The air in the therapy room was thick with an unsettling tension, as though the very walls were listening, eager to absorb the secrets that floated between Lena Cavanaugh and Dr. Elian Rowe. The room was sparsely decorated, with muted colors that seemed to blend into one another, a palette of grays and soft blues that mirrored Lena's own emotional landscape. A single window let in a sliver of daylight, casting long shadows that danced across the floor like specters of the past.
Lena sat curled in an armchair, her fingers nervously tracing the frayed edges of a blanket draped over her lap. She was twenty-four, yet the weight of her years felt like a burden far heavier than her age would suggest. Her dark hair fell in waves around her face, framing eyes that were pools of haunted memories. They flickered with a mix of fear and defiance, as if daring anyone to pry into the depths of her soul.
"Lena,"
Dr. Rowe began, her voice steady and soothing,
"let's try to focus on the memories you've been struggling with. The night of the fire."
The mention of that night sent a shiver down Lena's spine. It was a phrase that had become a ghost, haunting her every waking moment.
"The night of the fire," she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I... I remember screams. And flames. So many flames."
Dr. Rowe leaned forward, her expression a mixture of empathy and professionalism.
"That's a good start. Can you tell me more about the screams? Whose were they?"
Lena's gaze drifted to the window, where the sunlight struggled against the encroaching shadows.
"I don't know. I don't know who was screaming. I just
-everything was... chaotic. I was... I was hiding."
"Where were you hiding?"
Dr. Rowe pressed gently, her pen poised above her notepad.
"In the closet," Lena replied.
Her voice trembling as the memory flickered like a faulty light bulb.
"I thought... I thought if I stayed quiet, I would be safe. Bu..b-but the fire... it was everywhere."
Dr. Rowe nodded, her expression encouraging.
"It's okay to feel scared, Lena. You were just a child. You did what you could to survive."
"SURVIVE?!," Lena repeated, her eyes narrowing.
"But I didn't SAVE anyone. I-I was... I was just a coward."
"No, YOU were a child in a terrifying situation," Dr. Rowe corrected.
"You need to allow yourself to feel the pain, to process it. You're not a coward.
You're a survivor."
Lena felt a flicker of anger rise within her, a flame that threatened to ignite.
"Survivor? Is that what I am? I'm not even sure I survived. Sometimes, I -Ithink I'm just a ghost…wandering through the ashes of my own life."
"Let's not think of it that way," Dr. Rowe said, her tone firm yet gentle.
"You're here now, and you're working through this. You're facing your fears."
"FACING?" Lena scoffed, her voice edged with bitterness.
"I'm running from them. I can't even remember what really happened. Just... flashes. And the fire. Always the fire."
Dr. Rowe remained patient, her gaze steady.
"What if we explored those flashes? What do you see in them?"
Lena closed her eyes, the darkness behind her eyelids swirling with fragmented images.
"I see... a figure. Tall, shadowy. I think it was a man.
"HAHAHAHHA"
"He-he was... laughing. And then... my mother's face. She was... she was screaming."
"Can you describe the laughter?" Dr. Rowe asked, her pen moving swiftly across the page.
"It wasn't... normal. It was... twisted. Like he was enjoying it. Like... like he was playing a game."
"Do you remember anything else about the figure?"
"I don't know," Lena murmured, her voice trembling.
"Just that he was... there. And then there was the fire. It consumed everything."
"Lena," Dr. Rowe said
Her tone shifting to one of urgency,
"I want you to listen to me carefully."
"Sometimes, our minds protect us by burying memories that are too painful to confront. But those memories can come back, and when they do, they can help us understand what really happened."
Lena opened her eyes, a flicker of fear igniting within her.
"What if I don't want to remember? What if it's worse than I think?"
Dr. Rowe leaned back in her chair, her expression somber yet hopeful.
"You're stronger than you realize. Facing the truth can be terrifying, but it's the only way to find peace. You deserve to know what happened that night, Lena. You deserve to heal."
The silence that followed was thick with tension, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air.
Lena felt a mix of dread and curiosity, a battle waging within her.
"What if I'm not the one who needs healing?"
She whispered, her voice barely audible.
"What if I'm the one who caused it?"
Dr. Rowe's gaze sharpened, a flicker of concern crossing her features.
"What do you mean?"
Lena's heart raced as the words spilled from her lips, unfiltered and raw.
"Sometimes...
"sometimes I have these dreams. Vivid dreams. I see myself... holding something. A weapon. And I don't remember anything, but I feel... powerful. Like I'm in control."
Dr. Rowe's expression shifted, a mix of concern and intrigue.
"Power can be a dangerous thing, especially when it's intertwined with trauma. But Lena, you're not alone in this. We'll work through it together."
Lena shook her head, her breath quickening.
"No, you don't understand. I think... I think I might have hurt them. I might have hurt my family."
The room fell silent, the weight of Lena's confession hanging in the air like a dark cloud. Dr. Rowe's expression softened, but the gravity of the situation was palpable.
"Lena, if that's true, we need to explore it carefully. But remember, your mind may be playing tricks on you. It's important to separate reality from the fragments of your memory."
"Fragments," Lena echoed, her voice trembling.
"What if those fragments are all that's left of the truth? What if I'm the monster?"
Dr. Rowe leaned closer, her eyes locked onto Lena's.
"You're not a monster, Lena. You're a survivor trying to make sense of a horrific event. You are a really good child. Don't worry. We'll uncover the truth together, but you must be willing to face it, no matter how painful it may be."
Lena felt a tear slip down her cheek, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil within her.
"I don't know if I can. What if the truth is worse than the nightmare?"
Dr. Rowe reached across the table, her hand resting gently on Lena's.
"You are stronger than you think.
We'll navigate this darkness together. You won't have to face it alone."
As Lena stared into Dr. Rowe's eyes, she felt a flicker of hope battling against the shadows that clung to her heart. But deep down, a chilling realization settled in the pit of her stomach: the truth she sought might be darker than she could ever imagine.
And if she was indeed the architect of her family's demise, then the echoes of ashes would never truly fade away.