Memories Adrift…

Leslie awoke head aching, sweat dripping from her brow, and a queasiness in her stomach that was heightened by the rocking of her surroundings.

She gazed around the small cabin, lost and confused; fear gripped her heart as tight as a small child grabbing a parent's hand. “Where the fuck am I? What’s going on?” She searched her mind for answers but couldn’t recall a single memory.

Had she gotten blackout drunk, had she suffered an injury? As she got off the bed and looked around, she fought waves of nausea, all the while wondering what was going on.

Apparently she was in the interior cabin of some ship of sorts. She wanted to scream but thought against it, knowing that giving away her awakened state could be a mistake.

Peering around the cabin, she searched for clues but found none, so she decided to stealthily open the door. With the softest of shoves, the door gave way with a soft creak. Spears of light attacked her eyes, sending throbbing sensations through her brain.

Walking up the staircase, she arrived at the upper deck of an upscale midsized boat. The sight of a slender man smoking a pipe caused her to let out a small gasp and stumble back slightly.

The man turned to her with a gleam in his eye. "Ah, Leslie, you’re up. Relax, dear. I know you’re taken aback by your surroundings, but we’ve been through this countless times this week. You’ll be up to speed in a few minutes. For starters, I am your husband and, at the moment, your psychiatrist.”

“What the fuck, no, your not... Who the fuck are you? I don’t know you or remember you for shit.”

Leslie pointed at the man, venom in her tone, and took a slightly defensive stance. She looked at the face and felt a vague familiarity, but couldn’t place it and felt no warmth or attraction to him.

“Leslie, come on, now relax. We’ve been married for nine years. You see, it’s like one of your favorite Adam Sandler movies, 50 First Dates. I don’t know if you remember yet, but you will. Unlike the movie, though you didn’t have an accident, your amnesia is trauma-induced.”

Leslie pointed at the man as she stepped forward. Veins on her forehead bulged like a bodybuilder, and her eyes dilated and opened, coursing with blood.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or why the fuck we are here on this boat, but you better provide some concrete answers or we are going to have some problems.” She said her voice now loud and angry, like an enraged parent.

The man grabbed his pipe and set it down on a table and raised his hands in a non-confrontational manner. Next he motioned towards a cup and recorder that sat across from his pipe.

“There, there, relax, dear. Drink your tea and play the recording; it will all start to come back to you. It always does. I’m here to fill in the gaps and guide you. Me and my colleagues decided your treatment would best be done here aboard our boat to remove you from the scene of the trauma, allowing your recollection to come back slowly and naturally. This helps avoid any triggers that may induce too much shock.”

Leslie stepped forward towards the table. “I’ll listen to your damn recording, but I don’t want no God damn tea. Lord knows what’s going on here.” Her words were still bitter and defensive, and her eyes hadn’t left the man once.

The man stepped forward toward the table. “As you wish. Maybe after hearing the recording you’ll change your mind, as you usually do. The tea helps calm you and bring back your memories.”

The man looked down at the old-fashioned tape recorder, then at Leslie with concern in his eyes. “Ok ready?” He asked with a tone of caution in his voice as he placed his finger on the play button.

“Go ahead, play the damn thing already.” She said, with an aggressive and impatient nod. The man nodded back and grabbed his pipe once more. “Very well.” He said as he pressed play on the old recorder.

"Okay, Leslie, are you ready for your session? Let’s start with your name. Do you recall your name now that we have talked and looked at photos?

Yes, um, it’s Leslie Mitchell.

Ok, great, and my name. Do you remember my name?”

Yes, it’s Bryce. Bryce Mitchell.

Very good, Leslie, and my profession. Do you recall what I do?

You’re a psychiatrist.

Excellent, and what about how long we’ve been married?”

Ahem... well, about nine years now, I reckon.

Very good, Leslie, nine years and two months to be exact.”

With a puff of his pipe Bryce slammed on the tape recorder's stop button and looked at Leslie with a cold stern glance.

