"But here's the thing. I know she had an appointment with her therapist this evening and I want to pick her up after and whisk her away for the weekend."
I could hear Sandra swooning on the other end, sighing enviously.
"The only problem is that I can't seem to find her therapist's address anywhere. We usually keep it on the hall table but I must have moved it when I was cleaning earlier. You couldn't give me it, could you?"
"Aaw, well I don't have the address,Mr. Manning. All I know is that she told me is that his office is over at Westacres."
"Westacres?Where all the models and ball players check in when they have nervous breakdowns?"
She giggled.
"Yeah, her therapist is apparently one of the best there is."
How is she affording this?
"Thank you, Sandra, you've been very helpful."
"My pleasure. You have a lovely weekend and-"
I hung up.
Westacres... The name popped up in the celebrity pages occasionally but now it was going be where I was heading. I stepped on the accelerator and headed over to the west end of the city, my cellphone ringing from my pocket. No doubt it was Gerald panicking about what I was up to or my boss having a meltdown because I wasn't in the meeting. I'd worry about all of that later, tell them all some bullshit story about how I had ferocious diarrhea or something. I doubt they'd want me to elaborate.
After twenty minutes, the gritty urban sprawl gave way to the clean spread of fresh, white houses. The trees, however, shrouded Westacres Clinic and, only noticing at the last minute, I screeched right into the facility with the guy behind me punching his horn as he almost crashed into the back of me.
Arriving at speed in front of the clinic, I was aware of how crazy I looked. Someone in the waiting area stood up to see the man whose tires were almost smoking as he climbed out his car. Okay, you look mental right now but you're at a psychiatrist's office. Use it to your advantage.
I sauntered up to the front door with my forehead gathering sweat and my cheeks growing a ruby red. My thoughts were beginning to disintegrate. The world around me seemed to be shrinking, confining me in my paranoia.
Find Mr. S.
The gold plaque sat proudly next to the front door with a list of the therapists on site. There were only in three in total and at first, I couldn't focus. Pressing my hand against the wall for balance, I squinted to see better, the rain beginning to cascade down the plaque. I did a triple take as I noticed the second name on the list, Sean Slater.
“I know that name."
For a second it didn't register. It was just a name from the past I couldn't put a face to, a name in Paige's past from long before she met me. Isn't Sean Slater her step-brother? She'd spoken about a boy moving into her house when she was a teenager, her step-dad's son from a previous marriage. Was it the same guy? Mr.S?
I was staring at his name so intently I didn't feel the hand on my shoulder, not until the voice was in my ear.
"Sir? Are you okay?"
A young receptionist with a startled face began guiding me inside.
"I'm... erm... I need to see someone right away. I think I'm suicidal."
"We'll have one of the doctors see you right away."
"Dr. Slater!" I blurted out. "I need to see Dr. Slater."
Chapter Six
Sean
The phone line began to crackle as though she was driving under a tunnel. When she emerged out the other side, her voice hissed back into being.
"You're moving out?"
"I'm moving out," I repeated. "It's the best thing. Couldn't come at a better time."
Although I still cringed at the memory of seeing Lauren's face as she heard Paige's name.
"I thought you were getting married," Paige said.
"That was until I saw you again..."
She breathed heavy. I could hear the sound of the highway beneath her car as it rushed by.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I've ruined everything."
"No. You've just made everything wonderful again."
I imagined her smiling as she heard that and it was true. Now she was back in my life I loved the thought of living another day, of seeing her and looking forward to something. She made my heart beat, made me feel as though I was a teenager again.
"You really mean that?" she gasped.
"I do."
There was something else on my mind. She knew what I was going to say, I could almost hear the tremulous tension in her breath as she anticipated it.
"You saw Evangeline? You went to the house?"
"It's more like a palace," she replied. "And I saw her, just for a second."
My chest ached.
"What was she like?"
Paige hesitated for a second.
"She's happy."
"That's all I need to know. We did the right thing?"
"It hurts to admit it but we did."
There was a bittersweet warmth in my stomach. She was happy, we weren't failures but... she wasn't our daughter anymore.
"Paige? I need to be with you," I said, unable to hold back what I was thinking. "Be with me."
"There's nothing more that I want!" she said. "But it's complicated. Arthur and-"
"Life is always complicated," I said. "We'll work it out."
A knock on the door interrupted me followed by Hilary appearing in the doorway with wide, scared eyes.
"Dr. Slater?"
"Can you give me a second?" I asked annoyed.
"It's an emergency. A gentleman has arrived and he..."
She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening.
"He says he's suicidal."
I felt a headache begin to grip the front of my skull.
"Okay... You better send him in."
~
He was slender with a sweat drenched face. He tangled his fingers together and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the ceiling. His foot was tapping wildly against the floor, his chest moving up and down rapidly as he faked, rather appallingly, a fit of hyperventilation.
