Chapter Text
After The Show
It wasn’t that Christine thought she wouldn’t have any trauma from being trapped as long as she was. Realistically, she knew she’d probably be plagued with nightmares for the rest of her life. Caine’s giant eyes staring directly into her soul as he incessantly shoved her into another adventure, another world, another hellish landscape she could never really get used to.
She was already thinking about it now.
But still, lying in this hospital bed felt… wrong. She wasn’t physically harmed. Her memory was just half-baked. When she woke up, she knew she’d looked around, knew she’d tried so hard to memorize anything she could as she ran. And then she was at her mom’s house, banging on the door. No more memories of anything. Of anything but The Circus.
Now she was in the hospital, checked over by doctors again and again, and officers who had written down her story at least four different times. She wasn’t going to say, “By the way guys, I was trapped in a digital space the whole time! I had a cartoon body and I was a jester!” She didn’t want to be put on any anti-psychotics, or for them to think she’d been on a drug-induced bender for two years, just now getting sober enough to come back. Her story didn’t make sense, she knew that. But for all her time in the circus, she hadn’t known what would happen when she got back. Of all things, she certainly hadn’t expected to go to her mom’s house first, but that’s where she ended up. Christine hadn’t really known what kind of story she would need to make up.
So now, practically trapped in a hospital bed and forced to answer questions, she had gone with the only thing that felt safe:
“I don’t remember.”
“I don’t remember where I was. I don’t remember what happened to me. I don’t even remember how I got into town. The last memory I have is banging on my mom’s door, and now… here.”
She didn’t have to try very hard to be emotionally distraught. Once she heard “two years” from her mom, she fell straight into a panic attack, hyperventilating and bent over at the hips. It was about how much time she’d guessed had passed, but hearing it come out of someone else’s mouth was still hard. She knew she’d have trauma. She’d reminded herself at least a thousand times.
It still didn’t feel right to take up a hospital bed, though.
“Luckily” enough, the officers questioning her seemed to think she’d suffered traumatic memory loss, and not that she was insane. It helped that all the blood and urine tests came back negative for any illicit substances, and it wasn’t like she had needle marks in her arms. She was actually surprisingly healthy after whatever had happened.
She’d at least expected to be malnourished. Or to have been fed by a tube. It was so frustrating that she couldn’t remember anything about where she’d woken up. She guessed it didn’t matter anymore. But there she was, still 5'1", still a “healthy” weight according to the charts, maybe a little on the lighter side at most. Everything seemed just fine.
Her eyes drifted over to her mom in the corner of the room, talking on the phone in a hushed voice, glancing over at Christine every few seconds as she spoke. It was probably her aunt, or maybe her grandma. It didn’t really matter either way.
When the test results came back negative for any drugs, her mom had raised an eyebrow in surprise. When the police said they thought she’d definitely been through extensive trauma, she’d furrowed her brow and gone, “Hm.” When they’d finally stopped beating around the bush and said directly, “Your daughter has probably been through something terrible,” she’d gone, “I see.”
Christine hadn’t spoken to her mom much before she disappeared anyway. Extreme expectations, never doing anything right, always being accused of something. A once-a-month text to let her know how she was doing, at best. She wasn’t sure how long it took for her to even realize she was missing. Her coworkers definitely would have noticed first, and her professors. For a brief moment, she wondered if her mom had called the police, or if it had been the other way around.
Her line of thought was interrupted when the main doctor monitoring her stepped back into the room.
“Hi, Christine.” He had a kind smile. The man was a bit older, starting to bald, with gray hair where he hadn’t lost it yet. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” She mustered a slight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess I’m still adjusting, but I feel fine physically.”
“That’s good, that’s what we want to hear.” He nodded as he spoke, and Christine realized she had no idea what his name was. “We’ve had you for three days now, no severe injuries or illnesses to be found.”
He had a clipboard, and she thought for a moment that it was nice that he still wrote on real paper, instead of immediately typing everything.
“Basically what I’m saying is, we strongly recommend a therapist.” He handed her a list of names as he said it. “There’s quite a few wonderful people on this list. And please continue to work closely with the officers that have helped you. I know they want to make sure anyone who could have contributed to your disappearance is held accountable by the law.” He cleared his throat.
