04 Heller's Punishment - Heller

by JD Nixon

  Many of the clients became quite emotional as they discussed what trust meant to them. They opened up with each other about who they could trust in their lives, who they thought they could trust and found out they couldn’t, and who was not trustworthy at all. For many of them, they discovered that the person they were least able to trust was themselves, because of their addictions and deceitful behaviours to support them. That self-realisation was very powerful. There were tears galore. I blinked fiercely myself a few times at the sad stories, trying to be professional.

  However, Felicia sat in that circle, not contributing, not participating and not moved by anybody else’s story. She couldn’t have appeared less engaged in the whole process if she’d tried.

  At the end of the session the clients were invited to vote with their toys for the most honest participant. The votes were equally divided between two patients who’d told devastatingly frank stories about just how untrustworthy they’d been in their lives. Felicia, as a statement of contempt, picked up her toy and left it on her own seat. Perky One asked her to explain her vote to the group.

  “I voted for myself because I’m the only honest person here,” she said scornfully. “I was the only one who didn’t just speak a load of fucking bullshit for the last two boring pointless hours. And I know that I’m the only person I can trust in my life.”

  She stalked out of the room, quickly followed by Jorge and me. I threw a glance back over my shoulder to see the smiles finally wiped off the faces of the Perkys as they sadly stared after Felicia, pity in their eyes.

  Chapter 7

  Instead of taking us back to our room, Jorge led us both to a huge dining hall where we joined a queue for lunch. It was a self-serve buffet with an appetising array of cold meats, a variety of salads and breads and rolls, with a lovely fruit and cheese platter for afterwards. I helped myself to smoked salmon, low-fat pasta salad, green salad and caprese salad, with some fruit afterwards. Felicia didn’t eat much, merely picked at a piece of chicken and some potato salad, but managed to drink four cups of coffee during the meal. Jorge urged her to eat more, but she ignored him, staring vaguely into the distance as if she was counting down the minutes, merely enduring her time at the clinic.

  After lunch we were locked back in the room for another hour, for a ‘rest’. I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to be resting from because we hadn’t actually done very much yet. Felicia idly watched TV and I read my book. We didn’t speak to each other.

  I guess I’d thought that she would come to regard me as a big sister and I’d be able to get her to open up to me during our time together. I’d hoped she would tell me what had driven her to become the person she was. But it was glaringly obvious that notion had been nothing but frivolous vanity on my behalf. She would never tell me anything about herself and she would never regard me as a big sister or even a friend. To her, I was an enemy, a spy for her parents.

  She went to the bathroom frequently during that hour and I became suspicious, querying her repeated trips.

  “I had a lot of coffee at lunch, didn’t I? It makes me pee,” she said sullenly, as she closed the door yet again. A minute later I heard the toilet flush and the basin run and she emerged again. Not long after, Jorge came to get us, advising that we were going for a ramble around the grounds of the clinic as our activity that afternoon. I was thrilled, glad to be getting out of the room for a while, and surprisingly Felicia was also pleased. She too had obviously started going stir-crazy being locked up all day.

  I was already dressed for walking in jeans and runners, but regarded Felicia doubtfully in her high heels and miniskirt. Unwillingly, I offered her my jeans again and this time she accepted, with a very nice thank you. She went into the bathroom and changed into them. I handed her a belt to keep them up. She exchanged her high heels for a pair of flat ballet shoes, which weren’t at all suitable for walking around outside in, but at least reduced the risk that she would break her ankle as we rambled.

  A group of us assembled on the lawn and the atmosphere was light and excitable. Jorge was the only carer on duty, as the other clients were all judged to be low-risk and had admitted themselves into the clinic. I promised to look after Felicia during the walk so that he could keep an eye on the others. We went on a nice ramble around the grounds, which were fairly extensive and well maintained. A dense wood surrounded the clinic, sloping steeply down to the side of the mountain. I enjoyed the exercise, the sunshine and the fresh air.

  As we walked around the perimeter, Felicia told me that she had to pee again.

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” I exclaimed, not able to suppress my exasperation. “Go over there, behind that tree. And don’t you dare piss on my jeans.”

  I watched her as she entered the wood, keeping an eye on her moving behind the large tree. She stuck her head out from behind it.

  “I don’t like this one. It’s not private enough,” she complained, and started quickly moving further away from me, deeper into the wood.

  “Hey!” I yelled out, running towards her. “Get back where I told you to be! Felicia! Stop now!”

  She picked up more speed, recklessly crashing through the trees. I didn’t know what she was up to because there was no escaping the clinic in that direction. It only led over the side of a mountain. She suddenly changed direction and doubled back, heading through the wood back in the same direction from which we’d just come.

  “Felicia!” I shouted, angry at her antics. What the hell game was she playing at?

  I lost sight of her for a minute through the trees and suddenly heard a large crashing noise, quickly followed by some voices, then silence. When I made my way to her, she was squatting down, carefully peeing.

  She looked up at me angrily. “Do you mind? Can’t I have one fucking minute of privacy?”

  “What was that all about?” I demanded, seething.

