Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1)

by Fisher, Kari

  “Neither do I, Doctor Christiansen. Please explain to me how a psychiatric patient would suddenly get pregnant in your care, without any interactions with male patients in this facility?”

  “She did not get pregnant while in this facility, Doctor Block. She’s only been here for two weeks,” Frederick explains.

  “Oh?”

  “She was at the Aldona Psychiatric Center before this.”

  “Then I think we need to have a talk with them,” Derek says, coldly. “Whose care was she under?”

  “Doctor Oliver Fallon.”

  After several attempts to reach him on the phone over the next twelve hours, Frederick finally drives over to Oliver’s office.

  “Doctor Fallon hasn’t been to work in almost a week,” the secretary at the office explains.

  “Has he been sick?” Frederick asks.

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t said. He called in a week ago, and said there was an emergency. He has not been back since. We have a replacement in for the time being, but I’m not sure when Doctor Fallon is planning on returning to work.”

  Frederick walks out of the facility, perhaps even more confused than he was when he went in. He reaches into his pocket for his phone and dials Oliver’s number once again. It goes to voicemail.

  Frederick sits in his car for a couple moments before making the decision to drive to Oliver’s house. When he arrives, he doubts he will find any answers as to what’s going on, since Oliver’s car is not in the yard.

  Still, he knocks at the door anyway.

  Tara opens the door.

  “Hi, Tara. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’ve worked closely with Oliver for the last three years and we went to the same University. My name is Frederick Christiansen, from the Malartin Psychiatric Center.”

  “I remember you. Is something wrong?” Tara asks, clearly concerned.

  “I’m just looking for Oliver. I’ve called him a few times, and I haven’t been able to reach him. Do you know how I can get a hold of him? It’s about one of his clients,” Frederick explains.

  “Is it about Lauren? No. I don’t know where he is. You called earlier and I only heard his half of the conversation. She’s ill, isn’t she? He hung up the phone and ran out. That was this morning and I haven’t seen him since. Please tell him to call me if you speak with him,” she says, slowly.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “You know that’s not something I can discuss,” Frederick answers.

  “Frederick, please. I know Oliver is a friend of yours and I can hear the tremble in your voice. What is wrong?” Tara begs.

  “Tara, I can’t—” Frederick starts, but sees the look in Tara’s eyes and decides to elaborate. “It’s nothing serious. I mean, it is, but it’s not. I just need to talk to him. It just seems as though while Lauren was under Oliver’s care, she was alone with one of the male patients. She’s pregnant.”

  “Oh. Wow. I’m sure Oliver didn’t even know anything about it, but I’ll have him call you when I see him.”

  Tara closes the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I lived, hoping someone would save me

  As I expected, this wasn’t a dream. I wake up to vicious stomach cramps that hurt so bad I’m not sure I would even be able to stand up straight. Oliver’s arms are still around me, and I roll over just enough to see his face. I don’t want to wake him; he just seems so peaceful and I don’t want to see him hurt anymore. I quietly slip out from under him, watching him closely. He stirs, but he does not wake up.

  I’ve bled through the huge hospital pad they’d given me and my pants are stained. I slip them down and step to the side, throwing them into the hamper. I change my underwear and put on a fresh pad.

  Trying to ignore what is obviously happening inside of me, I put on a pot of coffee. Perhaps the sweet aroma will make me feel relaxed, although I’m so nauseous that I doubt I will actually be able to drink it.

  I have no furniture in the living room so I find myself sitting on the floor, in front of a canvas. I crack open a new bottle of green acrylic paint and I hold my paintbrush firmly in my right hand. Then, I let it fall to the floor. I stare at it—at the green splatter mark that sits in front of me on the cheap vinyl tiles.

  How could I even think of painting at a time like this?

  I sigh.

  I’m pouring the freshly brewed coffee into my plain white mug. I turn to find Oliver standing behind me. Without saying anything, his arms are around me. I lean against him, letting him support me as though my knees are going to give out at any second now. He kisses my forehead and I feel like I could just melt in this moment.

  “I love you, Lauren,” he says, ever so softly.

  “I love you too.” I speak quietly, but the words are incredibly powerful. I think this might possibly be the first time I’ve said this and actually meant it.

  “I want to be with you,” he says, squeezing me even harder.

  “I do too, Oliver.”

  “Please, just let me deal with the things I need to take care of and I promise that I will be all yours. My heart already belongs only to you.”

  “You need to talk to her, Oliver,” I urge him. His wife needs to be out of the picture. I realize that they’re in the process of splitting up right now, but I can’t deal with knowing he’s with someone else anymore.

  “I know I do. Especially, after this. This should have never happened. It wasn’t fair to her, and it definitely is not fair to you. Not that this would have been a mistake—I mean, it would have been, but it’s a mistake that I’m sure you and I would have both been comfortable accepting—I don’t even really know what I’m trying to say, Laur. What I mean is that I will deal with her, and I’m so sorry that I hurt you like this,” he finally sighs.

  “It’s okay. We will get through this, Oliver,” I assure him.

  “I know.”

  Chapter Forty

  I can’t describe everything I feel

  “I’m losing the baby,” Lauren cries. She curls up on the bed in her room, clutching her stomach.

  “I know,” Shay whispers, sitting by her side. She gently rubs Lauren’s back.