I sat down across from him and watched his movements for a moment. There was something not right about him. His mannerisms were too dramatic as though he was feigning an acute onset of insanity, his behavior learned from television shows.
"What made you come here?" I asked as I flipped open my notebook.
He opened his eyes and eyed me warily, his fingers coiling themselves tighter around each other.
"I told you, didn't I? I want to commit suicide. You need to help me."
His gaze was unwavering but not desperate. I'd had hundreds of patients, some of them truly suicidal but this guy was different. I couldn't identify it any further than a gut instinct but there was something about him I couldn’t trust, a hunch, a feeling that he was here for another reason.
"Sorry, what did you say your name was?"
"Alister Higgins," he said with a polite smile. "Yeah... Alister."
It sounded more like he was trying to remind himself who he was.
"But it's Al for short," he continued. "Just so you know."
I scrawled his name down in my notebook with a question mark in the margin.
"Suicide..." I began. "Is it something you've considered before?"
"Oh yeah, loads of times," he answered freely.
There was no way of stopping the scowl crumpling up my face.
"And this is the first time you've reached out for help?" I asked.
"Erm... Yeah."
Again, I looked into his eyes for a hint of the truth. There was a peculiar twitch below his left eye and I made a note of it. Possible magnesium deficiency or inexperienced liar.
"The first time..." I repeated. "Have you been able to tell a member of your family that you're here today?"
He shook his head and threw up his hands.
"No. No one would care that I'm here."
"I'm sure that's not true. I'm sure your wife would like to know how you're feeling," I said as I
pointed my pen at his wedding ring.
He looked down at it, glanced up at me then gazed back down at the ring.
"Actually, I don't feel like I have a wife anymore," he said and began tugging at the gold band.
He winced as he pulled it over his knuckle then calmly placed it on the coffee table between us. Stunned, I tried to think of the most tactful thing to say.
"Your wife... Are you having difficulties? Is that why you feel suicide would be an option?"
"You could say that."
He stared at me with such an intensity I wondered if he was attempting to set me on fire with his mind.
"Would you like to explore that? Maybe discuss what problems you're having?"
He began knocking his tongue against his top teeth, clicking and cocking his head to the side as his foot continued to shake.
"What's there to say?" he said. "Right now I feel as though I could kill her."
Shit... I've found myself in the middle of a murder-suicide. Because obviously today couldn't get any harder.
"Okay, let's calm down for a moment. You speak of killing your wife. Is this a fantasy or a plan?"
He narrowed his eyes and folded his arms, creating a barrier between the two of us.
"You tell me," he replied. "You're the expert."
This was getting more difficult by the second. Maybe it would be easier if I called the hospital, had them take him away someplace where they could administer a powerful sedative. But the other patients here would panic at the sight of such a spectacle. Word would get out, people would gossip, we'd look like a madhouse.
"What's up Dr. Slater? You look a little stressed."
"Just worried about you," I replied. "I'm eager to make sure you'll be okay. Of course, suicide is a serious issue and depression on this scale is a serious illness. I want to make sure you get the treatment that you need and it's not a one size fits all approach. Different treatments are best suited for different patients and we have to be sensitive, make sure not to exacerbate an already explosive situation."
I was rambling to kill time and he knew it. A smirk began to twist up the side of his lips, an unusual gesture from a suicidal man. What was so funny?
"So I have to ask you," I said. "Where would you like to begin?"
He hit his tongue off his teeth again, clucking away like he was enjoying himself.
"I'd like to begin with the asshole that's fucking my wife," he said, his smirk dissolving into a frown.
"Oh... Have you just discovered your wife is having an affair?"
He nodded.
"Because... I know it's easy for me to say but... People often feel this way when they first discover news of this nature. It's not unusual to feel as though the world is crashing down on top of you and there's no other option but to curl up and let the grief consume you. But do you know what else happens? People begin to recover. The initial shock will subside and whether it takes days or weeks, you'll soon be able to live your life again and look back on this day and laugh."
"Laugh?" he said offended. "There's nothing to laugh at here."
"It will feel gloomy for a while but people do recover from romantic breakups all the time."
"Oh. This isn't just a breakup."
There was an insidious tinge to his voice, an intonation that he was plotting something.
"Wh-what do you mean?" I stuttered.
"I told you already. I feel as though I could kill her."
"You feel as though you could kill her or... You just want to right now because you're angry?"
He didn't answer, just blinked at me.
"Okay, let's return to the man you spoke of. What would you like to say about him?"
His eyes traveled the length of my body. For a moment I could swear he focused on my crotch before moving his gaze to my lips.
"I'd like to say that I think he's sick."
"Sick?"
"Perverted," he added. "He has some sick ideas of what romance is."
"And this makes you feel..."
"Mad. Disgusted."
"That's no surprise," I said. "So, can we loop back round to how you were feeling this morning when you arrived here?"
"Like dying," he said.
"Like you want to take your own life?"
