by Amy Cross
"I don't have a cat," he says, "but I could probably arrange to get one in time for your next session. Would that help? Maybe I could lay out a selection of scissors and you could show me what you did to the last poor feline that passed your way?"
Turning and hurrying over to the door, I turn the handle but find that it's locked. I can still taste Dr. Larson's blood in my mouth, so I try wiping my tongue on the sleeve of my dress, but it's no use. Finally, I turn back to him and see that he's still sitting impassively in his chair, watching me with the amused expression of someone whose pet has learned a new trick.
"The sooner you sit down and start talking to me," he says, "the sooner we can get on with things. You're a smart girl, Juliet, but I'm afraid you won't be able to trick me. It would be far better if you simply accept my help. We can work together and get your head in order. Wouldn't you like to be a normal girl, Juliet? Wouldn't you like to have friends, and go out to play, and spend more time out of your room? In fact, if you can just make a little progress, these sessions can end and you never have to see me again. Surely you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He pauses for a moment. "Sit down, Juliet".
Reluctantly, I go back over to the chair.
"Now," he continues, "we're not going to get distracted by stupid, false problems that you invent in order to pass the time. No, we're going to dig in, Juliet, and get to the root of your psychological issues. I don't know if this will interest you in any way, but I've started to think I might get a paper out of you. I'll change your name, of course, but I'm quite certain I'll be able to publish an account of our sessions. Wouldn't that make you feel special?"
"I want to go home," I say firmly.
"And you shall," he replies. "Later. For now, I want you to tell me about your mother. She died of cancer, I believe. Your father tells me she was ill in hospital for almost a year before she passed away. That must have been extremely distressing for you. Tell me, what do you think it was like for your mother?"
I stare at him.
"Come on, Juliet. You're smart. Surely you can put yourself in your mother's place for a moment and imagine how she felt. She must have known she was dying for a very long time, and yet she sat in that bed, just waiting to get weaker and weaker. Do you think she enjoyed it?"
I take a deep breath. Why is he bringing up all this stuff about my mother? That was weeks and weeks ago. I feel this strange, tightening sensation in my heart, almost as if I'm getting short of breath.
"And the pain," Dr. Larson continues. "Think of the pain. I don't know the specifics of the treatment she received, but I'm quite certain it must have been agonizing. What do you think that was like for her, Juliet? If you had to sum up the last year of your mother's life in one word, what word would you choose?"
I close my eyes.
"Happy?"
I focus on staying calm.
"Sad?"
I breathe in, and I breathe out.
"Pointless?"
I open my eyes.
"Miserable?"
"Bored," I say suddenly.
He stares at me. "Bored?"
"She must have been bored," I say. "Nothing to do all day. She..." My voice trails off as I realize how stupid I sound. The truth is, I have no idea what it was like for my mother to be in that hospital bed. How could I know? I'm not her. Whatever she was thinking and feeling, it was all trapped inside her head. I know people like Dr. Larson think we can share our feelings with each other, through words and actions, but we can't. We're all trapped in our own minds, with no real way to reach out and connect with anyone else. There's no point fooling ourselves otherwise.
"Is that the word you'd choose above all others?" Dr. Larson asks. "Bored?"
I stare at him. I want to say something to make him happy; something to shut him up and get him off my back. The problem is, I have no idea what the 'right' answer might be in this situation.
"I think she was scared," he says. "I think she was undergoing a painful, hopeless treatment for a disease that was eating her from the inside out. I think she was humiliated. She probably lost control of her bladder, her bowels... She probably had to be bathed and washed down. I think she was looking forward to death, Juliet. By the end, she was probably longing for that final moment to arrive. Think about it. So much pain and horror, and then right at the end, a single moment of relief. A fraction of a second between the pain ending, and her life coming to an end. In that millisecond, she must have felt like she was in Heaven. Don't you think?"
I take a deep breath. The tight feeling in my heart is still there, and I'm starting to feel angry about the way Dr. Larson is trying to provoke some kind of response.