“Does it ring a bell, Leslie? Is any of this familiar?” His words hung in the air as Leslie’s face fell back from one of anger and confrontation to one of confusion and fear.

"Well, that’s definitely my voice, and yes, the conversation definitely does feel vaguely familiar. I mean, I just don’t remember clearly, but yes, it’s all familiar.”

Tears started to roll from Leslie’s eyes like beads of water on a cold glass on a hot summer day.

"Relax, dear; it always starts like this. Sit down and drink your tea, please. It’s drugged, but only with medication to help calm you and stimulate your memory. See, this whole process is to bring your memory back in a slow and healthy way so that you may process the trauma and continue living.”

As he finished his words, Leslie staggered forward, broken and confused. Fear once again gripped her heart as she clutched the tea cup. Her breathing had sped up now like a cop car in pursuit of a criminal.

“Wha… What trauma... what trauma are you talking about?” She asked, the tea cup shaking in her hand as she began to tremble.

Bryce took another long puff of his pipe, then stepped forward with an outstretched arm, motioning for her to stop.

"Relax, dear; don’t rush this. This whole process is to bring your memories back slowly and naturally so you can process it all. Everything will come back to you soon enough.”

He stepped closer, placing a hand on her back in comfort and a half hug of sorts. At first she started to pull away, but then relaxed some. As she did, Bryce held his pipe in his mouth, leaned forward, and pressed the play button once more.

“And children... what about children? Do we have any children, Leslie?”

“No!!! No!!” Screams, cries, and wails bellowed from the tape recorder for an unmeasured amount of time before Bryce leaned forward and pressed stop.

Leslie’s face turned pale as a ghost. Tears that fell slowly before were now open faucets. Sobs and weeps were a sad chorus that echoed out over the ship's deck.

She didn’t fully remember but knew where this was going. She took another long sip of tea before being fully consumed by dyspnea and hyperventilation. As a name came to mind, it felt as if a demon had attached itself to her and was sucking the air from every breath she tried to take in.

“Rylie... our baby girl... Rylie...” Words between gasps spewed from Leslie’s mouth as the stunning realization and memory of her daughter flooded her brain like water filling the Titanic.

Bryce took another long puff of his pipe before stepping forward and holding a now broken Leslie. The fierce, fiery woman that had made her way to the deck was no more. Instead, a broken shell of Leslie collapsed against Bryce, her tears washing over him like raindrops.

“Bryce, what happened to Riley?” Leslie’s words came out as broken. Bryce said nothing at first, and the two stood there locked in a strange consoling but troubled embrace. He took a long puff of his cigar and reached in his pocket, removing a small chalky pill.

“That’s enough for now. Too much, too fast will just cause you to go back into repression, and you’ll lose all the progress we made. We can talk more during dinner.”

His words were professional and calm. This was Bryce, the psychiatrist, not a father or husband. His nature set Leslie’s heart back ablaze, but under there was too much pain to complain or push him away.

“Bryce, what happened to Riley?” She continued this time, her voice growing more stern, like a teacher or police offer demanding answers.

Bryce stepped back and placed the pill on the table. Placing his hand under her chin, he lifted her face up to meet his.

“Take the pill. Go shower and meet me back here for dinner. We can go over the rest then. Your brain needs time to process, and you need to give your medication time to kick in. Otherwise, you’ll have another breakdown. We are almost there, so close to your recovery. Before you wouldn’t remember or believe any of this without photos. Please trust me, darling; we are almost there. We will make it through this together.”

His words left Leslie more broken than before. She sobbed and weeped, but with strength gone and already knowing the answer to her own question, she grabbed the pill and swallowed it down with the remainder of her tea and made her way back downstairs to the cabin shower.

Almost numb and mechanically, a distraught Leslie tore her clothes off and found herself sitting on the bottom of the ships worn shower as steaming hot water and tears alike washed over her.

