The Patient

by Steena Holmes

  “You stopped by when?”

  “Probably around ten or ten thirty. I—”

  “I wasn’t sleeping.” I cut her off. “You should have knocked.”

  “You looked like you were asleep. Honestly, Danielle, I don’t mean to be rude, but you need new furniture. Don’t you think it’s time to claim the house as your own?”

  “What? No, that’d be . . .” I shivered, cold fingers trailing along my skin. “Maybe I just like the seventies style of decor,” I said, realizing I sounded defensive. Sure, most of the house looked like it was just waiting for my grandmother to reappear, but buying new furniture really wasn’t at the top of the priority chain right now.

  Her brow arched as she measured my words. “Are you feeling better?” She repeated her question, dropping the subject of my interior decorating decisions, thankfully.

  My memory was as blank as a brand-new chalkboard. Sabrina was worried about me, but maybe I should be concerned about her. I had been at home all night. Other than when I took a walk around the park, but I didn’t recall seeing Sabrina. Whoever she saw, it wasn’t me.

  “You should get some blood work done, Danielle. I swear you told me you were hypoglycemic, which is weird because I am too. Or maybe I just noticed the symptoms and assumed.” She pursed her lips. “You look exhausted. Are you sleeping enough?”

  “Not really. I’ve tried that tea you gave me, but it seems to have no effect.”

  “I don’t think anyone is sleeping lately. Isn’t it horrible? Everything that’s been happening?” She stared out at the park. “To think that something like this could happen in our small community. I heard”—she leaned forward to whisper—“that the FBI is now involved.” She punctuated the FBI letters in a way that made me imagine her poking someone in the chest as she said each one.

  The change in topic was sudden. “Tami needs all the help she can get on this one. She’s the one I’m worried about, to be honest.” I knew I was feeding into the local gossip, but if I could take the focus off me, that was all that mattered.

  “Tami?”

  “Yeah. My friend I’ve been trying to introduce to you. She’s one of the detectives on the case.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew anyone on the case.” Like a blind mouse sniffing cheese, her curiosity was about to get the better of her.

  “Well, now you do,” I said.

  “So the elusive Tami is involved in solving the murders.” Sabrina’s lips quirked with surprise at the news. “I can’t believe I haven’t met her yet. Has she never come into the shop?”

  She almost sounded hurt.

  “I was trying to make a cheesecake two nights ago. I’ve been wanting to get the two of you together so you can meet. She’s so busy, so I thought a cheesecake would entice her to at least stop by if she was free. But I kept mixing up ingredients and finally accepted defeat after midnight.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been wanting to make a cheesecake for a while now. Why don’t you let me do that, and the two of you could come by for tea?” Sabrina offered.

  I smiled in agreement. Tami wouldn’t be able to stand up cheesecake, especially if she knew it was made with her in mind.

  We said goodbye, and I continued on my walk, but her words bothered me more than I’d let on. Why had she said she’d seen me? I would have remembered, right? I’d tried to sleep last night on the couch, but other than a few fitful naps while a movie played in the background, I’d been wide awake.

  And yet she was so sure it had been me.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THURSDAY, AUGUST 22

  Inside the library, it was deathly silent.

  A few children sat around the bookshelves and quiet corners, but their heads were buried in books.

  Tables were full of college-age students, their ears covered with headphones, books and notebooks spread out in front of them.

  The book aisles were abandoned.

  The upper floor was forlorn. The seats along the railing were empty, and the only real sound was the slap-slap-slap of the librarian’s shoes as she walked down the length of the room, her arms full of books, glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  We nodded at one another before I made my way toward the children’s section. If anywhere, this was where I’d find Ella.

  Except I didn’t. She wasn’t stocking shelves. She wasn’t reading quietly to a group of children. She wasn’t curled up in a corner chair reading a book on her own.

  I thought maybe I’d find her stacking books in another section or maybe helping someone discover a new author.

  No matter where I thought she’d be, she wasn’t there.

  I waited to speak to the librarian, but every time I stepped close, she became busy.

  I headed out into the playground area, where children were surrounded by their parents and other staff members of the library.

  Gone were the ease and friendliness.

  Gone were the smiles and playfulness.

  Gone were the hope and laughter.

  Caution, whispered fears, and anxious glances were all I found as I walked down the steps of the library and looked out onto the field.

  I pasted a welcoming look on my face and lifted my hand in a slight wave to those who huddled together. A few waved back, but most turned their backs to me and continued to watch their children.

  Ella wasn’t down there, not playing with the children, not talking to the parents.

  But she was sitting on a park bench off to the side, beneath a tree, with a book on her lap. Her legs were curled beneath her, and her head was bent so that her hair partially covered her face.

  She didn’t notice my arrival.

  I didn’t think I’d ever seen her so relaxed, so at peace. So much the opposite of everyone around her.

  “Ella.” I called out her name a few times before she looked up.

  “Dr. Rycroft, what are you doing here?” She closed the book in her lap with a gentleness I’d come to expect from her.

