Vick is challenged.
“SO MUCH fuck yes!” Dr. Nuzzi blurts out, throwing her hands up like a kid on a roller coaster.
Vick and I turn to stare at the petite, white-haired, grandmotherly therapist.
She takes one look at our faces and bursts into laughter, so hard she doubles over with the effort. I can’t help but join in, though tentatively, watching Vick with a cautious eye. Relief floods me when Vick’s lip twitches, just slightly, upward before she cracks a small grin.
“Sorry,” Dr. Nuzzi says, straightening and wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her lab coat. “Couldn’t resist. You soldier types always amuse me with the colorful turns of phrase. And believe me, I’ve heard it all. But.” She points a finger at Vick’s chest. “Yes. This is your challenge, to get across that room without needing someone to pull you out. No hyperventilation, no nausea, no averting of the eyes, no hesitation whatsoever. If you want me to return you to active status, that’s what you’ll have to accomplish.”
Vick says nothing as we follow the doctor out the door, into a stairwell, and down a flight of stairs to an identical door on the first floor of the facility. This one has had some recent electronics installed next to it, as evidenced by areas of chipped paint around a shiny new scanner pad.
“You’re going to lock me in?” No one misses the trepidation in Vick’s voice. She runs a hand through her hair.
I resist the urge to comfort her with a hug. She wouldn’t appreciate the gesture here in front of her therapist and Robert, who is watching the proceedings with great interest.
“You’ll be under observation at all times,” Dr. Nuzzi says, not answering the question. “We’ve installed cameras and sensory equipment. The conference hall’s green room”—she points to a clearly marked Staff Only door off to the side—“has been reconfigured to be a monitoring center. Your company spared no expense.”
“Yay for them,” Vick mutters.
Dr. Nuzzi laughs. “I’ll let you in. Get to the other side of the room and the doors will open for you. Simple, right?” She palms the door open. No one misses that Vick keeps herself facing away from the entry while she finishes gathering information and preparing herself.
“What if I have a meltdown?” she asks.
“You mean, ‘What happens when you have a meltdown?’”
Vick’s eyes widen in surprise. “You expect me to fail?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Nuzzi says with a definitive nod.
Vick glances at me, raising her eyebrows. “What the actual fuck?”
Robert snorts an almost laugh, then gets himself under control.
“Look,” Nuzzi says, resting a hand on Vick’s arm, “you’re going to struggle with this. It’s inevitable. But I have confidence that given time and support, you’ll overcome it. And the sooner we get started, the sooner that day will come.” She claps Vick once on the shoulder, spins on her heel, and leads the way to the monitoring room, motioning for me and Robert to follow. We precede her through the Staff Only door. “Step inside whenever you’re ready,” Nuzzi calls back, then follows us in and lets the door slide shut, leaving Vick alone with her current worst nightmare—her self-image.
To be honest, it’s always been her worst nightmare.
I stand with Robert at the center of the converted green room, staring at a bank of monitor screens installed along one wall. A couple of couches, probably left over from the room’s previous purpose, line the opposite wall. With Robert’s help, Nuzzi drags one over and we plop ourselves down on it to watch the screens.
One shows the hallway where Vick still stands, looking lost. My heart goes out to her. She’s not facing into the room, not making any move whatsoever to enter it. “I wish she could hear me,” I say.
“Oh, we can do that.” Nuzzi leans forward and taps a few commands into the monitoring system. “Can you hear us, Vick?” she asks.
On the hallway view, Vick’s head snaps up. She looks from side to side, until her eyes locate the camera, and gives a faint wave. “Yeah, loud and clear, Doc. You have my internal comm code?”
“Your company gave me access to anything they thought would better help me help you.”
“How generous of them.” None of us misses the sarcasm.
“I’m here too, Vick,” I remind her. “It’s a solid setup. Your… tech partner would find it impressive.”
On the screen, Vick’s eyes unfocus for a split second, too fast for anyone else to catch it. “Not so much, no, but then she’s hard to impress.”
Robert and I exchange a grin. The doctor furrows her brow. So, they haven’t told her everything. “Well, I’m impressed,” I say. “We’ll know the moment you have any problems and we’ll come let you out, right, Doc?”
Nuzzi nods, realizes Vick can’t see that, and says, “Of course.” She reaches over, tapping multiple commands into the console. A number of readouts appear, measuring Vick’s heartrate, pulse, respiratory system, and overall emotional stress. The bar graph for each one can register in the green, yellow, or red areas. At the moment, all the stats are in the lower yellow zones. Not the best places to start.
“Take a couple of deep breaths, Vick,” I tell her.
She rolls her eyes, but she complies, rotating her shoulders and releasing both physical and emotional tension. The readouts drop to the upper greens. Better.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Nuzzi says.
Vick turns and faces the open doors. The readings jump back into the yellow zone.
Well, I tried.
“I wish I was in uniform.”
Oh. I rock back on the couch. Yes, that makes a lot of sense. Since we arrived, we’ve both been in comfortable, casual, civilian clothes. Nothing military. Nothing to draw more attention to who she is. But civilian wear would take away some of her power, make her more vulnerable. “Let’s consider that for your next try.”
Vick’s no longer looking at the camera, but she cocks her head to one side. “You’re both assuming I’m going to fail.”
Dr. Nuzzi fields this one, thank goodness. I’m blushing at my slip. “Yes, we absolutely assume you’re going to fail. And you shouldn’t beat yourself up over it when you do. You suffered a massive trauma. And you’re human.”
I notice the slight jerk of Vick’s shoulders, though no one else seems to. Covering the microphone pickup on the console, I whisper, “You just said the magic words, Doc.”
“Let’s hope so,” she whispers back with a faint smile.
Vick takes a tentative step into the conference room, then another and a third. The doors swoosh closed behind her. She sucks in a harsh breath. She’s facing a mirror head-on with more on either side and a single pathway a little farther forward and to the right. Her breathing comes hard and fast over the green room’s temporary speakers. I swear if I listen closely enough, I can hear her heart pounding as well. All the indicators leap for the red zone.
Beside me, Dr. Nuzzi is leaning forward, watching every move, every blip, every shift of the numbers and colors on the screens. Her hands clench in her lap, but she’s grinning like this is the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen. I’m beginning to doubt her mental stability as well.
Four steps, five, but Vick never makes it around that first turn in the mirror maze. With an almost inaudible groan, she sinks to her knees, covering her face with her trembling hands.
“Well, then!” Nuzzi says, rising to her feet and clapping once. She’s all smiles. “Let’s go and get her. I can work with this.”
Robert and I exchange a confused glance, then follow her out to the hallway.
“Oh yes, that kind of strength and resilience? I can absolutely work with this,” she says again, and with a swipe of her hand over the access panel, she swings open the double doors.