Two hours had passed, and eventually her actions and surroundings became a blur. Fighting off the urge to sleep and pushing through pain and nausea, she dressed in a sundress Bryce had laid out for her.

As she dizzily made her way up the staircase, all she could think about was what had happened to her beloved Riley. The elegant steak, lobster, and champagne that Bryce put out didn’t really entice her, but she felt devoid of fight and found herself playing along in order to discover the rest of the truth.

Bryce sat before her pouring champagne. “It’s usually not a good idea to mix alcohol and medication, but given the situation, one or two glasses won’t hurt. I need you relaxed, as you remember. Drink and eat, please.”

Leslie was like a broken puppet now. She cut a piece of meat and swallowed it down, followed by a piece of lobster, then washed it all down with a chug of champagne. The flavors of such a decedent meal were nonexistent, and it was almost as if she had Covid. The only thing that struck her was the champagne and bubbles, as they fought their way down her throat with a burning ferocity.

“There happy… Now tell me, please... Tell me what happened to Riley.” Bryce had been swallowing down steak and lobster like a starving man, but put down his fork and knife and glared at her.

“Fine if you must; we really are rushing. You know what happened to her. You’ve blocked it out. We are both to blame. I’m no hero, no saint. I was consumed with work and started having an affair. When you found out, you shut down, turned to drugs and alcohol, and became a literal zombie. All the while Riley was being bullied, it turns out she was into girls, which isn’t widely accepted in these parts. By the time we found out, it was too late. We found her dead, Leslie; she had taken her own life.”

Leslie’s face fell flat. Maybe it was the drugs, but she was devoid of expression and felt like she had just been filled with enough Botox to freeze her skin stiff. Tears silently streamed from her eyes. Bryce stood up and grabbed his pipe. He walked to the edge of the boat and took several long puffs.

“I’m sorry, Leslie. I told you it would be hard. I was wrong, but you needed to know the honest truth. It’s your decision what you want to do now. Just know that I love you. If you decide to leave me, I understand, but if you want to stay and work through this, I can assure you love and loyalty from here on. We can get through this darkness together.”

He took another long puff of his cigar as he concluded his speech. Leslie glanced at him, cold, numb, and lost. There was a long silence that hung in the air, broken only by the sound of the sea, until a buzzing cut through the quiet like a carver slicing meat. Bryce reached in his pocket, removing the distinct foldable Samsung phone.

Leslie glared at it with contempt, and in that moment, true memories penetrated her mind like a surgeon's scalpel penetrating a patient. Flashes of their daughter Riley, her cold, lifeless corpse—only there was more. Riley’s lifeless body wasn’t even the most disturbing thing. Leslie recalled suspecting Bryce of his affair and had found evidence of it going through that very phone. It was the night before they discovered Riley dead, but that wasn’t the worst thing she found. No, it was the photos of Riley, or Riley and Bryce in unspeakable acts and poses. The evil, dirty things he had done all came rushing back to her like a monsoon. She had confronted him in her devastated state. That’s when he attacked and drugged her and began this so-called treatment.

The drugs were strong, but her rage was an inferno. She glared motionless as Bryce silenced his phone and pocketed it once more.

“A patient, dear, I’m sorry for the disruption. Tell me what you’d like to do. Shall we go through this recovery together? I still love you.”

Leslie rose from her seat in stoic fashion, gripping the steak knife beneath her forearm. Her steps were slow and measured at first, wearing what resembled a smile. Each step grew faster until her gate turned into a pounce. She let the blade drop into her hand as she lunged at Bryce with all her might. He gripped her slender body in surprise as the two fell backwards off his luxurious boat.

With rage guiding and empowering her, she guided the knife fast and strong into the side of his throat again and again. Streams of crimson blood rained down as the two plunged into the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean. She stabbed and clung to his bloody body until she could no more. When the drugs and exhaustion finally claimed her, the two met their watery grave somewhere off the coast of Rhode Island, the full knowledge of their tragedy never to be known.