Page 113 of Konstantin
A beat passes. The memory stretches deeper. Words filter in, growing clearer.
“Another man laughs. It’s cold…like he enjoys what’s happening. He says, ‘You’re threatening me?’ His voice…it turns sharp. Like he’s about to snap.”
Every instinct in me screams that something terrible is coming.
“Then he says…” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “‘You just never learn, do you?’ And then…oh God.”
“You’re safe, Emilia. You’re just remembering. They can’t hurt you now. What happened next?”
A tremor runs through my body, the words scraping out. “A gunshot.”
It rings through the memory, crackling in my skull like a lightning strike. A piercing sound that vibrates through my bones—impossible to forget, impossible to outrun.
A shudder creeps over me, the sharpness in my lungs, the choking fear of a little girl who can’t move, can’t escape. My handsinvoluntarily tighten into fists, clinging to whatever I can. I’m frozen, stuck in the dark, still that terrified little girl trapped in the corner of that closet with hands against her ears and tears rolling down her cheeks.
I can see it all clearly. The tiny space. The cramped, suffocating air. The musty smell of dust and old wood.
The hypnotist cuts through the panic. “Do you hear anything else?”
The question bounces through my mind, pulling me back to the memory, forcing me to focus. The room grows colder as I strain to hear something, anything that might lead me to the truth. The silence presses in like a trap, like I’m slipping deeper into something I can’t escape.
Then I hear it.
“The door. It’s opening…and-and there’s a man there.”
The darkness in front of me begins to part, a sliver of light cutting through the void. There, in the space between the shadows, I see the outline of a figure—tall, broad—standing in the doorway.
“Can you see his face?”
His presence feels familiar.Toofamiliar.
I freeze. My body locks up, every muscle screaming, but I can’t move. My chest tightens as the figure steps closer, his silhouette sharp against the light. Then his voice, calm but unmistakably familiar, says my name.
“No, I-I can’t. But I’m trying. He knows me. He says, ‘It’s okay, Emilia. You’re safe now.’”
“Concentrate on him. What does his face look like?”
I close my eyes tightly, pushing against the darkness, trying to make him out.
His words should be comforting, shouldn’t they? But they’re not. The hollowness of the room around me is like a thick fog, and it’s growing thicker. Then he begins to fade…
No! Nonono!
I try harder, but the harder I strain to focus, the farther he pulls away. It’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
“Focus, Emilia. Look into his eyes,” the hypnotist encourages.
But it’s all too distant, too far from where I am. I try with everything I have, the pressure in my chest growing as the space around me distorts, like I’m losing my grip on reality. The figure flickers in the darkness, fading into nothingness, his face just out of reach.
And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the image disappears entirely. The room grows cold, and I feel nothing but emptiness.
“Fuck!” My eyes fly open, and the world feels a little too bright. “Why the hell couldn’t I see him? I was so damn close!” My anger radiates through me.
The therapist leans forward, her eyes filled with quiet sympathy. “Take a deep breath. You did well for your first time.”
“I just need to remember. I know it’s important.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in the pit of my stomach.
It’s like I’m so close, but the pieces keep slipping through my fingers.