"What's wrong, Juliet?" he continues. "Can't you get inside your mother's mind? Can't you imagine what it's like to be someone else?" He smiles. "I believe in total honesty. I believe in giving my patients the benefit of every determination that I make. The fact that you're so young is not, in itself, a hindrance to this policy, so I'm going to tell you exactly what I think". He leans forward. "Juliet, I think you're have psychopathic tendencies. Do you know what that means?"
I shake my head.
"It means a number of things," he says. "Not all of them apply to you, but certainly enough for me to be fairly confident of my diagnosis. You have an inability to empathize with people. You're manipulative. You seem able to handle stressful events remarkably well for someone of your age, almost as if you're able to retreat into an internal world where the rules of logic are different. Tell me, Juliet. What do you think of your father?"
I swallow hard. This conversation is pointless.
"Do you love him?"
I don't reply.
"Do you like him?"
Still, I don't reply.
"Do you wish he'd die?" He pauses. "Or do you realize that you need him to be alive, because you need him to provide you with food and somewhere to live? That's another aspect of the psychopathic personality, Juliet. You've become a parasitic force in your father's life, using him for your own gain but developing no strong bonds to him on an emotional level. If you think I'm wrong, then by all means stop me. Otherwise, I'll take your continued silence as a tacit acceptance of my ideas".
I stare at him.
"I think our session is over for today," he says after a moment. "I'll need to speak to your father briefly, but other than that, we'll see each other in two weeks' time. I hope you don't feel that I've been too harsh, Juliet, but I have a strong track record in helping people such as yourself. The first step is to confront your own identity and to accept who and what you are. From this point, we can work to change you, although I should add that it's not possible to completely resolve such issues. These tendencies will always be a part of you, and you'll likely have to work your whole life to keep them repressed". Standing up, he walks over and unlocks the door. "Don't worry," he says, smiling. "I think it's better to be honest than to patronize you. We're at the beginning of a long journey, Juliet, but we'll get to our destination in the end. I promise".
Chapter Seven
Today
"This is becoming a habit," says Jennifer, as we stand together in the abandoned ward and stare down at Piotr Cymbalista's body. While Lizzie ended up stuffed into a closet, we decided to put Mr. Cymbalista into one of the storage boxes in the corner. It doesn't seem like the most secure place in the world, but Jennifer insists that she can make sure no-one starts poking around in here. I guess the abandoned ward is her world, and she's in charge through here.
"What about his family?" I ask. "Will there be any complications?"
"I'll deal with it," she replies. "You remember how I smoothed over Lizzie's disappearance? I can do the same with Piotr Cymbalista's life".
"It had to be done," I say quietly, staring at Mr. Cymbalista's face. The scissors are still wedged firmly in his head; I was scared to pull them out, in case there was a lot more blood. The one thing I don't want, in all of this, is to have to deal with too much blood; I've never liked blood.
/> "Maybe," she says, closing the lid before turning to me. "I've got to admit, Juliet, I underestimated you when we first met. I thought you were just another night girl, but there's something very unusual about you".
"Look who's talking," I reply.
"Good point," she says, "but I think you know what I mean. Most people wouldn't be able to do the things you do. Stabbing a man in the face with a pair of scissors? That takes guts, Juliet".
"I have to go and check up on the residents," I say, turning and walking away. The truth is, I'm starting to feel a little bad about what happened to Mr. Cymbalista; fortunately, I know that all my negative feelings will vanish as soon as I step over the threshold back into the rest of the building.
"You never stay long," Jennifer says, as I walk around the corner and find her waiting for me by the door. "What's the hurry?"
"I have a job to do," I say.
"And you think you can leave all your bad thoughts and feelings behind?" She smiles. "You think it's that neat, Juliet?"
"It works for me," I reply.
"And you still don't have a question to ask me?"
I stare at her. "What kind of question?"
"The obvious question".
