Searching for Shadows, page 3
He winced as her words cut like blades. “I was wrong. I was angry and hurt, and then, after what happened, I couldn’t look you in the eyes, knowing it was my fault. Knowing I left you with those assholes. It was selfish of me to distance myself because I couldn’t handle your pain. I can’t change any of that—”
“And you can’t change me now. Goodbye, Connelly. Don’t come back.” She shut the door with a resounding thud, leaving him standing alone on the porch, his heart sinking in his chest. He had expected resistance, but he hadn’t expected the strong wall of anger and resentment she’d built around herself.
But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away just yet. He’d known Veronica long enough to understand her stubbornness, her need for independence, and her fierce self-preservation. Those qualities had attracted him to her in the first place, back when they were kids. But now, it seemed like those very qualities were driving them apart.
Okay.
He’d leave her alone tonight, but he wouldn’t let her shut him out completely. He needed to devise a plan, something that would break through that impenetrable wall and show Veronica he was sincere in his efforts to make amends.
He refused to give up on their friendship without a fight.
chapter four
The tires of Connelly’s BMW X7 crunched over gravel, kicking up dust as he pulled off the pothole-filled mountain road and onto the freshly paved drive of Redwood Coast Rescue. Steam Valley, California, was living up to its name this morning, with wisps of mist weaving through the trees like ethereal fingers reaching from beyond the veil. The natural beauty of this place was undeniable, but there was also something haunting about it. The gigantic trees seemed to whisper secrets in an ancient language only the heart could comprehend and cast shadows that danced like phantoms on the forest floor.
Connelly loved it.
What better place for a horror writer to rediscover his creative mojo? If anywhere unlocked the stories buried deep within him, it would be here.
But today was not about his creative problems.
Today was about helping Veronica.
Redwood Coast Rescue had recently reopened after rebuilding from the ashes of a wildfire that ripped through the town last fall. The burn scar still blackened the side of the mountain behind the Rescue, but the land immediately surrounding the new buildings had been replanted. He parked in the lot and took a moment to appreciate the fresh scent of pine that hung in the air. It was a crisp, invigorating aroma that carried with it a sense of renewal.
That’s what this place was—a place for both dogs and humans to find renewal, healing, and a fresh start. Even before he’d come to Steam Valley, he’d heard about Redwood Coast Rescue’s unique approach to rehabilitation, pairing rescue dogs with trauma survivors in a mutually beneficial bond. They’d made headlines before the wildfire and he remembered being glad that Veronica had found a soft place to land. She’d always loved dogs and when Arthur told him where she was, he’d pictured her thriving and making friends and healing.
But then he got here and discovered she wasn’t thriving at all.
Connelly adjusted his worn leather jacket, took a deep breath, and made his way towards the main entrance. The air was alive with the sound of excited barks, and it made him smile.
The Rescue comprised multiple buildings laid out in a star pattern, connected by walkways and surrounded by training yards. Each building served a different purpose—a community center, a pet hotel, an adoption center, Dr. Sasha Scott’s veterinary clinic, and a headquarters for RWCR, the rescue’s tactical K9 team led by a former Army Ranger, Zak Hendricks. Zak’s wife, Anna, ran the rest of the rescue.
The main building gleamed in the sunlight, its vibrant red exterior bright against the crisp blue sky. Inside, the walls were adorned with colorful paintings and motivational quotes, giving the space a cozy and welcoming vibe. The place was so new, it still smelled like fresh paint.
Since he’d called ahead, he was unsurprised to find the Zak and Anna waiting for him at the welcome desk.
“Connelly, good to see you again.” Zak extended a calloused hand. Despite the prosthetic leg that replaced the one he’d lost in Afghanistan, Zak exuded a rugged confidence that seemed to draw people towards him.
Connelly accepted the handshake. “Zak.” He offered a smile to the redhead beside the man. “Anna.”
Anna’s returned smile was kind. “Hi, Connelly. How’s Veronica? We all miss her around here.”
He shook his head. “I wish I had an answer for that. She still won’t talk to me. I’m hoping Rylan will have a few free minutes to talk before I leave.”
Rylan Cross was the new trauma counselor working with the rescue’s Paws for Vets program. Connelly had consulted with Rylan in the past, and the counselor had suggested that Veronica needed to take things at her own pace. But now he wasn’t sure if that was the right approach. Veronica had been doing things at her own pace for years now, and nothing had changed. Maybe it was time to push her a bit.
“He’s not in yet,” Anna said and looked at the clock on the wall behind the desk. “But he should be soon. You’re welcome to wait here, but you’re more likely to catch him before he gets busy if you wait over at the community center since his office is there.”
Connelly glanced out the window at the building she’d indicated. The welcome center sat in the middle of the star, and the community center sat at the bottom right point, closest to the parking lot and straight across from the vet clinic.
He shook his head and turned his attention back to Anna. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, too. I think Veronica needs a dog.”
“I said that months ago.” Anna grinned and elbowed her husband, all but bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Didn’t I say that?”
Zak chuckled. “Yeah, you did. And I agreed with you then, just like I do now.”
