleep, and we both left our phone chargers behind by accident. They know everything," I emphasized. "So you can stop covering for me. I told them, too, that I fell asleep on the plane to Churchill, before we got onto Ferg's private plane.” I was keeping my voice steady, as if I was just communicating something we already knew, but inside, my heart was racing so fast that I thought I might pass out.

I wished I could just come out and say it. Please, Zayn, I pleaded silently with you. Please tell them I went with you willingly. Please!

You smiled when I finished and then you said, "All right, love." 

I hoped that meant you understood everything that I was trying to communicate.

I went home and took a shower, feeling overheated from my visit with you. But it was so worth it. Now, I just had to wait to see what the next step would be.

When I got out of the shower, I noticed a message on my phone from Kassie.

Oh, shoot! I had totally forgotten to call her after I got home. Obviously, she knew I was home now, but I hadn't had a spare brain cell to focus on anything or anyone but you.

I quickly dialed her cell number.

She picked up before the first ring even finished. “River!” She cried in delight. “Oh, my gosh, I'm so glad you're okay! Are you okay? What happened? No one is giving me much of the story. Are you all right?”

I laughed and stopped her freight train of questions. “Slow down.” I said. “I'm perfectly fine. I just had a momentary lapse of reason.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. “I thought you were abducted.”

Oh, boy, here we go again. “No, Kass, I just...it was an impulsive decision, but it worked out for the best. I'm just so sorry that you had to worry about me all this time.”

“So you went with some stranger and you didn't even think to call and tell anyone what happened?” She sounded angry, and understandably so.

I started at the beginning and told her the whole story. When I finished, I apologized again for making her worry.

“Please forgive me, Kass. I never meant to put you through that. It was just so stupid that we left our cell phone chargers behind. I mean, who does that, right?”

“You do, apparently,” she laughed.

“And Kass,” I said, “It turned out to be the best mistake I ever made. Zayn is perfect and I love him so much.”

“Wait, you're in love with him?” She gasped.

“Yes! Haven't you been listening?” I laughed. “I'm so in love with him that I'm ready to marry him tomorrow!”

“Well, then I'm happy for you,” she said. “And I'm just glad you're okay.”

We talked a while longer; she told me all about her first semester in college and a guy she'd been dating for a while. His name was Mike and it sounded like he absolutely adored Kassie, so I was happy for her, too. We finally said good-bye with promises to call and text regularly.

I went to bed early that night with all sorts of plans to help you. I couldn't wait until you were released and we could get on with our lives.

First thing in the morning, I had another appointment with Dr. Conyers. She wanted to see me twice a week for some “intensive” therapy until I started making improvement.

I got up and got dressed quickly, braiding my hair and winding it into a bun. It was my go-to style when I didn't have time for a shower. I left another note in the kitchen for whomever was interested. I hadn't seen my mom for a few days – she must have been working some long hours. I really wanted to talk to her about everything, about all the progress I was making, getting closer to getting you released. However, I had an unsettled feeling that my mom was avoiding me for some reason.

I arrived at Dr. Conyers office, coffee in hand.

“How are you doing today, River?” She asked as I sat down in her big, comfy, overstuffed chair.

“I'm doing great, thanks. I spoke to the police, a lawyer to represent Zayn, and I've been to visit him twice, so I'm perfect.”

Dr. Conyers' face showed her intense disappointment in my actions. “River, honey, I just don't think you're seeing all of this clearly. You really shouldn't have gone to see him. It's just going to make things harder.”

“How will it make things harder?” I asked.

“Well, you won't be able to differentiate between reality and fantasy, and the reality is that whether he forcefully took you or you went willingly, he still took you to a place that was so remote that you couldn't escape.”

“That wasn't his plan,” I insisted. “His satellite phone battery died, and he left his charger behind. Just like I did. We both forgot. How is that his fault?”

“I just don't trust him, and I feel fairly certain that there is more to the story that either you're not seeing or you are completely misinterpreting.”

“Dr. Conyers, I understand how it could look like this Stockholm Syndrome, but I assure you, it's not.”

“Well, how about if you tell me something about your stay with Zayn at the cabin? Tell me how you ended up thinking you're in love with him.”

Oh, for heaven's sake. She definitely wasn't making an effort to hide her skepticism. And now, my lies were creating the need to tell more lies. I couldn't very well tell her that I tried running away from you or that I found the journal you had kept about me for years. But reading the journal was a big part of what made me fall in love with you. It was your stories about your life, and many of them were about you watching me while you lived your life.

How could I describe how I fell for you when so much of it had to do with the journal? 

“River?” The doctor interrupted my thoughts.

