The Silent Patient

by Alex Michaelides

  “You’re a selfish son of a bitch, Christian, you know that?”

  Christian stared at me with an increasing look of dismay. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Fuck. Theo. Listen—it’s not what it looks like.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “What else does it say in the diary?”

  “What else is there to say?”

  Christian didn’t answer the question. He held out his hand. “Can I have a look at it?”

  “Sorry.” I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

  Christian played with his chopsticks as he spoke. “I shouldn’t have done it. But it was entirely innocent. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. If it were innocent, why didn’t you come forward after the murder?”

  “Because I wasn’t really Alicia’s doctor—I mean, not officially. I only did it as a favor to Gabriel. We were friends. We were at university together. I was at their wedding. I hadn’t seen him for years—until he called me, looking for a psychiatrist for his wife. She’d become unwell following her father’s death.”

  “And you volunteered your services?”

  “No, not at all. Quite the reverse. I wanted to refer him to a colleague, but he insisted I see her. Gabriel said Alicia was extremely resistant to the whole idea, and the fact I was a friend of his made it much more likely she’d cooperate. I was reluctant, obviously.”

  “I’m sure you were.”

  Christian shot me a hurt look. “There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

  “Where did you treat her?”

  He hesitated. “My girlfriend’s house. But as I told you,” he said quickly, “it was unofficial—I wasn’t really her doctor. I rarely saw her. Every now and then, that’s all.”

  “And on those rare occasions, did you charge a fee?”

  Christian blinked and avoided my gaze. “Well, Gabriel insisted on paying, so I had no choice—”

  “Cash, I presume?”

  “Theo—”

  “Was it cash?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And did you declare it?”

  Christian bit his lip and didn’t reply. So the answer was no. That was why he hadn’t come forward at Alicia’s trial. I wondered how many other patients he was seeing “unofficially” and not declaring the income from them.

  “Look. If Diomedes finds out, I—I could lose my job. You know that, don’t you?” His voice had a pleading note, appealing to my sympathy.

  But I had no sympathy for Christian. Only contempt. “Never mind the professor. What about the Medical Council? You’ll lose your license.”

  “Only if you say something. You don’t need to tell anyone. It’s all water under the bridge at this point, isn’t it? I mean, it’s my career we’re talking about, for fuck’s sake.”

  “You should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you?”

  “Theo, please…”

  Christian must have hated having to crawl to me like this, but watching him squirm provided me with no satisfaction, only irritation. I had no intention of betraying him to Diomedes—not yet anyway. He’d be much more use to me if I kept him dangling.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “No one else needs to know. For the moment.”

  “Thank you. Seriously, I mean it. I owe you one.”

  “Yes, you do. Go on.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to talk. I want you to tell me about Alicia.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHRISTIAN STARED AT ME, playing with his chopsticks. He deliberated for a few seconds before he spoke.

  “There’s not much to tell. I don’t know what you want to hear—or where you want me to start.”

  “Start at the beginning. You saw her over a number of years?”

  “No—I mean, yes—but I told you, not as frequently as you make it sound. I saw her two or three times after her father died.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “About a week before the murder.”

  “And how would you describe her mental state?”

  “Oh…” Christian leaned back in his chair, relaxing now that he was on safer ground. “She was highly paranoid, delusional—psychotic, even. But she’d been like this before. She had a long-standing pattern of mood swings. She was always up and down—typical borderline.”

  “Spare me the fucking diagnosis. Just give me the facts.”

  Christian gave me a wounded look but decided not to argue. “What do you want to know?”

  “Alicia confided in you she was being watched, correct?”

  Christian gave me a blank look. “Watched?”

  “Someone was spying on her. I thought she told you about it?”

  Christian looked at me strangely. Then, to my surprise, he laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? The Peeping Tom spying through the windows?”

  “You don’t think it’s true?”

  “Pure fantasy. I should have thought that was obvious.”

  I nodded at the diary. “She writes about it pretty convincingly. I believed her.”

  “Well, of course she sounded convincing. I’d have believed her too if I hadn’t known better. She was having a psychotic episode.”

  “So you keep saying. She doesn’t sound psychotic in the diary. Just scared.”

  “She had a history—the same thing happened at the place they lived before Hampstead. That’s why they had to move. She accused an elderly man across the street of spying on her. Made a huge fuss. Turned out the old guy was blind—couldn’t even see her, let alone spy on her. She was always highly unstable, but it was her father’s suicide that did it. She never recovered.”

  “Did she talk about him with you at all? Her father?”

  Christian shrugged. “Not really. She would always insist that she loved him and they had a very normal relationship—as normal as it could be, considering her mother killed herself. To be honest, I was lucky to get anything out of Alicia at all. She was pretty uncooperative. She was—well, you know what she’s like.”

  “Not as well as you, apparently.” I went on before he could interrupt, “She attempted suicide after her father’s death?”