“But other than that, Christine, we’re releasing you from your stay in the hospital. Please feel free to reach out if you need anything more from us.” The doctor looked so genuine, eyes meeting hers from behind his reading glasses.
“I will, I promise.” She nodded once, looking back up to meet his eyes. It made her look more believable.
Christine did not plan on calling any of these therapists, nor did she plan on ever coming back to this hospital. She hoped her case would quickly go cold, and that she could leave town fast enough for everyone to forget about her again. She couldn’t imagine staying here, not anymore.
She smiled at the doctor again, this time trying harder to look like she meant it. Her mom had hung up the phone as the doctor spoke with her, walking over and listening to the end of the conversation.
“Well,” the woman sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ll stop by the front desk to sign everything for you to leave, and then I guess we’ll head back home.” Her voice wavered on “home.” Her house hadn’t been Christine’s home for a long time.
Unfortunately for her, it wasn’t like she had anywhere else to stay right now.
“Okay, let me change and I’ll be right there.” Christine tried not to sound too anxious when she said it.
God, she was.
She was in her mom’s car before she knew it, staring out the window of the passenger seat. All she could think about was the trees. Going to touch one. Smelling something that was natural. That was real. Her eyes had hardly adjusted to the lack of neon colors around her yet.
It was cloudy outside, and it was December. Everything was gray.
When they finally pulled into the driveway, she realized neither of them had said a word to each other the entire drive home.
Her mom spoke first.
“Well, I didn’t keep your old car. You still owe, er, owed money on it. So it was repossessed.”
“Okay.” Christine felt herself fidgeting with her sleeves, eyes fixed on the floorboard of the car.
“Your savings account, though,” she sighed. “It’s all out, in cash. I thought, well… never mind what I thought. I have it.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“You,” the older woman hesitated. “You had a lot more than I thought you would. You were doing a good job. I’m… I’m sorry.”
She didn’t elaborate on what exactly she was sorry about.
“It’s okay, mom.”
Christine meant it more than she thought she would. Her mom was overbearing, disapproving, always assuming the worst. But after being trapped, it felt so unimportant. At least she had someone to help her once she got out. She only hoped the others had as well.
“Your old apartment also, well, I’m sure you know. Your things are in storage. I don’t have the space for everything in your old room, but whatever you want to bring while you stay here, we can go get together.”
She nodded, finally looking up from the floor of the car. “That sounds good. I will use some of the money to look at apartments, but I’ll take a few weeks, if you don’t mind.”
“Christine, you don’t ever have to leave if you don’t want to.” Her mom’s voice turned stern, and she grabbed her hand, forcing Christine to look at her directly. “I know you don’t remember right now, but the doctors said that memories might start coming back, and you shouldn’t be alone for that.”
“I know, mom. I understand. I just also want to feel normal again.”
She felt herself getting dizzy at the thought of people expecting her to remember anything. There was no way to explain, no way for anything to make sense. She couldn’t even tell her mom that her own name sounded wrong.
“Christine.”
She’d become so used to “Pomni.”
Her mom didn’t answer, only nodded slightly at the words.
“I think I’m going to stay outside for a minute.”
The older woman began to say something, but stopped herself before any words came out.
“Okay. Come in whenever you’re ready.”
She watched as the only real parent she’d ever had walked to the door, not knowing how to feel. She got out of the car herself, the cold December air almost shocking her skin. It was a welcome feeling, the reality of it.
The house looked the same as it had when she was a teenager. It was so safe, so ordinary. Maybe that meant something.
Her hands were starting to shake as she stood outside, and she resigned that maybe it was about time to go inside.
She went to step forward, to make her way to the front door.
“Hey, sorry to bother you, but—”
The voice came from behind her, close enough that she startled. It wasn’t loud, and it hadn’t been a lot of words, but she felt her heart slam in her chest.
She turned, already knowing. Already sure.
The sound of him had followed her out of places that weren’t real. It had laughed, mocked, echoed through endless color and noise. Hearing it here, in the quiet of her mother’s driveway, felt like the ground shifting under her feet.
“Jax.”