Bury Me(51)

Nolan shrugs as he concentrates on the road in front of us when the rain picks up. “Still, you had dreams and a few flashes of memory about you looking different and about the suitcase of clothes. So for right now, we’re going to put that in the positive column and consider it a memory successfully retrieved.”

We continued going back and forth, having plenty of time to rehash everything. The drive took longer than expected due to the summer shower turning into a downpour, making it harder to see while driving.

In the memories retrieved column I have:

– Feeling uncomfortable with my father’s affection, almost as if he’d never shown me any before. That affection quickly turned into his avoidance and then downright hostility toward me. I might not have confirmed with one-hundred-percent certainty that the cause for all of this is that he’s not my father, but it’s going into the positive column for now.

– The feelings of hatred toward Trudy, my supposed best friend, as well as memories of the two of us fighting, and the suspicious scratches on her neck that I knew she was lying about. This was confirmed as something real and part of my missing memories when I finally remembered our entire fight and confronted her about it. Being stuck in a small, confined space and forced to talk to Nolan this entire trip suddenly became enjoyable when I got to stare at his profile as I relived all of this for him. I got to witness his face turn a bright shade of red, followed by repeated apologies, and pathetic begging, ending with pitiful assurances that Trudy kissed him, not the other way around, and he made it clear to her that he didn’t like her that way.

– Nolan not liking me very much, as well as my feeling uneasy around him, was finally figured out when I remembered he was with me in the woods, that he was the one who found me and took me home, then proceeded to lie about it. I decide to keep him in the dark about how none of this has fixed my anxiety around him—his affection is foreign to me—and that I calm my feelings of discomfort by imagining cutting off his limbs. I mean, he’s nice and he’s helping me, so that seems like a conversation better left for never.

At this point, the only things in the negative column that I still can’t remember fully or explain at all would be the horrible memories and dreams about pain and misery, all surrounding Dr. Thomas, and, of course, what forced me that night to run away from the prison and out into the woods. Nolan is adamant that anything his mother said during our short visit should go in this column as well, since the medication she’s on confuses her mind, but I’m still secretly placing her mention of the letter T somewhere in between the two lists. There has to be a reason I felt it was important and that she knew a truth about me I couldn’t quite figure out. I wanted her to stop talking because her words made my skin crawl and that’s not something I can easily push aside. The things I’m most uncomfortable with seem to keep turning into true facts about my life.

As soon as we finish with our list, Nolan is turning on his blinker and pulling into the parking lot of Strongfield.

“A lot different from Gallow’s Hill, isn’t it?” he asks as he finds a parking space in the visitor’s lot and turns off the engine.

I don’t answer him as I lean closer to the dash to stare at the building in front of us. It’s obviously quite different than Gallow’s Hill since it was built in the early 1940’s as opposed to the 1800’s. It’s more modern and simple—just one long, single-story building surrounded by a chain-link fence.

“This place was built specifically for overflow when Gallow’s Hill became too crowded,” I tell him. “Then when we closed, the majority of our prisoners were relocated here. With all of the new prisoners’ rights laws enacted since Gallow’s Hill closed, they definitely have better accommodations and less risk of guards feeling like they could treat them however they wished.”

Nolan and I exit the car, and he slides his hand into mine as we take off running through the rain, soon making it to the covered sidewalk that leads to the visitor’s entrance on the side of the building. My palms are sweating, and I can’t stop the slight tremor that travels through my arms as we shake the rain from our hair and clothing. Nolan pulls the hand he’s holding up to his chest, pressing it against his heart.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ll be right there next to you,” he assures me.

I keep my mouth shut as he opens the door, drops my hand, and gestures for me to go inside ahead of him. I’m not nervous about seeing Tobias because I know it will provide answers to my questions. His handholding and overall niceness is what make me nervous and want to run away screaming.