FEAR OF FEAR: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  We met when, as a Lay Eucharistic Minister of the Catholic Church, Carl brought me communion during a period when I was homebound. The parish only had two priests, so it trained individuals to deliver the sacrament to people who couldn’t physically come to Mass, or to help during Mass when a large gathering was expected. I looked forward to his visits and we began a slow-moving friendship. Our first date consisted of Carl coming over to watch E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial on the VCR. I made popcorn and he brought a six-pack of Miller Lite. We talked for hours after the movie and his genuine interest in me instilled my trust in him. I told him about my childhood and my progressive fear of leaving home and he listened patiently. Soon, we began to visit nearby restaurants, parks, bowling alleys and even movie theaters. I felt safe with Carl. I laughed at his corny jokes, and he brought me bunches of purple, pink and white tulips from his garden. Separately, we were each a bit mundane. I told him we were like a cup of sugar and a stick of butter—both pretty ordinary, but blended and slowly heated, you had rich, gooey caramel.

  In the past year, I sensed that Carl was becoming resentful of me—he was withdrawn and irritable at times. Apart from his collection hobby, he did little else for enjoyment. He didn’t have male friends to watch sports with, hadn’t been to the gym in years, and usually came home from work exhausted.

  After my coffee, I did some light housekeeping. I decided to clean the fridge and began removing cartons of milk, condiments, leftovers, expired eggs and wilting lettuce. I tossed anything that had been sitting in there for more than two weeks. The process was cathartic. As I scrubbed each shelf with vinegar and water, I thought about how much Faith had endured recently because of my worsening phobia. Teenagers had plenty to stress about as they tried to emerge from childhood to become adults, without also caretaking a parent. When I finished the task, I looked at my gleaming fridge and felt gratified. I wiped each jar and carton, then replaced only food that was fresh. I recalled how angry Faith had been last night. But her finding Dr. Buhari was the first step in our family starting fresh too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MICHIGAN, 1985

  Five-year-old Vivi woke up early, even earlier than she did on past Christmas mornings. Birds were chirping to one another, and the sky was lavender with a hazy pinkish-yellow glow. She didn’t see the sun yet, and in fact, could still see the faded moon. “Bye, Mr. Moon,” she said, waving dismissively. She tossed her pink and white flowered quilt over her pillow in a half-hearted attempt to make her bed. Nana said she and Shane should start every day by making their beds. Normally, Vivi worked painstakingly, tucking in all the edges, and fluffing the pillow, but she was too excited this morning.

  She padded into the upstairs hallway. “Nana? Shane?” she called, a bit louder than her inside voice. Silence. Hmm—everyone must still be asleep. Disappointed, Vivi went back to her room and sat in front of the light blue dollhouse that Papa had built. She rearranged the tiny sofas, chairs and dining set, pretending she was a miniature grown-up living in a fancy mansion. Once Vivi was satisfied with each room, she pulled her two favorite books from under her bed: If you Give a Mouse a Cookie and Where the Wild Things Are. She flipped through their pages three times before she heard Nana humming a tune, and the clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

  Vivi ran to Shane’s bedroom door and pushed it open. “Shane, get up! We’re going to the fair. Hurry!” she said, before running downstairs to eat breakfast.

  Nana fixed her a plate of scrambled eggs and an English muffin and poured a coffee cup full of orange juice. Vivi liked to “drink coffee” with Papa while he read the newspaper.

  Shane ambled into the kitchen, his brown, unruly hair indicating a night of deep sleep. He let out a noisy, sizable yawn and then sat at the table.

  “Cover your mouth, Shane,” Nana scolded.

  “One day your face will freeze like that, then what will you do?” added Papa, his eyes not leaving his newspaper.

  “Remember, prayers before eating, and after breakfast, it’s upstairs, wash your faces and brush your teeth. Put on shorts and tee shirts. It’s going to be nearly ninety degrees today,” said Nana.

  * * *

  The Pontiac County Fair week was Vivi’s favorite outing each summer. She hoped she was now big enough to ride the rollercoaster with Shane, who was three years older, but a half a foot taller.