  “I didn’t like that spot. I wanted somewhere more private. Not that it made much difference anyway. Can’t even piss in private around here,” she said sourly.

  Yeah, right, I thought sceptically. This was the woman who had gladly flashed her privates at Jorge that morning, but now suddenly had a case of the faints because someone might see the top of her head as she peed in the woods? I doubt it.

  “I heard voices,” I snapped.

  “What the fuck? Are you insane? I fell over and was swearing my head off. How the fuck is that ‘voices’?”

  She showed me her hands, which were grazed. I looked around suspiciously, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I hurried her up and we had to trot after the others to catch them.

  The rest of the walk was uneventful. Felicia trailed behind everyone despite my urges to keep up. She didn’t converse with anyone and took no interest in the lively conversation of the other clients. Back inside, Jorge escorted me back to the room, but reminded Felicia that she was due for one-on-one counselling. She didn’t look thrilled at the news.

  “Sorry Tilly, this needs to be strictly confidential between Felicia and her counsellor. Neither you nor I are allowed in the room at the time,” Jorge apologised as he led Felicia away and locked the door behind him.

  I settled back on my bed with my detective novel. I’d reached an intense and suspenseful part – the spunky female detective was being led into an abandoned, isolated factory by a man who her colleagues had just realised was a sexually sadistic multiple murderer. Why did she trust him? I thought anxiously, stopping from biting my nails only long enough to turn the page. The phone rang and startled me so much that I dropped the book on the floor and lost my place.

  “Oh, damn,” I grumbled under my breath as I sprang up to answer. “Hello?”

  “Phone call for Matilda Chalmers in Room 212,” said the disembodied voice.

  “That’s me,” I replied. I knew who it was going to be.

  “Putting it through now,” the voice said and then there was a click and I said hello again.

  “Hello, my sweet,” said a much-loved
voice in my ear.

  “Heller!”

  “You sound pleased to hear from me for once.”

  “I sure am. I’m so bored here. I’m locked in the room by myself at the moment. If I hadn’t brought a book with me I’d be going insane. I’m desperate for entertainment. Tell me everything that’s been happening back there.”

  He laughed. “Nothing’s been happening. You know that nothing ever happens here if you’re not around. You’re the cause of all the excitement in the business.”

  “Heller,” I protested, injured. “I don’t think you’re saying that in a positive way.”

  He laughed again. “I hope your client isn’t causing you more trouble.”

  When I replied, I ordered my priorities right and first indignantly told him about Felicia’s rude rejection of my jeans. A strange muffled sound down the phone line made me wonder if he was stifling another laugh. Then I told him of the group counselling session and the strange happenings in the wood that afternoon.

  “Did you search her after that incident?” he demanded.

  “Why?”

  “Matilda! She could have been up to anything in there. You at least told the nurse?”

  “No,” I said in a small voice. “She was just peeing, Heller. I saw her.”

  “Make sure you tell the nurse as soon as you get the chance. Promise me.”

  “I will, I promise.” I felt stupid. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, just make sure you tell someone.” His voice softened. “I was afraid I’d miss your call later. That’s why I’m ringing you now.”

  “You’re busy tonight?”

  “I’m going out.” I tried not to mind.

  “Have a good time,” I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful and not to think about him screwing some lucky woman a hundred times in a hundred different positions tonight.

  “You know I’d rather be with you,” he said easily.

  “Sure you would.” I gave a genuine laugh at that smooth quip. “With me saying ‘no, Heller’, ‘stop, Heller’, ‘what are you doing with that, Heller’.”

  He laughed again. “I miss you so much, Matilda. I don’t know why I keep giving you these jobs that send you away from home.”

  “It’s all about the moolah, remember? I do it for your retirement fund.”

  “For our retirement fund, my sweet.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. “You’ll have fired me long before I’m ready to retire,” I said lightly, glad he couldn’t see my face.

  “Probably.”

  “You won’t even remember me. I’ll just be ‘old what’s-her-name’ in your memory.”

  That low growly chuckle. “As if I could ever forget you, Matilda.” A pause. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I have another call. Take care. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Heller,” I said, kind of glad the conversation had ended. I didn’t really want to know why he thought he’d probably end up firing me at some point, although I must admit that I didn’t have a great track record in holding down a job. I returned to my book, flipping through the pages to find my lost place.

  Not much longer afterwards the door rattled and Jorge brought Felicia back into the room. She looked as though she’d been crying and went straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I put my book aside and looked over to Jorge, eyebrows raised.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “One-on-one is always quite confrontational for clients. The counsellors are very skilled. Happily, Felicia’s just shown that she’s still slightly human after all. She does care about her parents’ good opinion, even after all of her accusations about them.”

  My eyebrows rose even further in surprise. Perhaps there might be some progress for her this week despite her recalcitrance.

  Jorge banged on the bathroom door, reminding Felicia that dinner would be at six. He threw me a smile and left for the day, back home to his family. I briefly wished I was him.

  Felicia didn’t come out of the bathroom for ages. When she finally flung open the door, she was gripped with very strong emotion. She paced around the room, rubbing the back of her neck, then rubbing her arms, not being able to settle down for a second.

