by Tessa Walton
Of course, there was one little problem. Her mother could always tell when she was upset. She had tried everything she could think of to make this false, but her mom always caught on. She thought her mom liked that part of being a mother. Giving advice. All in all she was pretty good at it. But Dove didn’t like the stress it must add. That day was no different. She walked into the white, hospital-like building, where the walls were covered with art projects of varying levels. She walked into her mother’s room, filled with little ceramic doves, and smiled at her. She seemed happy; maybe it was a good day. They’d been pretty good lately.
“Hey, Mom,” Dove said, settling into the bone-crushing hug her mom insisted on giving.
“Oh, Dove! What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” her mother parroted back. Sometimes, when there was too much going on in Delores’s mind, she’d get stuck on one word and repeat it over and over. Dove was used to this kind of talking.
“Nothing’s wrong, remember? That’s what I said.”
“I know what you said,” Delores said with a soft tutting noise. “You lied. Lied, lied, lied. Now tell me, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, I just, well—some people aren’t believing me. That’s all. I’m not being taken seriously.”
“Who would ever not take you seriously?”
“Officer O’Bannon,” she muttered.
“Officer? Officer. What would an officer have to do with you? What happened?”
Now Dove was met with a real dilemma. She could tell her the truth of what all was happening, and risk upsetting her, or she could lie and hope for the best. “My bike was stolen,” she said.
“Bike? What do you need a bike for?”
“That’s why it’s not a big deal. It’s just—I thought I saw someone take it, and they won’t believe me when I tell them who it is. Or rather, who it isn’t. They have a suspect, but they won’t listen to me when I tell them he’s not who I saw.”
“Well, don’t let the wrong guy get in trouble,” Delores said. “Wouldn’t want to lock up the wrong person.”
Dove winced at that. She never knew if such phrases meant her mother was unhappy there. Dove thought on good days her mother knew she could be a burden, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it in the group home.
“Have you found a man yet?” her mother asked, quickly changing the subject as she was often did.
“No.”
“You can’t wait forever. I want grandchildren.”
“Listen, Mom. Let’s just focus on Uno, and next Sunday I’ll tell you exactly what happened with the bike and whatever you want to hear about men.”
“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” she said, and they began playing cards.
Chapter Six
Chapter
Nate hadn’t known what to expect when he got into work the next day. He certainly didn’t expect the uproar that greeted him. He walked into the office, and before both feet were in the door everyone was laughing.
“What now?” he asked, defensive.
“You apologized to a wack job, that’s what,” Officer Trevose said.
“There was actually someone at her window! Doesn’t sound like a wack job to me. Besides, where’d you hear that?”
“Cops have ears everywhere,” Jessica responded. “Besides, we got a call from her claiming someone was around her house again in the wee hours of the morning, while Peterson was here sleeping it off.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Are we sure?” she scoffed. “No, Peterson let himself out for a couple hours, then snuck back in and locked himself up as if nothing had happened.”
“And there wasn’t anyone else?”
“Nope. I’m starting to believe Peterson, that the flowers were just a joke. She’s as crazy as her mother.”
Nate felt his cheeks flush and felt like an idiot. He should never have believed her, much less apologize to her. She probably was crazy too and had thought she saw someone when no one was there. He didn’t see any need to believe her any more than he saw a need to jump into a river in early February. She had made him look stupid. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
“Well, you have to admit he looked good for it,” he said.
“Maybe you learned not to apologize,” Jessica said. “It’s admitting you did something wrong.”
“But maybe I did, refusing to believe her.”
“She’s crazy.”
“But we didn’t know that.”
“Oh, come on, it runs in the family. You grew up here; you knew that.”
It was common knowledge that Delores Babcock suffered from schizophrenia. From what Nate understood, they had gotten their number of calls from her back in the day. He wondered if Dove would have to be added to the list of callers they didn’t worry about. It didn’t seem fair to her, but it didn’t seem fair to him to have his whole new precinct think he was an idiot. There just seemed to be no middle ground.
“Well, I guess I won’t make that mistake again,” Nate said. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he had in fact made a mistake. His gut had told him from the beginning that she was making it up. There had been no marks in the grass or flower bushes, no threatening notes or phone calls, at least until the flowers, and no other complaining witnesses. All the neighbors said to have seen nothing when they first asked, and as far as he knew, nothing had changed. It was stupid of him to think maybe there was something.
“She doesn’t even deserve to have her complaints looked into,” Officer Trevose spoke up. “You know she held back my kid, right?”
“Yes, Trevose,” Jessica said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows she held back your kid.”
Nate wanted to yell at him, to protect her. Of course she still deserved to have her complaints looked into. Even with everyone going on, she still deserved to have her complaints looked into. They were officers, after all. But he wasn’t sure of the point of arguing.
“I swear someone was there again!” Dove said, her voice rising.
“Will you stop yelling before someone calls the cops on you?” Teressa said.