  Papa parked the car in the huge lot, and they started the trek to the entrance. As they moved closer, Vivi heard carnival music and smelled fried dough. Although she had a sizable breakfast, her mouth watered when she thought about funnel cakes and caramel apples. Shane, normally stoic and difficult to excite, said, “I’ll beat ya’ there,” and sprinted ahead, leaving Vivi to catch up.

  The first few minutes were always overwhelming. People gathered in lines at the carnival rides and food vendors. Men in red shirts carried large cartons and yelled, “Get your pea-nuts,” or “Cool off with an ice-cold soda!”

  Nana and Papa stopped at the ornate carousel.

  “Vivi, here’s your favorite,” said Nana.

  Vivi looked at the colorful horses, tigers and zebras moving up and down on shiny gold poles to the tune of the organ music.

  “Do you kids know where the first carousel in the United States was?” asked Papa, who frequently quizzed them on history or trivia.

  “Chicago?” asked Vivi.

  Papa shook his head. “You’re close.”

  “New York?” guessed Shane.

  “You got it! It was built by a Danish man in eighteen-seventy-six at Coney Island.”

  Vivi noticed that most of the animals were being ridden by little kids, with their parents standing by. It didn’t seem as special as it used to. She crinkled her nose in disapproval.

  “I don’t want to ride it this year. I’m too old. Can we go on the rollercoaster?”

  Once they made it to the front of the rollercoaster line, the man in charge said, “Come over here, young lady. Let’s measure you.”

  Vivi stood straight up with a little help from her tippy toes, but her head didn’t quite reach the red line—the measuring stick to see if she could ride. She felt tears rising but was determined not to cry—she didn’t want the man to think she was a baby. He pushed his thumb on top of Vivi’s head and it met the red mark.

  “Whew! Just made it,” he said with a wink.

  The man secured Vivi and Shane into their seat. Vivi was overwhelmed with excitement. She felt her heart race with nervous anticipation. As the car chugged up the steep incline, she put her arm through Shane’s and held tightly on to the bar. When they reached the top, Shane said, “Get ready, Sis!”

  Vivi had never experienced a thrill like this one. As the rollercoaster started its deep descent, she felt butterflies jump from her tummy to her throat, and her eyes watered, streaking tears backward toward her ears. For a split second, she thought she would be thrown skyward out of her seat. They were moving faster than a train and her scream was louder than a fire alarm. When they reached the bottom, Vivi could barely catch her breath before they started the second incline. They went up and down two more hills, which were fun, but nothing like the first one. At the end of the ride, Vivi was shaking, and her legs were so wobbly she needed Shane to help her down the steps. Nana and Papa were waiting for them and told Vivi they were proud of her for not being afraid.

  They went on many more rides—the Tilt-a-Whirl, Ferris wheel, the Bumper cars and several more. Next, they ambled through the maze in the Fun House, laughing at their images in the wavy mirrors and feeling off balance in an upside-down room with a slanted floor. Vivi couldn’t stop talking about the rollercoaster and said she could ride it a thousand more times.

  The group was famished by early afternoon, so Papa bought chili dogs, chips and soda for lunch. They found a picnic table away from the crowd and music, divided up the food and ate quickly.

  “You kids have to let your lunches settle before any more excitement,” said Nana.

  “And even if you
’ve finished your sodas, top off your lunch with a good long slug of water. It’s a hot one today,” added Papa, gesturing to a nearby water fountain, and mopping perspiration from his forehead with a napkin.

  Next, they played the Ring-toss game, and Vivi won a stuffed pink, silver and purple unicorn. Shane didn’t win anything, so she tempered her excitement. But inside, she was elated and could have skipped and sang for the rest of the day.

  After a cotton candy break, they ambled to the bleachers of the track and sat to watch go-cart and motocross races. Finally, they visited the livestock and sheep exhibits, watching the animals get measured and weighed as their 4-H owners were awarded various ribbons and medals. Vivi had never been so close to such big and beautiful animals, which both awed and intimidated her.

