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I gazed at the walls. While there were degrees hanging in that area, I wasn’t quite sure where they were really from. Each frame should have displayed a name, a title, or a field of study, instead it was undecipherable characters, swirling and intertwining like a cryptic script from an unknown language.
The more I focused, the more the characters seemed to dance and shift, as if they were alive.
I turned back to him. “Who is Feli—”
Lunita loudly coughed.
M raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”
Lunita glared at me. “Don’t do it.”
The little girl turned away from the bookshelf and put her finger over her mouth, shushing me.
“Nothing.” I sighed. “Go ahead. . .M. Tell me more about. . .us.”
“Come. I will need visual aids.” M left the wall of degrees and headed to a door further in the back of the room that I had not noticed before. “Shall we have a lecture on the complexities of our mind?”
“Uh. . .a lecture?” I dragged myself forward, still trying to understand all of this.
Chapter seventeen
The Complexities of a Shattered Mind
Emily
We entered another room. I was immediately struck by the stark contrast to the cozy office we had just left.
This new space was like stepping into the heart of a police investigation. The room was large and somewhat stark, its walls almost entirely covered with chalkboards and there was a massive whiteboard that dominated one end.
The chalkboards were filled with writings, diagrams, and symbols, some clear and others more cryptic, all interconnected with lines and notes. There were pictures of me as well as others that looked like me.
The room, with its labyrinth of information, suddenly felt like a fucked-up metaphor for the inner workings of my mind—complex, confusing, yet inherently ordered.
At the top of the whiteboard, in bold, unmistakable letters, was the question: Where is she?
It seemed to echo in the room, a silent yet screaming demand for an answer.
“This,” M held his hands out and slowly turned around in the room, gesturing to each wall, “This. . .is where we unravel the threads of our shared consciousness. It’s symbolic, a physical representation of our journey inward, our quest for healing and understanding.”
“What?”
Lunita wandered towards one of the boards, studying the scribbles and lines with a frown. “So boring. No fun at all.”
The little girl stood close to me.
I looked at all the walls. “This is all about us?”
M nodded. “Each part of this room represents a part of Emily—of us. Our memories, our fears, our hopes. It’s all here, waiting to be understood.”
I stepped closer to the whiteboard, drawn to the central question. “Where is she?”
“Yes.” M sighed.
I looked at him. “Who are you looking for?”
M’s eyes met mine. “We are looking for the part of us that got lost along the way, the part that holds the key to our wholeness. Finding her is the first step to healing.”
“How do you know that?”