“Then believe me!”
“Dove,” she said softly. “I want to believe you. I do. But no one else has seen anyone. I asked the neighbors myself. Maybe it’s time for you to talk to someone—you know, a professional—just to be certain.”
“A professional?” Dove found herself screaming even louder.
“Dove, Dove, calm down. Don’t blow this out of proportion. It’s just a simple checkup. You get checkups from your regular doctor, don’t you?” Teressa asked.
Dove knew she needed to calm herself, but she didn’t really see how. Her friends were telling her she was losing her mind, and just because one guy was stalking her. Of course the neighbors couldn’t see him; he was careful. Maybe even someone they expected to be there. No matter what, she had seen someone. He was there. She was going to keep calling until someone else saw him. Whatever it took.
“So will you see someone?” Teressa asked, and Dove regretted not speaking up sooner.
“No.”
“Think about how much better your mother has been doing since she got help. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be so scared. I know you’re here all alone, but I can’t keep coming over. I have a diner to run. Jeff has already been getting annoyed with how much I’ve been leaving this week.”
“You’re my best friend. Aren’t I worth a bit extra of your time?”
“It’s my job, Dove. I wouldn’t expect you to leave your classroom for me.”
“That’s different.”
“I really don’t think it is,” she answered.
Dove thought it through for a moment. She supposed it wasn’t. It didn’t seem fair to expect Teressa to put so much time towards helping her. Maybe it would make people take things more seriously if she proved she wasn’t mentally ill. Maybe it would calm some of her own fears, ones hidden in the darkest cor
ner in the back of her head. She just had to talk to someone, anyone, and they’d see she was sane. She just wanted to go to a therapist out of town. She didn’t want someone thinking she was her mother all over again.
Chapter Seven
Chapter
Dove drove out of town onto the winding dirt roads. She wanted to see the next town over, Tree Hill. There was a therapist there. She knew from her mother that a therapist couldn’t diagnose, but the woman should be able to tell her if she needed to talk to someone else. She should at least be able to say if there was really something to be worried about.
The front of the building said “Dr. Matthews” across its window in large gold letters. She walked into a small waiting room filled with magazines and chairs, which had a sign posted on the wall that said “Please Wait Here.” Most of the artwork on the walls was childlike, reminding Dove of her mother’s group home. She sat down and grabbed a magazine. She flipped through without really seeing anything, her heart pounding in her chest. Still, she felt little. She wasn’t in a full-out panic, just aware that this was an important, stressful event.
A few minutes later the door opened. A tall Latina opened the door, wearing a plaid T-shirt-style dress, and gave Dove a smile full of perfect white teeth. “Are you Dove Babcock?” the woman asked.
Dove stood. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Great, I’m ready for you. Right this way.” Dove followed the woman into the room. There was a desk with a nice chair behind, then a big, plush chair on the other side that the woman motioned to for Dove. “Is it okay if I call you Dove?”
“I think I’d prefer that.”
“Great, Dove. Well, I’m Dr. Matthews. I’m going to help you fill out the intake form, but before we start that, what brought you here?” Dr. Matthews asked.
Dove froze up. What brought her here? Where did she start explaining it? “I—uhm—uh—”
“Take your time.”
“Well, I’ve been being stalked. But people think I’m just being paranoid.”
“Why is that?” she asked.
“My mom is a paranoid schizophrenic. Plus, none of the neighbors have seen anything, and the police never get there in time to see him.”
“Does anyone believe you?” Dr. Matthews asked.
“No, no one.”
“That sounds like it would be very alienating.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Dove answered. She had gone to family therapy before with her mother at the home, but it still always made her uncomfortable. She had spent so long trying to hide what was going on with her mother so she wouldn’t be institutionalized, so she had gotten very used to keeping secrets. She didn’t know if that was right, but she didn’t know a way out of it.
“Now, Dove,” Dr. Matthews started, “I’m not a cop. I cannot tell you if you’re being paranoid or actually seeing someone. Besides, even the cops may be wrong. But it seems like for now if we simply talked about what it’s like for no one to believe you that could be helpful. What do you think about that?”
“I just want to know if I need more help or not.”
“How about this. You give it till the end of a session, talking about what I want to talk about, then we’ll talk together about what might be going on.”
“Okay,” Dove said. She knew how intake forms worked, having helped her mother fill out many in the past, and they went through it line by line. There were questions on practically everything, from how much sleep she got to math questions testing her processing skills. Dove felt like it was a waste of time, since she never saw herself coming back, but she didn’t tell the therapist that. It seemed like it would be rude.
Once they finished it, Dove saw Dr. Matthews looking over her forms. “Dove, you said you don’t hear voices, see things other people don’t believe, or hold any beliefs other people would consider strange. You’ve had no problems with hygiene, thinking, or cleaning. Is this all true?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think you should come back, as we seem to have plenty to talk about, but at this point I don’t think you’re struggling with paranoia. You have no clear other symptoms, and it’s not normal for paranoia to come on its own.”