  “Hmm, let’s see. You’ve missed appointments, haven’t returned any of my calls, and I was worried about you.” I should have picked up coffee for the two of us; having my hands empty felt weird.

  She looked out over the park.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I . . .” She fidgeted with the book on her lap. “I had some days off and just . . . closed myself away at home.”

  I noticed she wouldn’t look at me now.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Everyone needs time away—I get that.” I crossed my legs and relaxed my arm over the back of the bench. “Did you get some reading done?”

  She patted the book on her lap and looked up at me with a faraway expression.

  Escapism didn’t bode well for Ella. She escaped when she felt threatened, scared, unsettled.

  “Remember, you promised you would come see me if things became too much, too stressful?” I wanted her to be able to trust me, to come to me for help in those crucial moments.

  I thought we were getting there.

  “It just . . . happened.” She played with a strand of hair that hung over her shoulder.

  “Was there a reason you felt the need to escape?” My voice remained gentle, as if I were speaking to a child or wanted to coax out a kitten from beneath the couch.

  It was wrong, but my thoughts immediately ran to the notes I’d received. What had Ella been doing the past week to miss our sessions?

  Was she alone? Where did she live? She once told me that when she escaped, she had no memory of the hours lost or how she handled the basic needs like food.

  “Have you ever left one place and arrived at another without being aware of the drive?” She smoothed her skirt. “Or found yourself in a place you didn’t recognize? Or maybe woke up in your room, but you were still so lost in your dreams that nothing was recognizable?”

  Yes, yes, and yes.

  “That’s what it’s like. One minute I’m enjoying the warm sun,
and the next thing I know, days have passed. I’ve fed myself, bathed myself, even put myself to bed, but I don’t recall any of it. I live in a dream within my head.”

  An innocent look of wonder filled her face.

  “Or maybe the dream is my reality, and this”—she spread her arms out—“is the dream world. Maybe you’re not real. Maybe I’m not real. Hell.” She tilted her head back and greeted the sun. “Maybe my whole past isn’t real, and I’m just living in a nightmare.”

  “I certainly feel real.” I added a little laughter to my voice.

  “Are you?”

  My nose wrinkled. I didn’t like where this was going.

  “Please call me, Ella, the next time it happens, okay?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not like there’s a warning, you know. I don’t plan it.”

  I nodded, giving her that.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I felt weird asking, but I needed to know. “It’s been a bit since we’ve seen each other. You . . . you haven’t been by the house and left me a note or two, have you?”

  The blank look on her face told me no.

  Now I felt uncomfortable.

  Nothing. Nothing on her face.

  “Okay, forget I asked.” Shit. I didn’t know why I asked, why I thought she would be the one if the notes were about her. So where had they come from?

  “Was it a helpful note? My roommate often leaves me notes. Reminders to eat or appointments she thinks I’ll forget.”

  This surprising tidbit of news caught me off guard.

  “You have a roommate?” I had been under the impression that she lived alone. “Is this new?”

  She turned to me with a peculiar look on her face. “I’ve always had a roommate, Dr. Rycroft. I thought you knew that.”

  I racked my brain for this information. I don’t ever recall her mentioning a roommate. Ever.

  “She’s . . . well, you might not like her. She’s someone from my past life.”

  My brows shot up faster than a firecracker.

  “Ella, do you think that’s wise?”

  “Ava took care of me in prison. She was the only one I could count on. She’s . . . good for me.”

  There were so many thoughts going through my head, and none of them told me this Ava person was anything close to being good for Ella.

  “They usually advise you not to have contact with anyone you befriend in prison,” I said cautiously. “The goal is to start new, to start fresh with nothing from your past holding you back.”

  Ella nodded, and for a moment I thought she was actually considering my words.

  “Ava is different. I’m the way I am because of Ava. It’s . . . it’s hard to understand, harder to explain. But she takes care of me, Dr. Rycroft.”

  “Will you tell me about her?” If she was that important to Ella, I wanted to know about her. I needed to know about her.

  A semisweet smile lingered on Ella’s face. She glanced up at me a few times, her head still slightly bowed as her fingers drew circles on the cover of her book.

  I finally noticed the book.

  Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Of course.

  It almost looked familiar. Like the one I’d tried to buy.

  Like the one from Sabrina’s shop.

  It couldn’t be, though. I thought that one had faded gold-stamped letters on the cover, whereas the book on Ella’s lap just looked worn.

  “I knew who I was this morning, but I’ve changed several times since then,” Ella whispered softly.

  I recognized it as a quote from the book in her hands.

  “What do you mean, Ella?”

  “Ava says that’s my life motto. She encourages me to grow, to change, to be someone better than I was back then. Without her, I’d be lost in a darkness of my own making with no way to get out.”

  There was a tone of reverence as she spoke of Ava.

  “I think you’ve always had that strength inside you,” I reminded her.

  She shrugged. “It might have been there, but without her, I would never have found it.”