“Sorry, I just wasn't sure where to start. Okay, so the first couple days, I was furious with Zayn that his satellite phone didn't have a charger. So, no phones, no internet, no emergency radio, nothing. I was pissed. And to be honest, at first I did think that he lured me there on purpose. I got really angry and stormed off into the woods, trying to find any sign of a road or a snowmobile trail or another cabin. But I got very lost and by the time I got back to the cabin, I was suffering from hypothermia. Zayn carried me in the cabin, removed all my clothes and sat me in front of the fire with several warm blankets. Then he fed me hot soup and hot chocolate, and he rubbed my hands and feet until I had feeling in them again.”

“So, he undressed you completely?”

Yes! I thought sarcastically. Why did she have to pick up on that one detail?

“Yes, and he didn't lay a finger on me. That was the first clue that I could trust him. Well, that and the fact that he hadn't tried anything yet.”

“Go on,” Dr. Conyers said.

“For a few more days, all I could focus on was how stupid I'd been to trust him and then get stranded out there, and how horrible it must have been for my family and friends to think I'd been kidnapped.”

“What happened then?”

“I finally started to relax a little, realizing that there was absolutely nothing I could do about our situation. We started doing things together. We went fishing, we carried in firewood, we cooked together. So we spent a lot of time talking and getting to know each other and it wasn't long before I realized that I liked him a lot.”

“What did you find attractive about him?”

“He was always very, very sweet and gentle and he never once lost his temper,” I said.

“You know,” said Dr. Conyers. “People who suffer from Stockholm Syndrome often mistake the lack of abuse as kindness on the part of their captor.”

“Zayn was not my captor, and I do not have Stockholm Syndrome!” I cried, getting irritated.

“Well, let me read you this description of the Syndrome and we'll see what you think.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Stockholm Syndrome is a paradoxical psychological phenomenon in which hostages feel empathy and positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes, even defending their captors. They often feel sympathy towards their captors and feel like they can identify with their captors.”

I didn't say anything.

“River, would you say that you ever felt sorry for Zayn?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel like you could identify with him?”

“Yes – we both suffered major losses in our childhood, although his were more traumatic than mine.”

“Do you feel like you have to defend him because he is misunderstood?”

“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. I knew where she was going with this and I wanted so terribly to prove her wrong.

But for the rest of the session, I was plagued by a new sense of doubt.

Was I leaving out some important piece of information, somehow blocking it out of my memory?

I left therapy a lot more stressed out than when I went in; I wasn't sure that's how it was supposed to work.

When I got home, I decided to some of my own research on “Stockholm Syndrome.” I did a Google search and came to an article that read:

Stockholm Syndrome is a paradoxical psychological phenomenon in which hostages feel empathy and positive feelings toward their captors, sometimes, even defending their captors. They often feel sympathy towards their captors and feel like they can identify with their captors.

Well, now I knew where Dr. Conyers found her information.

Of course I empathized with you. You had a horrible childhood. 

People who develop Stockholm Syndrome have come to identify with (and possibly care about) their captors in an unconscious and desperate act of self-preservation. Stockholm Syndrome most frequently develops during traumatic situations like kidnappings, domestic abuse, or hostage situations, and the effects of this disorder don't stop once the person has been released.

Most victims who have Stockholm Syndrome continue to care for - and defend - their captors long after they've escaped captivity.

But why?

Self-preservation. A hostage feels as though his or her captor is doing him or her a favor by allowing them to remain alive. Many prisoners are treated in a sympathetic manner by their captors, allowing them to see their captors in a positive manner. After all, aren't captors supposed to be cruel?

I stopped. I really had to challenge myself to think long and hard about that. 

Was my situation traumatic? Well, at first, I suppose it was - I remembered blindly running through the snow, trying desperately to find help and get away from you. 

Did I feel as though you were "doing me a favor" by not hurting me, not threatening me, and not killing me? I think I was just surprised that you never laid a finger on me.

Did I ever feel like you were going to kill me? Probably at first, before I knew what your intentions were. And after I read that cryptic entry in your journal about killing everyone you'd ever loved. But you never, ever, ever threatened to kill me. Did I mistake  that for love?

Isolation from the outside world allows the hostage to see the world from the eyes of the captor - the prisoner begins to empathize, sympathize with his or her captor. It is soon the only world the prisoner knows. The captor and prisoner may even begin to share common interests after being together awhile.

As I read your journal, I had begun to sympathize with you. Your story was tragic and your love for me was so pure and innocent. Did I mistake your terribly misguided infatuation for love?

I had to stop reading. There were so many similarities to what I was experiencing that I was quite disturbed by it.

What if all this – the love and passion I felt for you, the urgency to get you out of jail, the most wonderful things I've felt in my entire life – what if all of this was Stockholm Syndrome?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The information about Stockholm Syndrome in this chapter was borrowed from the following website:  http://www.bandbacktogether.com/stockholm-syndrome-resources/