The Patient

by Steena Holmes

  My throat tightened, and my stomach heaved at the idea. What if someone came into the house again while I slept and left another note? What if they didn’t just leave the note but watched me? Hurt me? A shiver ran over my body, and I found myself bent over the toilet, fingers down my throat until there was nothing left in my stomach, including the pills I’d just swallowed.

  I wanted to sleep, but on my own terms and in control. Just in case.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 25

  A soft glow broke through the darkness around me, and the deep pounding in my ears softened as my head lifted.

  I was freezing.

  I rubbed the bare skin on my arms and looked around.

  I didn’t recognize the street.

  The houses—with quaint, white-painted porches, wicker chairs, overflowing baskets of flowers, and small bikes and toy trucks—were all foreign, unrecognizable.

  I was on a bench—at the corner of Fourth Avenue and Trillium Street, according to the street signs—on the outer edge of town, nowhere near my own home. It was the middle of the night.

  The street was silent. Fog rolled in with tendrils that reached out to engulf the houses, consuming both them and me.

  Why am I here? How did I get here?

  Why here, of all places?

  My watch, my wallet, and my phone weren’t with me.

  Not again. Not again. Not again not again not again.

  I struggled to catch my breath, but the pain was too intense.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there, but I needed to move. I shivered, and chills rolled up and down my skin like the waves following the glide of a passing boat on a still lake.

  In the driveway of the house across from where I sat, a light turned on, a violent blast through the dark.

  There was a low click, like a door being closed, somewhere in the distance.

  I tried to remember how I’d gotten there. Trillium was across town but close to the outer edges of Wonderland Park. Maybe a twenty-minute walk, if that, through the park. But why would I go there?

  It was all a blank. I couldn’t recall anything from the moment I’d lain down in bed after throwing up. I should have just taken the damn sleeping pills rather than let the sleepwalking keep getting worse.

  Lights flashed behind me as I walked down the street. I turned, shielded my eyes from the glare, and waited.

  Tami pulled up beside me, her window down, her face fierce.

  “Danielle Rycroft, get your ass in this car before I arrest you.”

  I wished I could say she teased, but that frown was still there.

  She grilled me the moment I closed the door behind me and put my seat belt on. “What the hell are you doing out at this time? Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s two in the morning!”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t you realize how serious things are right now? Why would you be outside in the middle of the night so far from your house?”

  I wished I had an answer. I wished I knew what to say, how to reply, what would fix the way she looked at me.

  Was it time to tell her? To be honest about my sleeping patterns of late?

  I noticed the way her fingers tightened around the steering wheel, how tight her body was, locked in position almost. She was upset with me. Upset and bothered.

  A feeling we had in common.

  “When I was a child, I’d sleepwalk when things became too stressful for me. It’s been a while since I’ve had an episode, but . . .”

  “You’re sleepwalking? Seriously? Do you get how dangerous it is out here?”

  “I can’t take the sleeping pills. What if someone came into my home again?” I leaned against the headrest and stared out the window as she drove through town.

  “What do you mean? Someone came in your home?” she demanded.

  I swallowed something in my throat, something that tasted like regret. I hadn’t wanted to tell her. I wasn’t ready. But now that she knew, I could admit I felt a sense of relief.

  In between yawns, I told her about the notes. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was angry.

  “You should have told me. Damn it, Danielle.” Her fist pounded the steering wheel. “Do you not trust me? Do you not think I could protect you? There’s a killer on the loose, and those notes could be tied to it.”

  I sat upright. “No, they’re not. Trust me.”

  She pulled up to the curb outside my house.

  “Trust you? You can’t be serious. You’ve held back evidence, you . . . you . . .” She turned toward me, and despite the anger in her voice, I saw the true emotion behind her words. She was afraid.

  Afraid for me.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think—”

  She cut me off with a swipe of her hand. “Don’t. Don’t try to explain it.” Her lips tightened. “I just want you to be safe. I wish you’d trusted me enough to share this with me, that you’re under too much stress, that you’re sleepwalking, that you’ve gotten these notes, that you’re scared to be alone in your house. Let me help you now, okay?”

  I wanted her to help.

  But I wasn’t ready to add more to her list of things to worry about.

  “Where are the notes? Please tell me you still have them.”

  I shook my head.

  “I gave them to my therapist.”

  Beneath the streetlight, I caught the instant relief on her face.

  Was it because I’d told my therapist or because the notes hadn’t been destroyed?

  She shut off the car and opened her door. “Come on,” she said.

  “You don’t need to walk me into the house. I’ll be fine.”

  She unlocked my door and held it open for me.

  “You’re not fine. I want you to crawl back into bed. I’m staying here now, with you. You need someone to look after you, to make sure you’re okay. I will not have you walking out and about in the middle of the night again.”

  I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to give her an extra-long hug and tell her just how much I appreciated everything she did for me, but my body didn’t want to cooperate. I couldn’t lift my arms; I couldn’t even open my mouth. It all felt like too much.