  Christian shrugged. “If you like. That’s not what I would call it.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “It was suicidal behavior, but I don’t believe she intended to die. She was too narcissistic to ever really want to hurt herself. She took an overdose, more for show than anything else. She was ‘communicating’ her distress to Gabriel—she was always trying to get his attention, poor bastard. If I hadn’t had to respect her confidentiality, I’d have warned him to get the hell out.”

  “How unfortunate for him that you’re such an ethical man.”

  Christian winced. “Theo, I know you’re a very empathetic man—that’s what makes you such a good therapist—but you’re wasting your time with Alicia Berenson. Even before the murder, she had precious little capacity for introspection or mentalizing or whatever you want to call it. She was entirely consumed with herself and her art. All the empathy you have for her, all the kindness—she isn’t capable of giving it back. She’s a lost cause. A total bitch.”

  Christian said this scornfully—and with absolutely no detectable empathy for such a damaged woman. For a second, I wondered if perhaps Christian was borderline, not Alicia. That would make a lot more sense.

  I stood up. “I’m going to see Alicia. I need some answers.”

  “From Alicia?” Christian looked startled. “And how do you intend to get them?”

  “By asking her.”

  I walked out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I WAITED UNTIL AFTER DIOMEDES DISAPPEARED into his office and Stephanie was in a meeting with the Trust. Then I slipped into the goldfish bowl and found Yuri.

  “I nee

d to see Alicia.”

  “Oh, yes?” Yuri gave me an odd look. “But—I thought the therapy was discontinued?”

  “It was. I need to have a private conversation with her, that’s all.”

  “Right, I see.” Yuri looked doubtful. “Well, the therapy room is occupied—Indira is seeing patients there for the rest of the afternoon.” He thought for a second. “The art room is free, if you don’t mind meeting there? It’ll have to be quick, though.”

  He didn’t elaborate but I knew what he meant—we had to be fast, so no one noticed and reported us to Stephanie. I was grateful Yuri was on my side; he was obviously a good man. I felt guilty for having misjudged him when we first met.

  “Thanks. I appreciate this.”

  Yuri grinned at me. “I’ll have her there in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Yuri was as good as his word. Ten minutes later, Alicia and I were in the art room, sitting opposite each other, across the paint-splattered work surface.

  I perched on a rickety stool, feeling precarious. Alicia looked perfectly poised as she sat down—as if she were posing for a portrait, or about to paint one.

  “Thank you for this.” I took out her diary and placed it in front of me. “For allowing me to read it. It means a great deal to me that you entrusted me with something so personal.”

  I smiled, only to be met by a blank expression. Alicia’s features were hard and unyielding. I wondered if she regretted giving me the diary. Perhaps she felt a sense of shame at having exposed herself so completely?

  I left a pause, then went on, “The diary ends abruptly, on a cliff-hanger.” I flicked through the journal’s remaining empty pages. “It’s a little like our therapy together—incomplete, unfinished.”

  Alicia didn’t speak. She just stared. I don’t know what I’d expected, but not this. I’d assumed giving me the diary signaled a change of some kind, representing an invitation, an opening, an entry point, yet here I was, back at square one, faced with an impenetrable wall.

  “You know, I hoped that having spoken to me indirectly—through these pages—that you might go one step further and speak to me in person.”

  No response.

  “I think you gave this to me because you wanted to communicate with me. And you did communicate. Reading this told me a great deal about you—how lonely you were, how isolated, how afraid—that your situation was a lot more complicated than I had previously appreciated. Your relationship with Dr. West, for instance.”

  I glanced at her as I said Christian’s name. I hoped for some kind of reaction, a narrowing of the eyes, a clenched jaw—something, anything—but there was nothing, not even a blink.

  “I had no idea you knew Christian West before you were admitted to the Grove. You saw him privately for several years. You obviously recognized him when he first came to work here—a few months after your arrival. It must have been confusing when he didn’t acknowledge you. And probably quite upsetting, I imagine?”

  I asked it as a question, but there was no reply. Christian seemed of little interest to her. Alicia looked away, bored, disappointed—as if I had missed some opportunity, gone down the wrong track. She had been expecting something from me, something I had failed to deliver.

  Well, I wasn’t done yet.

  “There’s something else. The diary raises certain questions—questions that need answering. Certain things don’t make sense, don’t fit with information I have from other sources. Now that you’ve allowed me to read it, I feel obliged to investigate further. I hope you understand that.”

  I gave Alicia back the diary. She took it and rested her fingers on it. We stared at each other for a moment.

  “I’m on your side, Alicia,” I said eventually. “You know that, don’t you?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  I took that as a yes.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATHY WAS GETTING CARELESS. It was inevitable, I suppose. Having gotten away with her infidelity for so long, she started getting lazy.

  I returned home to find her about to go out.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said, pulling on her trainers. “I won’t be long.”

  “I could use some exercise. Fancy some company?”

  “No, I need to practice my lines.”

  “I can test you on them if you like.”