  In a nearby patch of grass, someone had set up a sprinkling hose and several children were running back and forth through the cascading water. Vivi and Shane asked Nana and Papa if they could join them. Both were surprised when Papa nodded. “Go ahead. Cool yourselves off.”

  By dinnertime, all four were exhausted. Shane had a stomach-ache after eating too much, and Nana put Vivi’s hair into a ponytail to keep it off her sweaty neck. Papa said they should call it a day—they had enjoyed just about every ride, show and game that the fair had to offer.

  They made their way toward the exit gate of the fairgrounds. Vivi was tired, overheated, sunburned, filthy from the dust and dirt, and sticky from the gooey treats.

  But she knew with absolute certainty that this had been the best day of her life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  1985

  The family meandered to the exit. They were worn out from the activity and heat. Nana offered to take Vivi’s stuffed unicorn so the two of them could hold hands, but Vivi squeezed it tightly against her body.

  “There’s a million people here, kiddos. Make sure we stay together,” said Nana.

  On the way to the exit, they came upon a commotion ahead. A large crowd had gathered near the Scrambler, pointing and shouting.

  One of its cars was lying in the grass and deformed—nearly folded in half!

  A man yelled, “It broke off during the fastest part of the ride! Oh my God!”

  Panic ensued. At least a hundred people rushed to the area to see what had happened. Screams and gasps were coming from all directions. Fairground workers ran towards the scene, shouting into their radios. “Call the fire department! We need three ambulances!” and, “send more manpower!”

  It appeared that three people were either injured or dead. One woman lay still, half of her body trapped in the destroyed car. A young boy lay next to her, able to cry out, but looked unable to move his legs. A man was about ten feet away, moaning and bleeding.

  Papa tried to keep the kids from looking at the grisly sight.

  “C’mon kids,” he said. “Don’t stop and do not look! We need to get through the crowd and back to our car.” Vivi thought his voice sounded strong, but his face was white. Nana held her hand alongside her own face, blocking the carnage from her vision. The gathering had become a mob of hysterical spectators shoving and tripping over one another, one man yelling, “I’m a doctor! What can I do to help?” Nana and Papa tried to steer the kids to the outside edge of the fray. A large man bumped Vivi’s arm, and she dropped the unicorn. She stopped to retrieve it, but the toy was being kicked around and trampled on by the feet of the moving crowd.

  “Nana, wait, my unicorn!” she shouted, but her command was swallowed up by the pandemonium. Vivi watched her hard-won toy disappear under the mass of people. She turned around and pushed her way a few feet against the throng. She was able to make use of her size to squeeze between the legs of the larger adults. Just as she caught sight of the toy, she stumbled, scraping her knees. She began to cry and with great effort, reached and grabbed hold of the sullied unicorn, but her relief dissolved when she realized her family was nowhere in sight.

  “Nana! Papa! Shane!” she shouted into the mob. But the crowd was so loud she didn’t think they would hear her. Did they notice she was missing? Surely, they would come and look for her. She stood in place, deciding that was best so they could retrace their steps. Her throat hurt from yelling, so she stopped for a few minutes and tried to calm herself. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she was determined to act like a grown-up and wait. Inside, she was more scared than she’d ever been—even more than when she and Shane watched Friday the Thirteenth at a friend’s house, knowing that they would never be allowed to watch it at home.

  As Vivi stood, clutching her unicorn and sobbing quietly, a lady with a friendly face approached her.

  “Hello, honey, are you lost?” she asked in a soothing voice.

  “Yes. I can’t find my brother and grandparents,” Vivi answered, sniffling, and wiping tears from her face.

  The nice lady reached into her purse, pulled out a tissue and gently dabbed at Vivi’s cheeks.

