Roses

Chapter Nine - Give me Therapy

Thankfully there wasn't another case over the weekend, but come Monday I had to go to a Counciling session to see if the Therapist deemed me fit to go out in the field.

I sat in the Therapists office, looking at him with a tilt of my head as he stared at me, humming a tune of a Christmas song, even though Thursday was Thanksgiving.

"Agent Lauren, do you know why you're here?" He asked and I breathed out a laugh, tilting my head back and letting my eyes land on the ceiling.

"Because I was abducted by my serial killer maternal Uncle. He was a copycat of The Blood Rose Killer, who is also my father. I already dealt with that trauma when I was ten." I explained, moving my head back and locking eyes with the Doctor, "I was in therapy for two years, had constant nightmares throughout my teens, and kept it a secret from everyone I love. I'm planning on starting to see another Therapist in January."

He nodded, scribbling down in his notebook. "I was told that you recently got engaged? Have you told your fiance about your childhood?"

"Yes, I told him after I got back from the last case. I would have pulled out old case files I have locked in a safe in my closet, but he didn't want to see them."

"I wonder why. What's his name?"

I smiled, looking down at my Ring, "Specialist Ryan Sawyer. He came back from Afghanistan on Monday where he was stationed for two years. He's been in the Army for six years total. He's planning on not re-enlisting after his eighth year." I explained and he nodded.

"How did he react?" He asked me and I pursed my lips together, forming a line.

"Suprisingly well, he was glad I told him." I answered shortly.

"It says in your file from your previous Therapist in Ohio that you use humor as a coping mechanism. Do you still see yourself doing that?"

That question took me off guard, "I-uhm..." I stuttered, looking down at my feet, "I've done that my whole life, Doc, it's a habit I guess. When I was still living with my dad and sister and I could hear the screaming of the victim of the week I would tell my big sister jokes to make her laugh and keep her mind off of it, she was more sensitive to it than I was, I guess." I shrugged.

"Wait, your father would torture his victims...with you in the house?" He asked and I nodded.

"We lived in my grandfathers old hunting cabin. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room with a kitchen, and a basement. He held the victims captive in the basement and would...tortur them at night and went to work during the day...my sister and I didn't go to school so I would sometimes go downstairs and give the poor girl food or something...I always wanted to let them go, but Eliza was scared that he would hurt us if they got out." I explained, remembering back to one day in particular.

I could hear sobbing coming from the basement and cries for help, it was a cold day and I was sure the woman would want something to eat as my father wasn't very hospitable twords his victims. My father was at work and Eliza was out grocery shopping which left me home alone at seven years old.

I learned how to cook from a young age, so did Eliza, because my dad wasn't always around to cook for us. I made a grilled cheese sandwich for her and one for myself as I was hungry as well.