He nodded.
"I'm sorry but I have to ask you this. Have you made a plan?"
He looked confused.
"A plan to take your life?"
"Oh sure, you know. I'll cut my wrists, gas myself, whatever it takes."
Somehow, his words didn't seem genuine.
"Okay... I'm sorry but I have certain protocols for patients with acute suicidal tendencies."
"What? Like you’ll prescribe something to help me sleep, something like that?"
"No."
I cleared my throat and readied myself to tell him the news.
"We're going to have to get you hospitalized right away."
"What? No!"
He shot up from his seat enraged.
"You can't be serious?"
"I'm sorry but in your current mental state you're threatening to harm not just yourself, but your wife too. I need to see that you're properly cared for."
I reached for the phone and began dialing the emergency number for the nearby Standen Hospital. Before I could press the dial button, his hand gripped my wrist.
"Alister, I'm going to have to ask you to let me go."
He limply pulled away and looked pained, rubbing his eyes as though he was trying to force some tears to materialize.
"I'll be okay," he sniffed. "I didn't mean those things I said, not really. I'd never harm my wife. I love her so much it's just ... it hurts!"
He wailed an almighty noise that echoed off the walls. I jumped at the sound and took a step back shocked. When he finished, he slumped back in his seat.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you it's just that my God it hurts to think of her with someone else. But who could blame her? Look at me. I'm hideous. A hideous creep! I know the things she thinks of me, I've heard the gossip from her friends' husbands. She hates me, thinks I'm disgusting. Her and her friends all laugh about the size of my manhood. I've even read messages where she refers to me as The Maggot or the Microsoft Man. But I thought all of that didn't matter because I loved her, because I thought God had blessed our marriage. I was wrong though, wasn't I?"
His eyes were dancing as though he was proud at pulling off his performance. His words were smooth and seamless as though he'd rehearsed them in his head. He's playing me, I thought. There's something going on here. I dropped the phone and walked over to the window. The sun was breaking through the cloud, brightening the room and hopefully the mood.
"The doctors at the hospital are very kind," I said. "They're some of the best in the country. They can see that you'll get the help you need."
"That won't be necessary. Like I said, I didn't mean all those things I said. I'm just emotional. Finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that my marriage will be over."
"Many marriages recover from infidelity."
"Mine won't," he replied with a nod to accentuate the conclusiveness of his decision. "Mine won't."
I turned back to face the window. I couldn't shake the feeling that he liked the act of worrying me, enjoying the expressions of fear that were spreading across my face with every thought he imparted.
"You sound like you're a religious man," I said. "Maybe you'd like to consult a pastor."
"I wouldn't want to trouble him," he replied.
"But you are a religious man?"
"Frighteningly religious," he answered. "Look."
I spun round to see him striding toward me with his wallet in his hand. He was pulling out the prayer cards he kept alongside his credit cards.
"Please, Aleister, sit back down."
"But look!"
He pulled out the Lord's Prayer as though it was a form if identity, something that proved his faith to me and therefore his sanity.
; "I understand," I swiped his hand away from my face. "It's very admirable of you to be a man of God at such a time."
"But please, look!"
He pulled out another card and it was then that I saw the black and white photo pressed into the corner of the sheer, plastic pocket.
"Is that your child's scan?" I asked, desperate to change the subject.
He stiffened and his face dropped.
"Was my child. She was never born."
Drifting his fingertips over the photo, I felt as though I could see his true emotions for the first time. He was really grieving. I patted his back and ushered him back to his seat.
"Alister, is this why you're here? Is this really the root of the problem?"
He looked up at me as though I'd said the magic words he needed to hear.
"Maybe," he gulped. "Maybe it is."
Staring off into the distance, I could see his eyes dart ever so slightly as though he was replaying a memory in his head.
"Would you like to talk about her?" I asked, pointing at the scan.
He shook his head and looked to the floor.
"Are you sure? It might not seem like it right now but I feel as though we're making progress here."
Looking up as though awakening from a daze, he opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind.
"Please, go on," I urged.
"I-I don't know why I'm here anymore," he said. "If you don't mind I think I'm going to leave."
I sighed with relief.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked as he walked toward the door.
"Yeah... I'll, erm, I'll go find my wife. Maybe we can talk this out."
"I think that would be a great idea," I replied.
He turned on his heel and in the thick carpet his shoe caught a loose thread, tripping him over. He righted himself in an instant but he was jolted enough to drop his wallet.
"Oh, let me get that."
I lunged forward to recover it from the floor where it lay spread eagled beside a potted plant. His credit cards were laid bare, as was his driving license. His name wasn't Alister.
"Manning."
I grabbed hold of the wallet and staggered backward.
"It says here your name's Arthur Manning!"
"Please, give it back."
There was a terror in his eyes.
Best Friends To Lovers Romance Series: Complete Series Boxed Set Romance Page 9