  “Everything will be fine, sweetheart. I can help you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  2020

  I was nervous but I wanted to look composed and confident. As I lightly applied some makeup and used a couple of spritzes of hairspray, I studied my reflection. Because I so rarely ventured out, I didn’t spend much time primping. I had to admit, just one layer of mascara made my long lashes look feathery, and my smile revealed two rows of bright, well-aligned teeth. Nana had insisted on my getting braces at age eleven, as I had been a thumb-sucker till I started kindergarten. I resisted going to every one of my orthodontist appointments, but Nana was firm about me following instructions. Thank you, Nana. Because of you, I have a vibrant smile. I miss you.

  Dr. Wallace Buhari, the psychiatrist Faith had found and researched, said our first appointment would be an eighty-minute intake evaluation. He made an exception to come to our home on a Saturday morning so both Carl and Faith could be here to meet him.

  I brewed a fresh pot of coffee and set out a plate of blueberry muffins just out of the oven. At ten o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rang. My anxiety surged, and then I reminded myself that I was in my own home, with my family, and about to meet someone who wanted to help me. Positive self-talk could be quite effective for me when I remembered to do it.

  I asked Faith and Carl to wait in the kitchen while I answered the door.

  I was taken aback by Dr. Buhari’s presence. Standing tall and ramrod straight, his skin was the color of rich, dark chocolate, and his kind eyes a shade darker. He was dressed in a sleek gray suit, pressed white shirt and light pink tie, and held a satchel in his left hand. He extended his right hand in greeting.

  “Hello, Mrs. Long, it is my pleasure to meet you,” he said in a deep, velvety voice. I detected more than a trace of an African accent.

  I ushered him into the kitchen and introduced him to Carl and Faith, and then poured three cups of coffee. We sat at the table, making small talk for a few minutes. I stirred some sugar into my steaming cup, and watched it dissolve, along with my initial anxiety.

  “I’m wondering if you’d like to first have a conversation as a family, and then you and I can talk alone, Mrs. Long? Whatever is most comfortable for you,” said Dr. Buhari, as he opened a leather covered journal and took out a silver pen.

  “Please, call me Vivian, and I like that plan. Okay?” she asked Carl and Faith who both agreed.

  Dr. Buhari listened intently, nodding, and offering encouraging remarks as Faith and I told him about the near crash on the way home from the grocery store.

  “I see—yes—that’s understandable—of course.”

  Not once did he raise his eyebrows in surprise or frown in disapproval as he listened. I tried to be strong, but retelling that horrible account made me feel like I’d dived into a pool of shame. My eyes stung with tears when I recalled Faith’s scream as we sailed through the intersection. I told him that event was the catalyst for my decision to get help, but there had been years of panic attacks, fear of leaving home, fear of staying home, of bridges, park
s, theaters, shopping malls, airplanes and even elevators and stairwells.

  “Faith how have your mother’s fears affected you?” he asked, giving Faith his full attention.

  She looked down at her lap and seemed hesitant to respond.

  “I’m asking because this affects the whole family and I’m here to help all of you. Take your time.”

  “Um,” she said quietly, “It bothers me that she doesn’t come to my soccer games or plays at school. I feel guilty leaving her alone if I want to hang out with friends, especially when Dad works late. Other moms seem so happy all the time and it upsets me to know that mine is mostly sad or scared.” She kept her gaze straight ahead.

  I closed my eyes, praying to keep my composure. Faith’s words stung.

  “Those are appropriate feelings for a teenager. No one likes to feel different,” he reassured her. Then he turned to Carl. “Mr. Long?”

  “I guess I gave up hoping she would get better a long time ago. I work hard for this family, and sometimes I resent that it’s all up to me to make ends meet. I love Vivian and want her to be the woman she used to be.” Carl’s voice trembled with emotion. “But if that doesn’t happen, I’ll stand by her side, no matter what.”

  It was painful to hear my family’s honesty.

  “I’m seeing a family who loves and supports one another, but who is also hurting because of Vivian’s agoraphobia. I am confident that if we work as a team and follow a plan, which involves Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), a relatively recent treatment for phobias, that Vivian has a very good chance of getting better, and so does the family. I’ll speak with you, Vivian, in more detail about CBT.” Dr. Buhari was an expert communicator.