FEAR OF FEAR: A Psychological Thriller Page 3

  Faith spoke up, “I knew mom had panic attacks, but I don’t exactly know what agoraphobia is.”

  “Agoraphobia is a fear of leaving home, or of venturing out to public places. The word literally means ‘fear of the marketplace,’ in ancient Greek. It’s more often seen in women and can get better and worse throughout one’s lifetime. Panic attacks occur because of one’s overwhelming fear of the situation, and of losing control in public. The physical symptoms escalate the fear, because they are similar to those of a heart attack—chest tightness, sweatiness, racing heart and tingling in the hands.”

  “Is there an underlying cause?” asked Carl.

  “Sometimes there is. I’m hoping to get a better idea today if this is the case. But either way, the treatment plan is the same. Vivian, can we talk privately for a bit?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  2020

  Dr. Buhari and I went to the small den situated at the rear of the house. We rarely used the room, and the furnishings were outdated—an oak veneer desk, some built-ins and a well-worn loveseat and easy chair. Before sitting, Dr. Buhari’s eyes swept over the bookshelves displaying Carl’s collection.

  “I see someone is interested in antique containers,” he said, as he walked to the shelves and eyed the display. “How fascinating. I collect first edition books, so I appreciate the hobby. Carl’s?”

  I felt a bit embarrassed, as I always thought Carl’s obsession was a bit weird.

  “Yes, ever since he was a boy.”

  “Do you mind if I have a closer look?” he asked.

  “Not at all.” I felt my embarrassment lift. “I’ll show you which are his favorites. This one was made in Germany,” I said, pointing to a glass aquamarine grandfather clock piece.

  “Ahh, the color is illustrious,” he said.

  “And here are a few vintage French candy tins.”

  “Very interesting.” Then he looked at his watch and said, “Well, we best sit down and get started.”

  He sat in the easy chair, and I sat on the sofa.

  “I would like to hear a bit about your childhood, Mrs. Long.”

  “Please call me Vivian. My parents died in a snowmobile accident when I was two years-old and Shane was five. We moved in with our grandparents, Nana and Papa. They had just retired and bought an RV, intending to travel across the country, but all that changed in an instant.”

  “How tragic,” Dr. Buhari said. “How well do you remember your parents?”

  “Not well, but Nana kept several photos of them and often told us family stories. It was important to her that we knew how much they had loved us.” An unexpected wave of sadness emerged, and I needed a moment to compose myself.

  “Your grandparents sound like wonderful people. Are they still living?”

  “No, they died within a few months of each other when Shane and I were college age.”

  “Your relationship with them?”

  “We loved them like they were our parents.”

  “Can you think of a particular event which may have initiated your agoraphobia?” he gently asked.

  I told him about the county fair, and how it was the best, and also worst day of my life. I began to cry as I voiced the painful memories. He was kind and patient, letting me tell the story in my own time and without interruption. Finally, we talked more about CBT.

  “The idea is gradual exposure to the object of your fear—I usually plan a ten-step process and tailor it to each situation. My motivated patients have had a good degree of success. Many have been able to enjoy experiences they hadn’t in years, or ever. You are a good candidate for CBT because you have reached a breaking point, you want to get better, and you have a supportive family. Why don’t we visit over video a couple of times next week to discuss the plan in more detail? How does that sound, Vivian?”

  I felt a wash of relief drizzle over me like a cooling rain. There was hope.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  1985

  The nice lady was the only grown-up to approach Vivi as she stood alone looking for her family. Others were so petrified by the disaster and commotion that little Vivi felt invisible. The lady was short and skinny, had curly black hair and a mole on her left cheekbone. She was dressed in white petal pusher pants and a light green tee-shirt. She had a trustworthy smile, and even though she was a stranger, Vivi felt safe talking to her.

  “What is your name, sweetheart?” she asked.

  “Vivi. I got separated from my family. We were all together walking to leave the fair. I dropped my unicorn,” she said, holding up her scuffed toy, “and when I finally picked it up, I looked around and they were gone.” Her voice shook and her face crumpled into another sob.

  “Does your brother have brown hair?” the lady asked.

  “Yes, his name is Shane.”

