Page 17 of Stray

Jackson

“What the hell?” I groan as I stop mid-pushup and look at my phone to see why my music isn’t playing. It’s an incoming call from Indy. What could she want? Standing up from the floor, I answer the call.

“Hey, Ind–”

“Jackson!” I instantly still at the terror in her voice. Oh my god, Derek, is he– “Listen to me, I think Ozzy is having a flashback. You need to find her. Please, go to her room or wherever she is.”

“Flashback?” I say as I walk out of my bedroom.

“She has PTSD! Goddamn it, Jackson! Find her!” I’m about to ask her what she’s talking about when I see the front door is wide open. Fuck.

“I’ll find her and call you back,” I say, hanging up my phone and running down the steps. I grab a flashlight and slip on my shoes before walking outside. I don’t see anything or hear any–

“NO! STOP!” My head snaps towards her scream. It’s somewhere in the tree line. I take off running, my mind shooting off a hundred questions. Was someone attacking her? Indy said PTSD, what is she talking about? Where is she?

“Ozzy!” I call out, scanning the tree line, looking for any sign of her. I hear rustling, and when I shine my light towards the sound, I find her. Fucking hell, she’s tangled in a tree root, scrambling to get away.

“Ozzy,” I say softly as I slowly approach her, not wanting to frighten her. “What are you doing out here?” Her hair is soaked. She’s shivering and covered in dirt and leaves. She stares at me with wide, haunted eyes that aren’t focusing on me. It’s like she sees me, but she doesn’t at the same time.

“Get. Back.” She chokes out, holding her hand out in front of her.

“Ozzy,” What the fuck is happening? “Come on, let me get you back inside.” I go to release her foot, and she literally swipes at me with her nails. “Fuck!” I curse when she cuts me across my lip.

“I will die a thousand times over before I let you take me back there! Shoot me now, Patrick!” She screams. Patrick? Who the fuck is that? “Do it, you piece of fucking shit. Put it right here.” She points to her forehead as she spits at me.

“Ozzy!” I shout, kneeling down in front of her, trying to make eye contact so she knows it’s me. “Ozzy. Baby, look at me, it’s Jackson… whatever you see, it isn’t real. Take a deep breath.” I watch her blink. She’s hyperventilating, “Breathe, Tink, come on, take a deep breath for me.” She does, mimicking my breathing. She takes another, and then a third, and then a few more. After what feels like an eternity, she blinks and looks around our surroundings before back at me.

“J-jackson?” She croaks out. I nod softly before gesturing to her foot.

“Can I touch you to get your foot untangled?” I ask, and she nods slowly. As soon as her foot is freed, she bolts up and looks around.

“There was… Jackson, h-he was chasing me.” The look on her face, she’s so scared and confused, but also definitive in her words. It hurts inside my chest to see her this way.

“Ozzy, you and I are the only two out here.”

“I saw the flashlight in my room!” She snaps, “I-I thought… he was…” I see her getting frustrated with herself and move a little closer.

“Hey,” I go to rub her back but stop, afraid to touch her. “Okay, if you think you saw something, I will go look after I get you back inside, alright? I will look through our land completely if that will make you feel safer. But Ozzy, Indy called to say she thought you were having a PTSD flashback.” I watch her flinch before looking back at me. Her beautiful brown eyes are broken, lost.

“Tink,” I breathe out, at a loss for how to help her. I don’t like this, seeing her this way. “Baby, tell me how to help you.” She looks from my face to my hands. She looks like she’s battling with herself, and just as I’m about to ask her what’s happening, she startles me by holding out her dirty, shaking hands.

“C-can you hold my hand?” To anyone else, this would be the most minute request, but for Ozzy, I know it means everything. I nod and hold my hand out, palm up to allow her to stay in charge. She hesitates for just a moment before placing her hand in mine. It’s so soft against my calloused one, and if I weren’t so afraid to speak, I would apologize for how rough it must feel.

Ozzy stares in shock at our connected hands before looking back up at me. “I don’t… I can’t stay in that room anymore.”

I don’t ask why. She doesn’t need to explain right now. I just nod and motion to the house. “That’s alright, there are plenty of other rooms. Come on, Tink, let’s get you warm.”

* * *

Nothing.

There ain’t a goddamn thing out here. After I got Ozzy into the guest room on the main floor last night, I went back to bed for all of ten minutes before grabbing my gun and a flashlight and going out to check everything out. I was still out there long after the sun came up, but I had to make sure. I don’t know why, but that look of fear in her eyes and the touch of her hand against mine… I needed to protect her. I needed to make her feel safe. Maybe it’s wrong. I don’t know much about PTSD other than Pops had it from the war, but I never remember seeing him act this way.

“Hey, son,” Mama smiles as I drag myself into the kitchen.

“Hey Mama,” I’m sure my weary voice matches my exhaustion. Sitting at the table, I thank her when she hands me a plate with a sandwich.

“You find what you were looking for out there?” She asks while wiping down the counter before grabbing her basket for collecting eggs from the chickens.

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