Anna kissed him, then gave his cheek an affectionate tap. “Because you are an intelligent man, Zak Hendricks. Most of the time.”
Connelly smiled at the playful banter. They seemed genuinely happy together and in sync with each other. He and Veronica used to be like that. Their mutual friends always teased they should just get married, because they already acted like an old married couple.
His smile dimmed at the thought.
But now their friendship was barely hanging on by a thread. He couldn’t blame her, though. After what she had been through, trust was not an easy thing to give.
He realized Zak was speaking to him and tuned back in.
“...help Veronica,” Zak said. “We’ve seen the power of the human-animal bond, and I think it could be transformative for her.”
“So,” Anna said, “tell us more about what you’re thinking. What kind of dog do you think would be a good fit for Veronica?”
Connelly ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m not exactly sure. I know she loves dogs, always has. But I want to find one that can handle her anxiety, maybe even help her overcome it.”
“Like Alfie,” Zak said softly, almost as if talking to himself.
“Alfie? Can I meet him?”
Zak shook his head. “Alfie was Dr. Firestone’s therapy dog. She used to bring him to sessions. Veronica adored him.”
The silence that descended after that quiet statement was filled with sorrow and pain.
Dr. Amelia Firestone.
The original Paws for Vets therapist had been highly respected and beloved. Veronica had loved her. Trusted her.
And then Dr. Firestone was murdered.
And Veronica retreated to her house.
Connelly dragged a hand through his hair, which was getting too long and unruly. He really had to find a barber in town. “Maybe she needs a dog that will help her feel safe, protected.”
Zak sent his wife an unreadable look.
“No,” Anna said as if he’d spoken aloud. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She turned her attention back to Connelly. “We just had a large influx of dogs come in from a hoarding situation down south. I haven’t finished evaluating them all yet, but a few of them have shown promise as emotional support dogs. If you can give me a few more days, I’ll have some candidates for you.”
Zak leaned against the welcome desk and crossed his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You should talk to Rylan about it, too. He knows the dogs here inside and out. He might have some insight into which one would be the best match for Veronica.”
Connelly narrowed his eyes at Zak. He had the sense the guy wanted to say more, but Zak only lifted his chin toward the door.
“His truck just pulled in. If you hurry, you can catch him before his first session starts.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Connelly headed toward the door. Whatever else Zak wanted to say could wait.
Inside the community center, he found Rylan’s office tucked away in a quiet hallway. The door was slightly ajar, and soft music drifted out. He knocked lightly before entering.
Rylan looked up from his desk, his warm hazel eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and kindness. “Connelly. Good to see you. How can I help you today?”
“Do you have a few minutes to talk? It’s... about Veronica.”
“Absolutely. Have a seat.” He gestured to the comfortable chairs arranged in one corner of the room as he rose from his desk and walked over to the coffee bar on the opposite wall. He wore jeans, Nikes, and a US Navy T-shirt that had seen better days. His left arm was covered in bright tattoos from shoulder to wrist. His right arm was missing, replaced with a black and silver prosthesis that looked like something from a sci-fi movie. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, water, soda?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay, give me a minute. I haven’t had enough caffeine yet today.” He measured out the coffee and started the pot, then grabbed a mug from the cabinet with his prosthesis. The way he moved was seamless, like he wasn’t missing a limb. It was fascinating.
“That’s new since I last saw you,” Connelly said.
While the coffee brewed, Rylan turned and leaned against the counter. “What, my Terminator arm? It’s not actually new. I’ve had it for a while, but only started using it regularly over my plain old plastic prosthesis. There was a bit of a learning curve.”
“Is it rude to ask how that works?”
He lifted his hand in a wave and the robotic fingers opened and closed. Then he grinned. “It’s mind control.”
“Really?”
“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that, but... yeah. Essentially. It’s a myoelectric prosthesis. It’s controlled by the residual muscle signals in my arm. So I just have to think about the intended movement...” He opened a drawer and picked out a spoon, the robotic fingers pinching the handle with almost the same precision as real fingers. He held it up. “And my brain sends signals to my stump, which activates the right muscles, and the sensors in the prosthetic translate it into movement in the hand. Pretty cool, huh? It took a while to learn to use it effectively, but now I don’t even think about it. It’s second nature.”
Connelly whistled softly. “That’s gotta be a pricey piece of equipment.”
“It is. This one is the most advanced model available, made by QuenTech Bionics and, right now, costs as much as a new car. I was lucky to get in on a beta test because I know a guy who knows a guy who has an in with Tucker Quentin, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to afford it. And God knows the VA would never spring for one. QuenTech’s ultimate goal is to make these babies affordable, but that’s still a few years out.” He poured himself a cup of coffee, stirred in a spoonful of sugar, then joined Connelly in the seating area.
“So,” he said as he settled into one of the chairs. “How is Veronica?”
Connelly sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and probably looked as ragged as he felt. “She still won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to reach her, but I was thinking a dog might help her feel more secure. She’s always loved dogs, and Zak just mentioned she had a deep connection with Dr. Firestone’s therapy dog.”
