Page 5 of Wildling

I believe it was something else entirely…

Stormwood experiences many accidents, but the people there die of natural causes. There is no slasher hiding in the shadows, nor are there any gruesome murders. The only bone-chilling reality is the sheer number of deaths that occur on people’s birthdays, leading many locals to believe our town is cursed. That I’m part of this curse. Locals refer to them as Zodiac killings. The entity who kills them is the Constellation Killer.

A clammy sweat breaks out on my palms, a gnawing guilt consuming me from within. I witnessed one of these accidental deaths myself, so I remember the intimate details of what happened. I can attest—she died of natural causes.

Once I’m off the train, I walk three blocks in the rain and enter Regina’s oceanfront office overlooking the harbor. Skyscrapers tower down on every side of me. I brace myself and head inside, toward the glass elevator heading up to the top floor where Regina’s offices are. My phone buzzes again, and I glance at it before powering it down.

I have five more missed calls. One from Gabe, one from Beth, and three from my friend Keely, who lives back home. She’s insisting I call her back as soon as possible, that she’s considered our recent conversation. Frowning, I make a mental note to return Keely’s call when I can. I don’t remember any recent conversation with Keely that wasn’t about her financial struggles.

I don’t bother addressing the receptionist when I walk in. I push directly inside Regina’s office. Dr. Regina Price is sitting neatly on her sofa already waiting for me. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, showing off her designer shoes and pencil skirt and shimmering pantyhose. All of which my mother probably paid for from my forced therapy sessions these past few months. Regina’s made so much money from my trauma, I’ll probably end up paying for her early retirement.

She rises and shuts the door behind me, and I take my usual spot on her leather couch. She takes her time studying me, not buying for one second that I’m as put together as I’m pretending to be.

“Layla,” she says, carefully pursing her plump lips. “How are you doing?”

I fold my arms and sink into the cool leather and stare out at a yacht pulling into the dock in the harbor. “I’m fine.”

She crinkles her eyes and frowns. “You don’t look fine.”

I bark out a laugh. “Is that an appropriate thing to say to your patient?”

She pushes her glasses up her nose. “You’re not just my patient and you know it, you mean so much more to me than that.” It’s true, my mom was so young when she had me—only eighteen. Both Regina and Beth helped raise me. Regina is like a second mom to me. It’s highly unethical she’s even treating me, but Beth won’t have it any other way.

“Your mom called and said you weren’t doing too well with Toby’s death. Do you want to talk about it?”

No. This is about the Archer. It’s always about the Archer.

“He died yesterday,” I say coldly. “Don’t you think that warrants some sort of emotional reaction? My mom’s overreacting.”

Her eyes flicker as they do when I’m defiant or when she’s about to psychoanalyze the shit out of me. “Did his death trigger something in you? It’s very common to feel a variety of emotions when one’s abuser dies. Some victims even go into mourning.”

I bite my bottom lip and force tears into my eyes. A practiced act of having an emotional response to the name Toby Myers. If I mention the other name, she will think I’ve lost my mind. Beth is already on the verge of locking me up and throwing away the key, and I can’t give her any more ammunition.

Truly, it is the white ribbon that has me spinning and the bite marks on me that have my blood pumping. Her eyes notice the bruise on my collarbone…She keeps staring at it through her glasses. She doesn’t comment. Instead, she leans back in her leather chair. “What you’re experiencing is very normal, Layla.”

What I’m experiencing…she has no idea what I’m experiencing. Getting fucked in my sleep and not even knowing if it was real or not is not a normal experience.

My eyes flicker up to her. “None of this is normal.”

She lets out a long sigh. “The conflicting feelings you’re experiencing are common for victims in your situation. While it’s understandable to grieve your captor, even though you shouldn’t, it’s a natural response when your mind is trying to process trauma. You didn’t fall in love with him, which is why your mourning seems so contradictory.”

I fell for my captor…that’s the only logical explanation for the complete devastation in the depths of my soul. Except, Toby Myers wasn’t my captor, the Archer was.

Regina seems to understand. “I’m not saying you have feelings for Toby. But in a way, you did. The Archer was your captor, Layla. That’s what he represented when you created him. You understand that, don’t you? You were alone for months in the dark. That would drive anyone to fabricate someone for companionship.”

I created him. That’s her theory.

My feelings aren’t conflicting…they never were. I never met Toby, so nothing exists inside me but an empty void for him. But my emotions for the Archer are powerful, even if I can’t seem to remember him. The deep love I have for him is real. It makes my skin itchy. “How do I make this go away?”

She sighs and grabs her notebook, and I mentally prepare myself to go into that black hole. “We have to figure out what’s causing it. Tell me what you’re thinking. What was your first reaction to Toby dying? Not what you’ve constructed in your head, but what you felt the moment you saw he died.”

A swell of emotion overcomes me as I lose my balance.

The Archer. I only ever feel the Archer.

“It’s hard to explain what I’m experiencing. He’s all around me. He’s in my apartment, in my head. He’s everywhere.” Her gaze drifts to my neck, as if she can see right through me. And since she’s known me my entire life, it’s entirely possible she can.

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?” she asks.