  “No.” Kathy shook her head. “It’s easier on my own. I just keep reciting the speeches—the ones I can’t get my head around, you know, the ones in act two. I walk around the park, repeating them aloud. You should see the looks I get.”

  I had to give it to her. Kathy said all of this with perfect sincerity, while maintaining constant eye contact. She was a remarkable actress.

  My acting was also improving. I gave her a warm, open smile. “Have a nice walk.”

  I followed her after she left the flat. I kept a careful distance, but she didn’t even look back once. As I said, she was getting careless.

  She walked for about five minutes, to the entrance of the park. As she neared it, a man emerged from the shadows. He had his back to me and I couldn’t see his face. He had dark hair and was well built, taller than me. She went up to him and he pulled her close. They started kissing. Kathy devoured his kisses hungrily, surrendering herself to him. It was strange—to say the least—to see another man’s arms around her. His hands groped and fondled her breasts through her clothes.

  I knew I should hide. I was exposed and in plain sight—if Kathy turned around, she’d be sure to see me. But I couldn’t move. I was transfixed, staring at a Medusa, turned to stone.

  Eventually they stopped kissing and walked into the park, arm in arm. I followed. It was disorienting. From behind, from a distance, the man didn’t look dissimilar to me—for a few seconds I had a confused, out-of-body experience, convinced I was watching myself walking in the park with Kathy.

  Kathy led the man toward a wooded area. He followed her into it and they vanished.

  I felt a sick feeling of dread in my stomach. My breathing was thick, slow, heavy. Every part of my body was telling me to leave, go, run, run away. But I didn’t. I followed them into the woods.

  I tried to make as little noise as possible, but twigs crunched under my feet, and branches clawed at me. I couldn’t see them anywhere—the trees grew so closely together that I could only see a few feet in front of me.

  I stopped and listened. I heard a rustling in the trees, but it could have been the wind. Then I heard something unmistakable, a low-pitched guttural sound I recognized at once.

  It was Kathy moaning.

  I tried to get closer, but the branches caught me and held me suspended, like a fly in a web. I stood there in the dim light, breathing in the musty smell of bark and earth. I listened to Kathy moaning as he fucked her. He grunted like an animal.

  I burned with hate. This man had come from nowhere and invaded my life. He had stolen and seduced and corrupted the one thing in the world that was precious to me. It was monstrous—supernatural. Perhaps he wasn’t human at all, but the instrument of some malevolent deity intent on punishing me. Was God punishing me? Why? What was I guilty of—except falling in love? Was it that I loved too deeply, too needily? Too much?

  Did this man love her? I doubted it. Not the way I did. He was just using her; using her body. There was no way he cared for her as I did. I would have died for Kathy.

  I would have killed for her.

  I thought of my father—I knew what he’d do in this situation. He’d murder the guy. Be a man, I could hear my father shouting. Toughen up. Was that what I should do? Kill him? Dispose of him? It was a way out of this mess—a way to break the spell, release Kathy and set us free. Once she had grieved his loss, it would be over, he’d just be a memory, easily forgotten, and we could go on as before. I could do it now, here, in the park. I’d drag him into the pond, plunge his head underwater. I’d hold it there until his body convulsed and went limp in my arms. Or I could follow him home on the tube, stand right behind him on the platform, and—with a sharp shove—push him in the path of an oncoming train. Or creep up behind him on a deserted street, clutching a brick, and bash out his brains. Why not?

  Kathy’s moans grew louder suddenly, and I recognized the groans she made as she climaxed. Then there was a silence … interrupted by a muffled giggle I knew so well. I could hear the snapping of twigs as they tramped out of the woods.

  I waited for a few moments. Then I snapped the branches around me and fought my way out of the trees, tearing and scratching my hands to shreds.

  When I emerged from the wood, my eyes were half-blind with tears. I wiped them away with a bleeding fist.

  I lurched off, going nowhere. I walked round and round like a madman.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “JEAN-FELIX?”

  No one was at the reception desk, and no one came when I called. I hesitated for a moment, then went into the gallery.

  I walked along the corridor to where the Alcestis was hanging. Once again, I looked at the painting. Once again, I tried to read it, and again I failed. Something about the picture defied interpretation—or else it had some kind of meaning that I had yet to comprehend. But what?

  Then—a sharp intake of breath as I noticed something. Behind Alicia, in the darkness, if you squinted and looked hard at the painting, the darkest parts of the shadows came together—like a hologram that goes from two dimensions to three when you look at it from a certain angle—and a shape burst forth from the shadows … the figure of a man. A man—hiding in the dark. Watching. Spying on Alicia.

  “What do you want?”

  The voice made me jump. I turned around.

  Jean-Felix didn’t look particularly pleased to see me. “What are you doing here?”

  I was about to point out the figure of the man in the painting and ask Jean-Felix about it, but I something told me it might be a bad idea.

  Instead I smiled. “I just had a couple more questions. Is now a good time?”

  “Not really. I’ve told you everything I know. Surely there can’t be anything else?”

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