  She then turned her body toward me, angled so her knees almost touched my thigh.

  “You like me, don’t you, Dr. Rycroft?” she asked. “You like the person I am, the one I present to you in our sessions and even now, right?”

  She didn’t give me a chance to respond.

  “You wouldn’t have liked me then. When I was lost in hatred and anger. When all I could think about was how to destroy my parents’ lives like they’d destroyed mine. I burned with a hatred so bright everything around me ignited too. When they died, I . . .” She shuddered. “I liked it. It filled me with a high I’d never felt before. I was in control of my destiny in that moment. I became someone new that night.”

  “But you didn’t allow that to consume you,” I reminded her.

  “You don’t understand. I found the taste of death to be addictive. Addictive and compelling. Intoxicating to the point I wanted more. Like a drug. If it hadn’t been for Ava . . . I’d be an addict.”

  I worked hard to not react. A brush of wind touched the back of my neck, and I shivered.

  “When I was sent to prison, I’d already been judged. I was guilty, and I didn’t try to hide it. No one cared why I killed my parents, only that I did. But Ava . . . she cared. She saw past the label others had placed on me and saw a broken soul.”

  She reached down and pulled out a water bottle from a bag I hadn’t noticed at her feet.

  “Ava recognized how damaged I was, and she looked beyond my actions to find the reason. She understood my monsters. She wept at my stories, about how my mother would turn the other way when my stepfather tucked me into bed. She didn’t care that he sexually abused me. She knew and didn’t care.”

  Ella gripped the water bottle in her hands, her fingertips white from the pressure.

  “I’m so sorry, Ella.” I wanted to wrap her in my arms and hold her, tell her it would be okay, that she was okay, but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate it, not in public.

  This was the first time she’d been so open with me about her past. I knew all the details, of course, from her police records and articles I’d found online. I also had access to her previous medical reports and psychological tests. But I’d never pushed her to open up.

  The facts weren’t always as important as the feelings behind them.

  “Ava was the one who helped me navigate the ugly path I was on. She made me a promise once, one I’ve never been able to forget. It’s why we live together.”

  She slowly unwrapped her fingers from the bottle, setting it down beside her on the bench. She patted the book on her lap, and the briefest semblance of love passed across her face.

  “She promised we would make it right. Make sure no other child is ever hurt like I was. We can’t save all of them, but we can watch out for the ones in our path.” Ella nodded her head numerous times as she spoke, as if she was reminding herself of this truth.

  I wanted to smile. I wanted to say how happy I was for her, that she’d found such a friend to support her, but all I could focus on were the words she’d spoken.

  Make sure no other child is ever hurt . . .

  Then I recalled the words she’d said to me previously. How she was the one responsible for the deaths, that they were her fault.

  “Ella.” I cleared my throat. How did I even ask this?

  She watched me with a slight wariness, unsure of what I was going to say.

  I wasn’t even sure.

  I didn’t know Ava. I had no idea of her past, her present, who she was, what she looked like, or what she even did. For all I knew, she could have been sent to prison with Ella for petty theft.

  The note I’d received claimed I knew the killer. Maybe they just assumed I did. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe the note had nothing to do with Ella and her past and everything to do with her roommate and the present. I cleared my throat again.

  “Does Ava ever come here, to the library?”

  A
fear bubbled inside me.

  “Ava doesn’t really like crowds,” Ella said with a hesitation that didn’t settle my sense of foreboding. “She tends to stay home during the day. She’s more of a night owl anyway.”

  That didn’t really answer my question, but a commotion in the playground caught our attention.

  Several police cruisers with their lights on had pulled into the library parking lot.

  The parents on the field all called their children to them, their voices filling the air with panic.

  I watched the scene and the officers who got out of their vehicles. There were five in total, all armed and all advancing toward the library steps.

  When I turned back to Ella, she’d disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 23

  The coffee shop where I waited for Tami was empty.

  Other than the barista, I was the only customer, which was odd.

  I watched the steam from my coffee rise and swirl with the cool breeze from the open window.

  I zipped up the light jacket I wore and wrapped my hands around the mug.

  By the time Tami arrived, I’d received a refill, ordered a coffee for her, and eaten halfway through a fruit bowl.

  “Sorry,” she said as she shrugged off her raincoat and draped it across a chair. “I got caught up with a phone call.” She snagged a grape from my bowl and popped it in her mouth before she noticed the coffee in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said before she took her first sip and shuddered.

  “Oops, forgot to add sugar,” I said. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get here, so hopefully it’s warm enough.”

  I couldn’t even imagine how busy she was.

  Today had been her idea. She’d called me with a plea to join her for coffee. I’d offered to bring one to her, but she claimed the need to escape for an hour or so. We had planned to meet at Sabrina’s café, but when I’d arrived, the place had been jam-packed with the bridge club meet-up. For someone who needed to escape, drinking coffee in a busy café wouldn’t do the trick.

  Escape. There had been something behind her voice when she’d said the word, a tinge of pain laced with fear.