Labyrinth

“Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that you know that even if she does find her way out of this labyrinth in hell, that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same again.” - Amanda Steel, The Cliff.

The woman’s envy seemed to come off in waves today as she sat at the local cafe’s corner table. This spot was a double-edged sword, creating a battle between her paranoia and resentment. No one could sneak up on her, but, on the other hand, she was forced to see all the happy, smiling faces of everyone that came in.

It annoyed Joanna to no end how people could bustle around and live while she struggled with the simplest things. She knew her anger was misplaced and unreasonable, but that knowledge didn’t prevent them from creeping in. How dare they smile? How can they keep on living while I’m drowning?

Joanna used to love coming here to write to her heart’s content, but now, being here was self-afflicting agony. Her previously favorite order felt like rocks in her stomach, and the room felt claustrophobic. The nostalgia wasn’t helping either; if anything, it made everything worse. The memories mocked her, reminding her of the person she was before him.

Screams, torture, and wailing flooded her senses, causing her body to tense up. No. Not here. A chill went through Joanna, making her shake despite the heat being turned up in the room. She had to repress every urge to either run or fight. You are safe. You are safe. You are safe. Joanna closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled deeply. You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.

A welcomed ping from her laptop pulled Joanna back to reality. Her eyes flew open to see an email about her writing Instagram account. Reset Your Password. That was strange, especially since one of the many things she had done when she returned to society two months ago was reset all her passwords. That, plus making sure all of her electronics were unhackable. She didn’t want to leave herself vulnerable to someone like him again.

Joanna’s eyes narrowed as she dragged a finger across her laptop’s mouse pad. She hesitated as the pointer hovered over the notification. Maybe it was the sense of deja vu. Perhaps it was her anxiety or PTSD screaming to not click it. That was how he got to you last time. He sent an official-looking email and hacked his way into everything.

But the unnamed man was gone. The police confirmed he was dead; he couldn’t hurt Joanna anymore. Not physically, anyways. Her damaged body was healed, and the scars would slowly disappear over time. His hold on Joanna descended from beyond the grave, permanently infecting her dreams and consciousness. She had lost count of the horrid flashbacks she had experienced in the last couple of months. Every time Joanna thought she was inching her way out of the metaphorical labyrinth, he was there to drag her back deeper.

I am not going to let him control me. Joanna clicked on the notification with a bolstered determination and watched as her email filled the laptop screen. She let out the breath she was holding as her eyes scanned the monitor. The email seemed normal; maybe it was sent by accident.

A loud bout of cathartic laughter filled the air, earning Joanna concerned looks from those around her. As she calmed down, Joanna realized she felt slightly lighter than she had for a while, even if it was for a moment. For the first time in months, she had an inkling of hope that things would get better.

He watched as Joanna left the cafe, ecstatic to see her seemingly happier than before. The man pulled out his phone and pulled up a map with a moving marker labeled Joanna. Hacking into Instagram was not easy, but it was definitely worth it. The standard email with a virus embedded linked him to Joanna’s location at all times. The man grimaced at the intermittent pain that shot up his right side, a lovely side effect from the explosion created to help fake his death. Just the price to pay to carry on with his psychotic activities.

His plan was simple: allow Joanna to fall into a false sense of happiness, then swoop in to take it away from her. Joanna was the first to escape from him, and he planned to make sure she paid.

You will never be free of me.