“So, I’m okay?” Dove asked.
“You realize even if you struggled with a mental illness you’d be okay, don’t you?”
“I don’t know …” Dove said uncomfortably.
“Isn’t your mom okay?”
“Well, she’d be more okay if she was healthy.”
“But it sounds like she’s doing well now.”
“Maybe for her diagnosis …” Dove didn’t like the path this was going down. It seemed as if Dr. Matthews was dismissing what her mom was going through. Her mother deserved more than being “okay.”
“Well, we can talk about this more next week. Am I going to be seeing you next week?”
“I don’t think so.”
“In that case, it was nice to meet you, Dove, and I wish the very best to you and your mother. Stay safe.” She put out her hand, and Dove shook it.
Dove let herself out, and thought through what had happened. She felt a new feeling of confidence. Nothing was wrong with her. A professional had confirmed it. That meant there was really someone after her, so fear came with the confidence. But being stalked seemed less scary than being mentally ill, though she hated herself for thinking it. She just thought she had seen enough dysfunction with her mother to know she didn’t want any of that.
She got back in her car and turned on the radio. Christian music blared out of her speakers. She realized she needed to pray. She considered closing her eyes and taking care of it in the parking lot, but she thought this prayer may be a little long for that, so she began driving, speaking aloud as she went.
“God, I don’t want anything to be wrong with me. It scares me, the possibility that I could be like my mother. The possibility of being stalked does too, but not nearly as much. I just hope to find out who it is and have this whole era of my life be over. Please consider it, God. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”
Dove had the idea of stopping at the grocery store on the way home. Larson’s was a nice place, at least compared to Walmart. Sometimes more expensive, but clean and friendly. She just needed to grab a few things: bread and milk, maybe some spaghetti sauce. She wanted to be in and out in just a few minutes.
She walked in, waving to Val Larson behind the counter. The red and brown interior complemented the white rows of food, and everyone there seemed clean and fully dressed; entirely different from the local Walmart. Some of the policemen were sitting around, eating sandwiches and shooting the breeze on their lunch break. She saw Nate was one of them. She wondered if she was still angry at him, but she wasn’t overly in touch with her emotions. He had apologized. He didn’t believe her, but he apologized for it. Wasn’t that more than most people? More than her best friend suggesting she get professional help? She had to consider liking him.
She turned away and walked to the bread aisle, grabbed whole wheat without giving it much thought. Her mind was still centered on Nate. That’s why she didn’t see him.
Harold Dickens, walking through the aisle. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with very pink lips and a cleft chin. He was in her face before she realized he was there at all. “I heard you’re making up lies,” he sneered, pressing his face towards hers. It took her a moment to even register who it was.
“What do you mean?” she said, trying to keep her calm demeanor. Her ex-husband was a lot of bark and very little bite.
“I know what you’re doing. Trying to make me look like I’ve been doing it. I’m not stupid.”
“Doing what?” she asked, incredulous.
“Stalking you.”
“I specifically told the police I didn’t recognize who it was. Wouldn’t I recognize you? We were married for three years, Harold.”
“You’re still trying to frame me. Listen, little slut, if I have any more policemen knocking on my door, asking about you, I’ll give y
ou a reason to call the police.”
“Excuse me?” a male voice said. That voice was even more surprising than the first one. Nate stood behind Dove now, arms crossed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be threatening this nice lady with five cops around the corner eating lunch.”
“No threat, no threat,” Harold said, putting up his hands. “We’re just having a little conversation.”
“And I think you were just leaving,” Nate said.
“I have my groceries to pay for.”
“Then pay your tab and get on out of here.”
“I haven’t finished shopping! You can’t make me leave.”
“You threatened this lady,” Nate said, taking a step closer to Dove, protective. “I can do a lot more than that.”
“Fine,” Harold said, and turned to walk away.
“You okay?” Nate asked Dove.
Dove had to think about that for a minute. She had just been threatened, it was true, but she doubted there was any real danger. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t the one out your window? With your positive identification we could probably—”
“It wasn’t him,” Dove said. She hated once again having to explain something that seemed like it needed very little explaining. If only they could find the right guy, they could be done with this much sooner. If she could just see the guy that did it, people would stop thinking she was crazy. “I saw a therapist.”
“Good for you?”
“About paranoia, I mean. She said she doubted I was struggling with paranoia, and it made more sense that someone was actually stalking me.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll keep that in mind. If he bothers you anymore, you can give us a call. Do you want a ride back or anything? It would make sense if you’re shaken up.”
“I’m fine, but thanks for the offer. It’s kind of like you’re my hero.” Dove realized she was flirting without being totally aware of what she was doing. She was just thankful someone had her back. Besides, the sizable muscles and bald head were totally part of her type. There was something rather attractive about it.