  “Do your grandparents have gray hair and glasses?’

  “Yes, my grandpa does,” Vivi said, becoming increasingly hopeful. This lady knew her family! “Do you know where they are?”

  “They sent me from the parking lot to walk you out to them. Your grandma fell and hurt her ankle, so they can’t come back in. She needed help getting into your car and is in a lot of pain. I think they want to take her to the hospital to see if it’s broken.”

  Vivi’s face scrunched with worry. “Oh, no, poor Nana.”

  “I think Nana will be fine, but they need to get going. She has a lot of swelling, too.”

  Vivi was bewildered. Why didn’t Shane come in and get her? She wasn’t sure what to do. Nana and Papa told her never go anywhere with a stranger. But this lady seemed to know who her family was, and what they looked like. Maybe she was even a friend of Nana’s.

  “C’mon, Viv…Vivi? We need to get you out of this heat,” the lady said, fanning her own face with a brochure she had taken out of her purse. She sounded impatient and began to look around as she nudged Vivi forward.

  “I’m not sure,” Vivi hesitated. “Maybe we should ask the security guard to help us?”

  The lady relaxed her pinched expression and smiled. “It will waste time. Nana is in a lot of pain. They showed me where they parked and will wait there—they won’t leave without you.”

  Vivi was hot, scared, thirsty, and now worried about Nana. She decided the lady was telling her the truth. She wouldn’t have any reason to make up a story.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  The lady grabbed her hand and pulled her quickly through the crowd and toward the exit.

  CHAPTER NINE

  2020

  What a beautiful late spring day! The weather was warm and sunny with a few fluffy clouds sauntering through a cerulean sky. One activity I hadn’t given up over the years was gardening. In Michigan, you wait until at least Mother’s Day to plant flowers, and I hold back another week to avoid ruining all my hard work with one wayward night of frost. I usually had Carl and Faith shop for annuals, and my perennials showed up every year regardless of my level of attention. I decided to start planting that weekend. My favorites were impatiens, salvia, marigolds and pansies. Standing in the doorway and feeling the warm breeze carrying fresh spring fragrances made me excited to get started.

  Dr. Buhari had forwarded me a link to connect at two o’clock via video. Faith and I practiced the night before since I didn’t consider myself very tech-savvy. She “scheduled” an appointment with me, I joined the appointment by clicking on a link, and that was it—so easy. Once we connected, I played around with some of the settings—mute, chat, screen-sharing—and felt confident that I had the basics covered.

  Dr. Buhari looked and sounded as professional on the screen as he did in person. Any concerns I had about a video appointment being impersonal were squashed immediately. He was wearing a white coat over his shirt and tie. Maybe he had just finished hospital rounds? After five minutes of small talk, he laid out a plan for the CBT therapy.

  “Vivian, please tell me if this sounds reasonable. For step one, I would like you to walk around your block with Ca
rl. We want to start simply so you can gain confidence quickly.”

  “I think that is easily doable, yes,” I said.

  “Good. For step two, I’d like you to do the same, this time alone. And it’s best if you complete it soon after the first—maybe within a week.”

  My pulse quickened. He sounded so matter of fact, like this was no big deal.

  “Alone? I’m not sure…” Then I remembered the whole point of CBT was to push myself away from my safety net. “I think that’s reasonable.”

  Dr. Buhari must have sensed my apprehension. Though I spoke with new-found confidence, I saw my worried expression on the screen.

  He said, “You can take your phone, and call Carl if needed.”

  “Yes, okay.”

  “Finally, step three would be walking alone throughout your neighborhood for one mile. Again, Carl can come and get you if necessary.”

  I felt flushed just thinking of a solo mile hike. What would he expect me to do next?

  “Do you have questions, Vivian?”

  “I can’t imagine what the next seven steps will do to me,” I said, trying to sound witty. Dr. Buhari’s kind expression relaxed my tight shoulder and back muscles.

  “Let’s not think beyond the first three steps for now. In fact, I want you to concentrate only on the first step over the next few days, and then on to the second, and so forth. You’ve told me that you keep some Valium on hand. It would be best if it is only used in an emergency. Now let’s talk through some calming techniques you can use in the meantime.”