  She took me by the hand as if she sensed how tired I was and led me to my room. She tucked me into bed and stood there, hovering over me as I snuggled in.

  “Tomorrow morning we’re going to have a chat,” she said. “You’re going to tell me more about Ella and your other patients. If one of them is a murderer, I need to know about it.”

  I started to shake my head, but she turned her back.

  “Don’t even argue. It’s either you tell me or I get a warrant. Time has run out, and I refuse to have another person die on my watch. Not if I could have stopped it. Do you understand?” She half turned then to look at me over her shoulder. “I’m serious, Danielle.”

  I could see she was. From the rigidness of her shoulders to the tightness of her hands. Nothing about her was soft tonight. I’d pushed the boundaries of our friendship, and if I wanted to make it right, I needed to work with her.

  “I understand.” The words were barely a whisper, but she must have heard me. She gave me one more look before she walked out of my room and closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 25

  I woke to an empty house and a note from Tami saying that she’d be by later for our talk.

  Since she didn’t say when, I figured it’d be best to not be home most of the day. Our talk really wasn’t something I looked forward to.

  While everyone else remained indoors, not wanting to get their feet wet as they walked through the rain-kissed grass of Wonderland Park, I was outside, soaking it up.

  I loved the atmosphere out there, the stillness, the peace.

  If there was something I needed more than anything, it was peace. The one thing I craved seemed to be missing from my life.

  In its place there was fear. Fear,
unease, and doubt. That wasn’t how I wanted to live my life. I wanted—no, I needed—to feel safe, especially in my own home, and I didn’t.

  Every day I stressed about whether another note would be left or not. First they warned that I knew the murderer. Then they said I had to stop them. And then they blamed me for the deaths. But never once did they tell me whom they spoke of and what I had to stop or even how.

  They, whoever they were, held all the power, which had left me more than a little uncomfortable. Why me? Why steal into my house and leave notes, violating my security, taunting me, challenging me like they were?

  I had this nauseous feeling in my gut that something more was coming my way, something I couldn’t control, something that would destroy me, but I didn’t know what it could be.

  What else could happen that I couldn’t handle?

  “Danielle.”

  I heard my name called behind me. I turned to find Sabrina rushing up the path, winding her way around the various puddles to keep her feet from getting wet.

  She carried two cups in her hands.

  I hoped those held coffee. Please, God, let that be coffee.

  “Hey!” I raised my hand in greeting. I gave her a side hug when she approached and took her offered coffee with pleasure.

  That first sip was exactly what I needed.

  “I saw you walking by. I called out, but you must not have heard me. So I thought I’d come out and find you.”

  She joined me on my walk, our footsteps slow. By the time I’d sipped half my coffee, we’d walked around the Rabbit Hole pathway. I could tell something was off with Sabrina, the way she kept her body angled from me, how she kept her head down or she’d look off into the distance, but never at me, never meeting my gaze or returning my smile.

  “Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Do you mind if we sit?” Sabrina led me to the bench, a pensive look on her face.

  Her lips opened, but nothing came out. No words. No sounds.

  “Sabrina, what’s wrong?”

  She played with her hands as indecision crossed her face.

  “My . . . my book is missing.”

  Immediately I pictured the Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland book. The book I’d wanted, the one she’d outbid me on.

  “You . . . you haven’t seen it, have you?”

  The way she wouldn’t look at me, the way her tone accused more than questioned . . . she blamed me.

  Not just blamed me. She believed I’d stolen her book. It wasn’t in her words, but her tone, her posture—it shouted accusation.

  I swallowed the bile of anger that rose through my throat and sat on the tip of my tongue. My nostrils flared. My hands clenched. I fake smiled.

  “Other than the last time I was in your shop . . . no.”

  She sneaked a look through her lashes. “When . . . when was that, exactly?”

  She was kidding, right?

  “I do not have your book, Sabrina.”

  The words came out harder than she’d obviously expected, if the widening of her eyes was any indication.

  “I just . . . well, I thought . . .”

  I stared at her full in the face. “That I stole it?” I finished for her.

  I’m not one prone to anger. I’m more of a slow burn type of person, but being accused like that, the slow boil bubbled over until I was ready to scorch everything in my path.

  “No, I just, well . . .” She couldn’t backpedal fast enough.

  “Just what? It’s missing, and you assumed I stole it because you knew I’d tried to buy it myself? Yes, I’m a collector, but I purchase my items. I don’t take what’s not mine.” I pushed myself to my feet, furious she’d have the gall to accuse me like that.

  Furious. Frustrated. Flustered. And sad.

  Sad that someone I’d considered a friend would believe that of me.

  “Danielle, I’m sorry.” Her cheeks blazed red with regret. It was written all over her face. “I thought . . . I only ask because you left my shop in such a hurry yesterday, before I could say hi.”

  I swiveled in surprise.

