Never Alone

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

For a minute nothing happened. Dr. Crimm waited, her eyes locked onto Shima's face. "Shima, take a deep breath. Let your thoughts drift back to a place in time when your heart was full. As you float there alone, in that space between here and somewhere far beyond, whose arms would you like around you?"

Colors on the screen above her head began to form and then melt away again as the world they were in started taking shape. And just like that the scab was torn and Shima's wound began to bleed.

Shima's gentle voice, which we had barely heard until now, said over and over, "Mom, Mom, God I miss my mom."

On the screen the colors bleeding into the floor began to rise up again. They stretched and pulled a pattern from their endless puddles. Thin trees curled up from the ground and rose to the uppermost tip of the screen, brown trunks and bright green leaves. Moss, moist and rich in color, grew at their bases and rose along the crooked roots as they dipped and dived, creating caverns along the knitted forest floor. The room was so silent that Shima's sharp intake of breath echoed, as if her mouth were pressed up against a microphone in an empty auditorium. Damien covered his ears with a wince. In her seat, Shima's head quickly turned, spinning the image on the screen and allowing the trees to blur together in a deluge of green and brown.

Suddenly the trees fell from the screen and in their place rose beautifully textured walls. Shima must have recognized them because she smiled from her chair. "Home," she announced. "I'm home." Then she cried out, her pain loud and piercing. So much pain it stole her breath, its invisible fingers reaching inside her to scrape out any life—leaving her hollow. Her chest heaved and jolted as she tried to pull in a breath against the tightening of her own grief. She shook her head, as if trying to escape the feeling she'd failed to flee from just days ago. Her hands reached out desperately at nothing, trying to hang on to the room she was now in. She turned her head and we could see the whole picture. She'd been standing but she sank to her knees, her hands holding her stomach as if the pain she'd been feeling focused itself there and it now stabbed at her abdomen. It was almost unbearable to watch.

"Mom?" she whispered. She gripped the old carpet, worn down by years of family walking across it. The tan threads frayed beneath long, thin fingers. Frozen in place, she stared at the light brown age spots. These weren't the hands we could clearly see gripping her abdomen in front of us. These were the hands of an older woman. She leaned back, bringing the hands up closer to her face to examine every detail. She was crying again, whimpers and sobs mixed into a symphony of sadness so deep it felt bottomless. Clasping them together, she brought them as close as she could to her heart. My own hand lifted up to my heart along with her.

"Don't make me leave," Shima pleaded. "She's here. I can feel her."

On the screen, the purple flowery fabric resting over her knees caught her attention. She lifted the top of her dress and breathed in the scent of the material. Her eyes lifted to the mirrored closet in the room as if she'd see herself there wearing the dress, but instead she saw the image of an older woman reflected back at her, a woman who was not her, but who looked very much like her. This must be Shima's mother.

Suddenly she cried out in pain. She rolled up her body as she gripped her stomach and waited for it to pass before she could pull in another breath. Had something hurt this badly for her mother? What could be such an unreasonable tormentor? In the hallucination, Shima, in her mother's body, tried to stand, but was weak and disoriented. As her fingers dug into her core, gripping at the pain she must have been feeling, a desperation to make it stop became apparent.

Footsteps fell just outside the wooden door. "Dad." She braced herself at the foot of the bed and waited for him to enter. As soon as he saw her his face twisted in pain, a look of agony painting his features as he took in the sight of this woman, brittle with discomfort. He moved to her quickly but slowed down to gently lift her into his arms. He held her, rocking just slightly and pressing kisses to her forehead.