  “They don’t know me,” she said angrily. “They don’t know anything about me. I hate my parents. I don’t love them, not even a little bit. Fuck! I hate doing that fucking counselling. It’s all just massive bullshit! Fuck!”

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Knock it off. You’re making me dizzy walking around so fast. What’s up your butt?” Then I giggled guiltily when I remembered what actually had been up her butt the previous night.

  She stopped then and twitched her shoulders, but took a deep breath. “I’m cool. No need to freak. No need to call anyone.” My hackles rose immediately.

  “How about you watch some TV and calm down? Right now,” I suggested coolly.

  She threw herself on her bed so hard that it slammed up against the wall. I shot her a glance and reached over to pick up the phone.

  “What are you doing?” she asked me.

  “You’ve taken some more, haven’t you?” I accused, holding the receiver in my hand, about to speak into it.

  She launched herself off the bed and threw herself onto me. It was an anti-climax. She was just an unhealthy addict with no real fighting skills and I saw her coming a mile away. I drew up my forearm in defence and she stupidly smashed her forehead straight into it, recoiling backwards onto her bed, groaning. It was the easiest takedown I’d ever had.

  “Room 212?” asked the voice on the phone. “Room 212?”

  I dropped the receiver on the bedside table and prepared for more trouble as she roused herself and came at me again. But by the time Dave and the medics burst into the room, I had her subdued up against a wall, face pressed to one side, arms behind her back, struggling and swearing up a blue storm at me as I pressed my body hard onto hers. She’d hardly caused me to break a sweat, so the level of force I employed was all rather unnecessary.

  “Shit!” said Dave. “Not again?”

  “I think she’s taken something. She’s been agitated and angry all afternoon. She tried to attack me,” I informed them.

  “Felicia!” he yelled at her. “What have you taken and where did you get it from?”

  “Fuck you!” she spat at him, then struggled futilely against me until she exhausted herself, and slumped loosely, sliding down in my arms.

  “I’m losing her,” I said and they ran forward to grab her off me, forcing her backwards onto her bed.

  “What have you taken, Felicia,” asked the male medic, shining a light into her eyes.

  “Nothing!” she replied in frustration. “I haven’t fucking taken anything!”

  “What’s the matter with you then?”

  “I’m just upset, that’s all,” she said, making a huge effort to be calm. “I had personal counselling this afternoon and it’s made me a little crazy. I haven’t taken anything. Where the fuck would I get it? This dipshit,” and she nodded in my direction, “is just paranoid.”

  The medics gave her the once-over and looked down at her suspiciously.

  “I don’t know,” the female medic said. “She could have used or she could just be over-wrought. Has she ever been hysterical before?”

  “Yeah,” Dave admitted. “She’s cracked up a few times, usually after the one-on-one sessions.”

  The woman shrugged and packed up her equipment. “Nothing here for us to do here. If she took a dose it was relatively small, not like last time.” Then she turned to Felicia. “Take it easy until dinner, okay? Dave will give you your sleeping medication now, if you need it to calm down.”

  She shook her head sullenly and the medics departed. Dave walked to the bed and looked down at her, shaking his head before heading towards the door as well, promising to pick us up for dinner. When he left, Felicia fell asleep and snoozed until he returned.

  We trooped off to dinner in the communal hall again and went to slee
p early that evening. We didn’t utter another word to each other, neither of us now trusting the other in the slightest.

  The next few days passed similarly, with the morning group session followed by some kind of physical activity in the afternoon and a one-on-one session for Felicia. She was always agitated and angry after those sessions, but I didn’t make the mistake of calling the office again, even though I was convinced that she was up to something. She seemed to spend a lot of time in the bathroom, but maybe that was just because she really couldn’t stand to spend a second in the same room with me. The feeling was mutual, I realised, as she refused to take a phone call from her mother, throwing the receiver petulantly onto the bedside table and stalking to the bathroom yet again.

  I picked up the receiver and gave an audibly upset Mrs Heyne a rundown on the week so far, not leaving out any of the sordid details about Felicia’s overdose. She didn’t say anything, but sighed with great heaviness. She and her husband were desperately hoping that their daughter would return to their home after the week was over, but I wasn’t sensing any kind of desire for a rapprochement on Felicia’s side. In fact, I think the one-on-one sessions were only stoking her anger towards her parents and increasing her blame of them for her current problems.

  The week passed slowly for both of us. I’m no professional in the field, but I struggled to see any evidence that Felicia was benefitting from the rehabilitation. Every morning we’d troop down to group counselling where she sat, sullen and bored, not joining in with the other clients. At breakfast and lunch she would eat barely anything, instead scoffing cup after cup of coffee. During the regular afternoon exercise sessions, she trailed behind everyone with a disinterested lethargy that was impossible to shake except when she needed to pee, which was every time. I grew bored waiting with my back turned for her to finish day after day. She always chose the same spot, behind the same tree. I guess she figured that it afforded her the greatest privacy from the others. Maybe you should stop sucking down the coffees, I thought with great snarkiness as I killed time amongst the trees for her yet again, watching the others stroll off into the distance without us. I kept my eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary as I did, not trusting her for a second.