Rylan took a sip of his coffee, his brow furrowing in thought. “Okay, I need to caveat this by saying I haven’t seen Veronica as a patient, so I can’t give you specific advice on her condition.”
“I understand that. I’m just looking for some kind of guidance with the hope that I can get her to come back to therapy. She was doing well until...”
“Dr. Firestone’s murder,” Rylan finished for him and nodded. “It’s not uncommon for trauma survivors to regress or shut down in the face of triggering events, especially when they lose someone they trusted and relied on. But introducing a therapy dog could be a step in the right direction. Dogs have a unique ability to provide comfort and companionship, and they can also help regulate emotions and reduce anxiety. They are incredibly intuitive creatures. They can sense when someone is hurting, and they often have an uncanny ability to provide exactly what that person needs even before they know they need it. I’ve seen it time and again since I started working here. What Zak and Anna and the rest of the team are doing is amazing. As far as I’m concerned, they’re working miracles here.”
“Veronica could use a miracle.”
“Ask me, she already has one.” When Connelly just stared at him blankly, he nodded. “You.”
“What?”
“You cared enough about her to leave your life in Seattle and move here to help her. Not many friends would do that.”
“But I don’t know how to help her.”
“But you’re here, trying to figure it out. A lot of people don’t have that kind of support behind them, so she’s already one step ahead. You may not have all the answers, but your presence alone speaks volumes.”
Rylan’s words hit Connelly like a punch to the gut, and he sat back in his seat. “And what’s it saying?”
“That you love her.”
“Shit. Is it that obvious?”
A faint smile tugged at Rylan’s lips. “Probably not to her, but, yeah, to anyone else with eyes and a working brain, it’s pretty fucking obvious.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “All right, listen. Supporting someone who has experienced major trauma like Veronica requires patience, understanding, and a willingness to take small steps. It’s crucial not to push her too hard, too fast.”
Unable to stay seated any longer, Connelly popped to his feet and paced the room. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how far to push her. I’m afraid of making things worse, so maybe I’m not pushing her enough?”
“Could be. While it’s important to respect her boundaries and not rush her, gently nudging her out of her comfort zone can also be beneficial. You know her better than anyone. Trust your instincts.”
“My instincts say she needs a harder push, something to force her to take that first step, or else she’ll just keep retreating from everything until we lose her.” His throat closed up at the thought. He couldn’t lose her.
“I understand your fear, but remember, it’s a delicate balance. Pushing her too hard could trigger her further and do more harm than good. But you’re right. Sometimes a gentle nudge isn’t enough.” He drained his coffee and set the empty mug on the table between them, then pushed out of the chair and crossed to a bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines until he found the one he was looking for. He pulled it down and returned to his seat, placing the book on the table next to his mug. “You should read that.”
Connelly picked it up and read the title. Embracing Horizons: A Guide to Conquering Agoraphobia and Rediscovering Life.
“It’s a memoir by a woman who lived with agoraphobia for years,” Rylan continued. “It might give you some insight into what Veronica is dealing with. It’s a complex anxiety disorder. Most people think it’s just a fear of open spaces, but it goes beyond that. People with agoraphobia can struggle with a range of situations, from public transportation to crowded places. And some, like Veronica, struggle to leave the house at all.”
Connelly set the book down. “But why? She never used to be like this. Even after…” He trailed off, unsure of how much Rylan knew about her past. And, if he was honest with himself, he hated saying the words out loud.
“The sexual assault?” Rylan supplied.
Okay, so he knew it all. That made this conversation easier. “Yeah. She had panic attacks afterward—and who could blame her? Men she thought were her friends abused her, and then the Air Force gaslighted her into thinking it was her fault before sending her packing on some stupid bureaucratic technicality. But, even then, the panic attacks were nothing like this. She could still function in society. Now…” He shook his head. “You should see her, Ry. She’s like a ghost haunting that house. A half-finished person. I just… wish I knew why.”
Rylan’s gaze softened. “The why is hard to pinpoint. Agoraphobia is considered a complication of her original panic disorder. Dr. Firestone’s murder was traumatic for everyone, but for Veronica, it destroyed the entire foundation of her recovery. That loss triggered her panic, and now she doesn’t feel safe anywhere but at home. But, of course, this is just speculation on my part. Without talking to her, I can’t know for sure. You should encourage her to seek professional help—and it doesn’t have to be from me. As I mentioned once before, I have a female friend in Portland who does amazing work with sexual trauma survivors.”
“She won’t do it. I know her. She won’t let herself be that vulnerable to anyone again.”
“Then you need to be her support until she’s ready to try. More than anything else right now, she needs to know she’s not alone.”
“I want to support her, but so far, everything I’ve tried has backfired.”
“Agoraphobia is traumatic, overwhelming, and recovery is a gradual process. The best thing you can do is educate yourself.” He nodded toward the table. “Read the book. Watch videos online. Then learn about her triggers and her symptoms. Celebrate small victories together, and don’t be disheartened by setbacks. Because setbacks will happen. Don’t trivialize her feelings or experiences. It’s not about her ‘getting over it.’ It’s about her learning to live with the fear and exist despite it. Patience will be crucial.”