  Dr. Buhari’s final recommendation was to set up a reward system to use after completing each step. At last—some joy along with the dread.

  * * *

  Faith had play practice after school. The production was two weeks away, and I listened to her recite her lines the previous night. I was impressed. She was quite convincing as Susanna Walcott and when she put on her costume, I swear she stepped back into the 1600s. I had read The Crucible and remembered Susanna as a nervous, fidgety girl who was influenced by Abigail, a beguiling and spiteful young woman. Abigail persuades several women to join her in accusing others of witchcraft, though Abigail herself wishes to destroy her lover’s wife, Elizabeth, with the help of “spirits.” Faith told me the girl playing Abigail, Anabelle Vincent, was so convincing that she sent chills down Faith’s spine during a scene where they all danced a pagan ritual in the forest. I was crestfallen that my agoraphobia wouldn’t allow me to be there to see the production.

  Faith had asked if she could join Anabelle and some of the others for sub sandwiches after practice. I sensed she was in awe of Anabelle and wanted to be accepted as part of her group although Faith was two years younger. At fourteen, I remembered being on the periphery of two or three groups in my class, but never feeling completely accepted. When I met Astrid and Bethany, I realized that I didn’t need a group—just two good friends who loved me, quirks and all.

  * * *

  I checked the pork tenderloin and baked potatoes in the oven. Nearly done. I was tempted to peel and steam a couple of fresh carrots, but Carl’s hatred of veggies from the produce section forced me to open a can of diced carrots, put them in a saucepan and on the stove. The table was set, so I sat down and breezed through another chapter of my romance novel.

  * * *

  Carl came in the door at 7:30 sharp.

  “How was your day?” I asked, as I did every day.

  He hesitated before he said, “I guess it was okay.”

  “Did something happen?” I asked, surprised not to hear his usual “It was great.”

  “Well, I had a couple of dizzy spells while helping Frank lift some lumber off a pallet. I had to sit down after the second one.”

  “Carl, you’ve never had dizzy spells before. Are you all right? Did you have any other symptoms?” I was concerned because Carl wouldn’t complain unless he was on fire.

  “No. They only lasted a minute or so. I’ve had them two or three times in the last few weeks. Maybe I’m drinking too much coffee to get through the long shifts.”

  “You should call Dr. Sheffield—you’re way overdue for a physical. Would you even recognize him if you passed him on the street?” I chided.

  He gave me a really, Viv? look, but then said. “You’re right, I should. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  His response surprised me, as Carl never agreed to go to the doctor without at least a day or two of my nagging.

  “At the risk of changing the subject, have I told you that I try to guess what you made for dinner on my drive home from work? I thought it might be pasta tonight. But it smells like a roast, which is even better.” Carl gave me a hug and peck on the cheek. “I’ll get changed and washed up. Be right back.”

  While we ate, we talked about my appointment with Dr. Buhari, and I told Carl of our plan for the first three steps. He asked me a few questions about CBT and seemed satisfied and even anxious for me to get started.

  “Viv, maybe you’ll get well enough someday for us to go camping like we used to. Remember the last time we went fishing? You caught three good-sized bluegill and I caught nothing.” We laughed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  1985

  The lady quickly maneuvered Vivi through the crowd and to the exit. Vivi held her unicorn protectively, like a toddler clutching a favorite blanket. As they reached the parking lot, the lady pointed and said, “They’re waiting for you over there.”

  Vivi now second guessed the decision to leave with her.

  “But I thought Papa parked over there,” pointing her index finger to the right.

  “He moved his car closer to where Nana fell,” she said with certainty.

  “But you said they helped her to the car,” Vivi countered.

  “They did once he pulled the car around. I know what I’m talking about,” the woman snapped. The annoyance in her voice scared Vivi. Maybe the lady really wasn’t nice, and she didn’t even know Nana. Vivi squeezed her unicorn tighter as the woman pulled her arm and told her to walk faster, kicking up dry dirt and causing yet another layer of brown dust to settle on her new, once-white tennis shoes.

  The lady hustled Vivi down a long row of parked cars.

  “Almost there, honey,” she said, with a too-sweet tone in her voice.

