Stockholm: Agent of Chaos

Sometime in my sleep that night, I very vaguely remember seeing him watching me as I slept, but the comforts of the couch were too much for me to force myself awake. I think I remember him touching me, not in a sexual manner, just my hair and face, if it even happened because I was entirely delusional. He may have even said something but like everything else, I couldn’t recall.

I was suddenly awakened by the sound of many men and their heavy shoes running. I shot up, scared out of my wits. Then there was a bright light which came as an unpleasant surprise to my eyes. I tried to process the circumstances but before I knew it there were two ungentle pairs of hands grabbing each of my arms and dragging me out of the room. I kicked and screamed even though I knew that they were here to “save” me. But at that point in time, I didn’t want to be “saved”. “Let me go!” I yelled.

Soon enough, I felt the warm sun on my skin and burning my eyes. It felt strange to be outside when you’d been tied up in a wet and dark room for almost a week. I was forced into the back of a police car and I slammed my fist repeatedly against the windows. I became very exhausted fairly quickly, probably because of my malnutrition and poor condition. I began panting and just listened to the people outside. I heard numerous codes being spoken into walkie-talkies and chatting between cops.

In particular, there was this older cop who had to be fifty plus years old. He was probably a captain or something of the sort. He had a white comb over and a long and crooked nose. He stood next to the car with a much younger guy who had to be a rookie. The younger of the two even had the look that he didn’t know what he was doing. His bright, blue eyes were wide with excitement and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that this was his first bust. Intently, I began to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Well,” the older man began, “we received a call this morning from a blocked number sayin’ that they heard screamin’ last night and seen some suspicious characters going to and from this place.” His accent was thick and country. “Though, I’m kinda wonderin’ how anyone could hear anything inside that place. It seems to me to be pretty damn insulated when it comes to sound. They found this paddin’ stuff in the walls that prevents any noise from gettin’ out.”

“How could they have just heard me screaming last night?” I said to myself. I put the pieces together and scoffed. It must’ve been him who called it in. That was the only way. I felt an anger grow inside me but I suppressed it.

The seats were hard and I wriggled around to get comfortable. Then, I heard something crinkle in my pocket and poke my leg. I took out the mysterious object to find a messily folded piece of paper. I unfolded it and read the sorry excuse for handwriting. I couldn’t let you break me, it said. I laughed and put it back in my pocket. “Me? Break the Joker?” I mumbled.

I tuned in to the conversation of the two police again. The rookie began, “Do you think… I mean… She seems like she didn’t want to leave.”

“What’re you sayin’?” the old one asked, with his brow bunched.

“I’m saying that she looked pretty clean to have been there for a week. She wasn’t tied up and was sleeping on the couch. She could’ve left if she wanted to.”

“Are you accusin’ the major’s daughter of conspiracy?”

“No, no, no!” he exclaimed. “I don’t doubt for one second that she was taken against her will. But I think that he might have brainwashed her or something. She didn’t want to leave. You heard her screaming.” The old cop’s brow bunched even tighter. “You’ve heard of Stockholm syndrome haven’t you? When the victim becomes somewhat attached to their captor.”

“So you’re sayin’ he brainwashed her?”

“Well… yes. Actually.”

“Let me tell you somethin’, tenderfoot. I’ve been in this game a very, very long time. And I ain’t never heard of this ‘Stockholm’ hoopla. Ya’ll young folk think you got all the answers in your new books and science. But I’m gonna tell you right now. There ain’t such a thing. So stop tryin’ to show off all your so-called smarts and get in the field and learn by experience.”

The younger cop looked down in humiliation and I laughed. The best part was, he was probably right. And to this day I still find it hard to explain how the first and last time I’d felt so protected and safe was with such a dangerous and unstable person. But it’s not my job to explain that to anyone. It’s my own problem. Sometimes, I wake up at night wishing I was still barefoot in that humid basement. Sometimes, I think that’d be easier than dealing with other daily issues. Sometimes, I feel like someone is watching me and I look around only to find it’s nothing but the dead of the night. Sometimes, I awake in a daze and see what I think is a shadow leaving my room. He’s probably still out there keeping tabs on me, which is fine. I actually feel more content thinking that way. And I won’t try to find him. I’ll just keep on living my life as if nothing had ever happened. I have even forgotten his face, besides the constant pictures on the fronts of newspapers; because a face in person is much different than a face on paper.

No one knows the whole story, nor do they need to. I told what I thought was interesting and significant enough. You know, some things are just better left a secret.