Sighing, I push past her and step through the door. As soon as I'm in the main part of the building, I feel my guilt and shock over Mr. Cymbalista's death start to recede. Within a couple of seconds, I'm back to feeling totally blank and calm. I turn to Jennifer. "What do you want from me?" I ask.
"Finally. It took you long enough". She pauses for a moment. "I've given you a lot, haven't I? I help you cover up the dead bodies and I take away all your guilt and bad feelings. That's a pretty amazing privilege for you. Who wouldn't want to be able to do whatever they want without having to deal with the consequences?" She stares at me. "Why are you smiling?"
I look down at my feet as I try to wipe the smile from my face, but there's nothing I can do. It's as if something about this whole situation is forcing me to grin like an idiot. I've always had this problem; whenever something bad happens, I start smiling. I want to stop, but there's nothing I can do. It's as if my face is completely independent of my mind.
"You want to know what I want from you?" Jennifer says. "Well, I'm not going to tell you, but eventually you'll work it out all by yourself. Just remember that nothing's free. If I'm helping you, then it's pretty clear that I'll want you to help me in some way eventually. I hope you won't try to avoid your responsibilities, Juliet".
I keep my gaze focus on my feet, and eventually I'm able to stop smiling. I look back at Jennifer, but she's gone. Closing the door to the abandoned ward, I take a deep breath as I think about the two dead bodies hidden nearby. Jennifer was wrong when she said that killing Mr. Cymbalista was somehow worse than killing Lizzie; in both cases, they were nasty people who were causing problems, and I don't regret what I did. If I'd let them live, other people would be suffering. Frankly, I think I should be proud of my actions. If Jennifer wasn't around to help take away my guilt, I'd never be able to kill anyone, but as things stand, I have a unique power.
Turning and walking through to the blue ward, I take a moment to stop outside Barbara Cymbalista's door. As soon as I peer into the room, I hear her contentedly snoring as she sleeps. If I hadn't killed her son, she's probably have to put up with his trouble-making for the rest of her life; at least this way, she can spend the rest of her days in peace. Besides, her mind is so far gone, I doubt she'll even notice his absence. Meanwhile, the retirement home can carry on as normal, without Mr. Taylor's accounting irregularities being brought out into the open. Then again, I feel as if maybe Mr. Taylor is endangering the lives of everyone here, in which case...
Walking away from Barbara Cymbalista's room, I realize how easy it would be to kill Mr. Taylor. I know I shouldn't start trying to rearrange the whole world, and making sure that nothing bad ever happens again, but it's pretty clear that Mr. Taylor could cause a lot of trouble if he carries on with his dodgy practices. I'm sure I can get Jennifer to help me again, so I figure I might as well start coming up with a plan to get Mr. Taylor out of here once and for all. Then there's my father, who has been a huge problem in my life for many years. With Jennifer on my side, I suddenly feel as if I have a chance to put right everything that's gone wrong. Most people struggle with their consciences, but I've never really had that problem; now, with Jennifer's help, I don't have to worry about any emotions at all. I can just do what needs to be done, and not have to worry about getting caught.
The rest of the night passes fairly peacefully. I quickly tidy up Mr. Taylor's office, and then I do a few rounds of the wards, checking on all the residents. As the hours tick past, I start to feel pretty good about myself; after all, I've got the whole situation under control. For the first time in my life, I seem to be able to manage things. I know I have to be careful not to get carried away, but every so often, I catch myself smiling or even laughing at the way the night has developed. I don't feel bad about Mr. Cymbalista at all: he was a trouble-maker, and now he's gone. If I hadn't been helped by Jennifer, I'd probably be worried about someone finding the body, or about someone starting to wonder about his disappearance. I still don't know what Jennifer is, exactly, but she's definitely useful.
Eventually I hear the front door open, and a blearly-eyed Mr. Taylor heads through to the office. I follow and find him opening his briefcase on the desk.
"How did it go?" he asks, clearly exhausted.