  “I was in the back when you stopped by,” she kept on, “and by the time I made it out front, the door was already closing behind you. I figured you were in a rush or hadn’t heard me call for you. And then I saw a few things on the merchandise shelf had been knocked over, and when I went to put them back, that’s when I noticed the book was missing, and . . . well . . .”

  I waited. Well, what? The book had gone missing, and she’d immediately assumed it was me?

  I couldn’t look at her. I wouldn’t. If I did, I knew she’d catch the sheen of tears I was desperate to hide.

  I had only two real friends in town. Two. Sabrina and Tami.

  I would do anything for my friends.

  What I wouldn’t have done was accuse them of something I knew wasn’t in their nature.

  “I thought you knew me better than that.” My voice cracked under the weight of my heartache.

  Sabrina’s accusation tore my heart to pieces, ripped and shredded. Stripped and slashed. Our friendship, once solid, now lay in shattered fragments. I couldn’t handle being suspected of something I would never do.

  I walked away from her, unable to stay. There were so many emotions that bashed around in me, so many feelings I had a hard time dealing with.

  All the emotions of a lost friendship rolled through my brain on fast track. Betrayal. Anger. Sadness. Fury. Hurt.

  And guilt. Guilt because the thought of taking the book had crossed my mind, and it shouldn’t have. I might have been tempted for one crazy moment, but I was better than that. I would never stoop that low.

  I never would have actually stolen from a friend. From anyone. Never.

  Sabrina should have known that about me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  MONDAY, AUGUST 26

  PATIENT SESSION: TYLER

  Soft jazz played over the Bluetooth speakers in my living room as I waited for Tyler to arrive. I kept an eye on my watch, noting his lateness.

  Tyler was never late.

  Ever.

  I stood at the window and looked out around the edge of the curtain, open just enough to see the sidewalk outside my house. The park across the street was crowded as people walked the pathways toward the evening summer concert, some with blankets tucked under their arms and others carrying foldable chairs.

  It wasn’t like Tyler to be late and not send me word.

  I readjusted the curtain so it was closed all the way and thought about Tami.

  We’d never had that talk. She’d arrived late last night, fallen fast asleep, and left before I could make a nice breakfast for her. Eventually, she told me, she would slow down, once the killer was caught and not a moment before.

  Something weighed heavily on her mind, and I wished she’d confide in me.

  I understood why she couldn’t, but I didn’t like her being stressed.

  It wasn’t until I heard my side door open that I let out a lengthy sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry I’m so late.” Tyler poked his head around the corner. “I wasn’t paying attention to the time, and I misplaced my phone. Otherwise I would have called.” He beamed a smile at me, one that caught me unaware. It wasn’t a nice-to-see-you smile but more of a I-have-a-secret smile.

  I don’t like secrets.

  “How has your week been?”

  Once he’d taken his seat, his lips crept wider as he placed both arms across the top of the couch and stretched his legs beneath the coffee table.

  He looked like a satisfied lion with a full belly.

  “Good. Great, actually.” The laughter in his voice edged on hysterical.

  I waited for him to say more.

  “Why is that?” I finally said when he kept silent.

  “No particular reason.” He shrugged, which only added to his carefree attitude.

  I hated these complacent answers that told me absolutely nothing. It was all a game, one I
often refused to play. The person was desperate to tell you their news—in fact, they practically crawled out of their skin with the need to tell you—but they craved the satisfaction of leading you on first.

  “That’s great, Tyler, really great.” I leaned forward to place my paper and pen on the table and stood. “Sounds like you don’t really need me tonight, so how about I walk you out? I won’t charge you for this session.”

  His satisfied grin disappeared as he dropped his arms and gripped his thighs.

  “No, I need you.” His voice changed as well. The laughter was gone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come across as rude.” His hands rubbed over his jeans as I sat back down.

  I put the paper in my lap, pen in hand, and waited for him to begin.

  “How clearly do you remember your childhood?” he asked.

  I wasn’t sure where he was going with that, but okay . . .

  “Well enough. Why do you ask?”

  The corner of his lips lifted in a half grin. “I don’t remember anything. Nothing personal, at least. All my memories are from someone else.”

  “From someone else? Like stories they told you growing up?”

  He shook his head. “No, well . . . maybe.” He hemmed and hawed for a moment. “I mean, I don’t have any memories as a small child. Isn’t that odd? These are things we all should remember, right?”

  “Not necessarily. There’s research that says very few people can remember anything from before the age of three. So that first birthday cake or being taken to the park wouldn’t be something you’d remember. It’s called childhood amnesia and something all adults experience. Our clearest memories usually start once we begin school. For instance, I can remember the stations set up in my kindergarten class, painting and reading and even playing house with friends. But my memories from before then are foggy and come more from seeing baby photos or being told stories. Does that help?”

  Tyler leaned forward, his interest in what I described clear on his face.

  A sharp, needlelike prick hit my temple on the right side, and I winced.

  “Are you okay, Dr. Rycroft?” Tyler asked.

  “Just a headache. I’ll be fine.” I massaged the area with my finger before I went to the counter and took two Tylenol pills.