  Vivi was now terrified and decided to run back towards the fairground if they didn’t see Papa’s car in the next row. There were many cars in the lot, but few people. An ambulance turned into the parking area with lights and sirens blaring.

  “I bet that ambulance is here to take someone from that Scrambler accident to the hospital. Gosh that was scary. I’ll probably never get on a carnival ride again. I used to love rollercoasters, but after what I saw in there, I think those days are over,” the lady began talking fast, and acted nervous, Vivi thought.

  They walked past a rusty dark blue van with a man leaning into the open side door. He poked his head out and peered at them. He was scruffy looking, wearing a sleeveless denim jacket, which displayed two skull tattoos on his arm. He dangled an unlit cigarette between his lips as he walked towards them.

  “Ma’am, you got a light? I can’t find my damn matches.”

  The lady stopped and opened her purse.

  “I think I have a lighter in here.”

  She began to paw through its contents, and Vivi felt goosebumps on her arms and neck. She knew it was time to run, but as she turned around, the man grabbed her, put his hand over her mouth, and dragged her to the open door. He lifted her with his free arm and pitched her into the back of the van. She began to kick, and he laid his upper body across her legs to keep them still. He pulled a jackknife from his pocket and held it close to her face.

  “If you make one sound when I take my hand off your mouth, I’ll kill you, and then I’ll kill your family. If you do what I say, you won’t get hurt. Got it?” the man asked, in a raspy voice. His gray eyes looked like the devil’s, Vivi thought, and his greasy black hair brushed across her face. It smelled li
ke frying bacon and made Vivi want to puke. He took his hand away, and then pulled a piece of gray tape from a large roll, tore it off and put it over her mouth. Next, he grabbed some nearby rope and tied her hands together, and then her feet. The back of the van was flat and cluttered with garbage. He slammed the door shut and got into the driver’s seat, and the lady got into the passenger seat.

  Terror flooded Vivi’s body. Her face was wet with sweat, tears, and mucus running from her nose. Where were they taking her? Why did she believe the lady? Would she ever see her family again?

  Vivi’s mind raced and scary images flashed through her brain. She saw her family pacing the fairgrounds afraid and crying, Papa trying to comfort Nana and Shane standing in shock, not knowing what to do. A memory shot into her consciousness. The night Mama and Daddy died, Nana answered the door to find a serious-faced policeman asking if he could speak with her and Papa. Vivi heard a short, hushed conversation but couldn’t make out what the officer said. What she clearly remembered was Nana screaming “No, No, No!” before she crumpled into Papa’s arms, nearly falling to the floor. That memory would forever haunt her.

  The van backed up, jerked into drive, and pulled forward, its tires skidding across the dirt as they raced toward the exit, the van’s muffler calling unwanted attention to them. Vivi’s trussed body slid and rolled, so she dug her elbows into the floor and pressed her feet into the van’s door to keep herself face-up.

  “Stop!” the lady shrieked. The kid’s stuffed animal is still in the parking lot. We better go back and get it.”

  “Fuck no, we ain’t goin’ back. She’ll survive without it,” he snarled.

  Vivi heard the lady hit the man’s arm and start to laugh.

  “You’re a fool.” Her laugh became more raucous. “What I meant is if someone finds it, we’re in deep shit.”

  “Shut up. We ain’t goin’ back.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  2020

  Carl finally had an entire Saturday off, so I thought it was a good time to do Simple Step One: I had decided to nickname each of the steps to keep things light. I wasn’t nervous, as I rarely had panic attacks when he was with me. Carl had always signified security. Overall, he was patient and usually understanding, although recently he seemed to take my issues personally, as if he were the failure instead of me. When I felt myself getting irritated by this, I stopped to think how I would handle him being homebound and dependent on me for nearly everything. I’d hate it. We’d probably be divorced, and I would have been forced to have a career either way. Who knows if we would have been blessed with Faith? When I played the tape through, I decided it would have been a horrible tradeoff, which brought me back to feeling so many conflicting emotions: relief, gratitude and shame all swirled together. I imagined each emotion being a different color and putting them in a blender. The result would be a large glass of gray. Gray would be a good color to describe my life. I wondered what Dr. Buhari would say to that?