"Fine," I say. "No problems at all".
"Everyone still alive?"
"Yeah," I say, trying not to smile. If only he knew the truth.
"Any walkers during the night?"
I shake my head. "Every resident slept soundly". I feel pretty pleased with myself, being able to give such a glowing report. I guess I did a pretty good job after all.
"Great," he says, taking a seat. "I've got to admit, Juliet, you're a constant source of surprise. Not many people could keep the place running overnight like this".
"It was nothing, really," I say. "I could do it again".
"You might have to," he replies. "I'm still working on getting someone to help you tonight, but -"
"I don't need anyone," I say, interrupting him. "In a way, it's actually easier doing it by myself. I mean, this way, I know what needs to be done, and..." I pause, worrying that I might seem too eager. "I'm just saying, I can work by myself if that helps. If you're having trouble finding someone to replace Lizzie".
"Are you sure?" he asks. I can see that I've caught his attention; he's probably thinking about how he can save money by only employing one person overnight. Obviously he's breaking several rules and regulations about how the retirement home should be run, but given the precarious state of the facility's finances, I'm pretty sure he'll go for my idea. "Well, I suppose we could give it a try," he says eventually. "You're with us until the end of the summer, right? And then you're off to college?"
"Yeah," I say. "I mean... that's the plan at the moment. I don't know if..." Suddenly it feels silly to be even considering leaving for college. I have everything I want, right here. I have a world I understand, and a job I kind of enjoy, and I have Jennifer... Why the hell would I want to throw all of this away, just to go off to college and have to deal with a bunch of strangers? "To be honest," I continue, "I might not even go to college. I might just stick around. I guess it depends on a few things".
"Well, I probably shouldn't say this, but there's a part of me that'd be pretty happy if you stayed. You're a life-saver, Juliet".
I smile. "I should do one more round of checks before I finish," I say. "Just to make sure everything's okay". I turn to go back through to the wards.
"That's weird," Mr. Taylor says.
I stop at the door and look back at him. "What's wrong?"
He runs his finger along the leg of the desk, and holds it up for me to see. "Does that look like blood to you?"
"No," I say, realizing I must have missed a spot when I was cleaning
after Mr. Cymbalista's death. There wasn't much blood, and I thought I'd got it all. "I mean, maybe. Did you cut yourself shaving?"
He runs his hand over his jaw. "I guess," he says, seeming a little confused.
I head through to the wards, where I check on all the patients and find that - as expected - the whole facility is running like clockwork. Finally, I walk over to the door that leads into the abandoned ward; there's no sign of Jennifer, but I can't help thinking about the bodies of Lizzie and Mr. Cymbalistsa, wedged into their hiding places. No-one knows what I've been doing, but it feels as if this is the start of something that could work out pretty well. All I have to do is keep my head down, make sure I don't make any mistakes, and watch out for a chance to get rid of Mr. Taylor. Right now, though, I need to get off my shift and head home, via a short detour.
There's something important I need to do.
Chapter Eight
Eleven years ago
"So," my father says, sitting next to me on the park bench.
I stare straight ahead, watching as people walk past. It's a bright, sunny day; it's the kind of day that makes most people rush out of the house and come down here to play. I totally accept that the majority of people enjoy being outside, hanging out with each other and generally being social. It's just that I know I don't fit in here; I don't see why my father seems so determined to turn me into someone else.
"Did it scare you when Dr. Larson talked to you?" he asks.
I shake my head. Down by the lake, a couple of boys are talking to each other as they dangle nets in the water.
"Really?" There's a pause. "I'm going to be honest with you, Juliet. It scared me. A little. I mean, this is a serious thing. You understand that, right? This isn't just about being a bit weird. This is about a serious psychological problem that could seriously harm your entire life".
I take a deep breath. Lately, I've been finding that I'm slightly breathless at odds times of the day. It's probably nothing, but I can't help wondering whether my body is reacting to all the pressure.