  “Oliver is going to be upset,” Lauren whispers.

  “Yes, Lauren. He’ll be upset because you’re sad. None of us want you to be sad. I am so sorry that you’re hurting,” Shay speaks softly.

  “Who is the father?” Frederick asks. He’s blunt, but he feels as though he needs to be. He doesn’t want to run the risk of Lauren shutting down altogether before they’re able to figure this out. “Is Chase the father? Chase, who lived across the hall from you at your old apartment?”

  “No,” Lauren replies. She is crying uncontrollably once again, almost unable to catch her breath.

  “Who is the father?” Frederick asks again. He is boldly in her face.

  “I told you already. Oliver is the father.”

  “No, Lauren. Oliver is not the father. Who did you have sex with? Did you have sex with Chase? The man who lived across the hall?” he demands. This does nothing but make her cry even harder.

  “That’s enough, Doctor Christiansen,” Shay steps in.

  Frederick backs off and stands at the other side of the room.

  “Oliver really needs to answer his damn phone so I can find out who the fuck she was alone with.” He has his phone in his hand once again and he is dialing Oliver’s number frantically.

  Still no answer.

  “Goddammit,” Frederick mutters.

  “I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon,” Shay says.

  “Allowing a male and a female patient to spend time alone together violates some of the most important policies of our practice. This is absolutely ridiculous. His facility could get sued. Shut down. He could lose his license. He needs to answer me so I can get an explanation.”

  “Well, let him call you when he’s ready,” Shay suggests. “There’s no sense in getting upset about it right n
ow, when you don’t know what really happened.”

  “My baby,” Lauren whispers.

  “I know, Sweetheart. I know,” Shay says softly, trying her best to comfort Lauren. “You will feel better soon, I promise.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  You made your bed,

  It’s time to lie in it

  I feel as though everyone at Bean There is staring at me. Maybe they know. But how could they? I know I didn’t say anything, and I truly doubt Oliver had. But everyone—the skinny baristas, the patrons—is staring at me. I don’t even want to be here, but Oliver had to come in to submit payroll and I didn’t want him to be alone.

  “Would you like a coffee?” he asks kindly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I can drink it. I feel like I’m going to throw up, pass out—something. I don’t know.”

  “Okay. Sorry, Lauren,” Oliver whispers.

  “Stop saying you’re sorry,” I plead.

  I don’t need to feel as though he’s feeling guilty about this. As much as I am blaming my own body, I also realize that there’s probably nothing I could have done to prevent it. Unless, of course, it was caused by stress—in which case, I could have prevented it by finding a new job and working more hours to ensure I could pay my bills so I wouldn’t get evicted.

  Perhaps I let the stress affect my body, which in turn rejected the pregnancy to spite me. Maybe this is my fault.

  I shouldn’t have gone back to whine to my grandma, only to find out she had died. My poor unborn fetus didn’t need to be subjected to the hurt that I felt.

  This is my fault.

  I hear Oliver gasp and I look up from my seat. He stands quickly and takes a few steps forward. I look ahead of him and realize that Tara is coming through the door, walking madly in our direction.

  “You bastard!” she screams.

  “Tara, I—” Oliver is unable to finish his sentence, as his words are met with a slap to the face.

  “How could you do this?” Tara asks, spewing the words harshly from her mouth.

  “I—I’m sorry, Tar—”

  “Like hell, you are. You know who called me? Shay did. Yeah, your friend Shay. She threw you under the bus because she thinks you’re disgusting. I can’t believe you, Oliver. I want you out of my house, and out of my life.”

  With that, she turns and runs from the café.

  Oliver follows.

  I don’t know why he follows, but he does. He hurries after her, as though he’s going to try to explain—beg for forgiveness because of the kids, perhaps.

  “Oliver?” I call after him, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s gone.

  I watch out the window as he runs into the street and grabs Tara by the arm. He is clearly pleading—begging her to at least let him explain.

  “I hate you.” I can see her mouth move, and I know exactly what she said.

  With his head lowered, he walks back towards the café.

  “Why did you go after her?” I ask, but it comes out as a whisper.

  “She’s my wife. I needed to at least tell her. She had to hear it from me. She needed to know the truth.”

  “I can respect that.” I nod. He’s in my arms and I am holding him tight. Although cold outside, his body is warm. I feel comfortable and safe. He is completely mine now.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I wait, I wait, I wait, and I wait—

  “Where have you been?” Tara asks Oliver as he walks into the house. “Frederick Christiansen came to see me.”

  “I was out.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Oliver,” Tara demands.

  “I need some time, Tara.”

  “Do you want me to draw my own conclusions? Because I can. I know what’s going on, Oliver. I can see it. I can feel it in the way you talk about her.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Oliver says, brushing her off. He attempts to walk past her but she stops him.

  “Tell me,” Tara says, her voice elevated this time.

  “Lauren Blue is sick and I may be liable because it happened while she was under my care.”

  “Bullshit.” Tara can see through his lies. She has known him long enough now that she can tell.

  Oliver doesn’t feel like arguing right now would be the best idea, so he tries to push past her. She blocks him once again, her petite figure standing in his way.

  “She’s pregnant. Explain that to me,” Tara says, her voice shaking.

  “There was another patient—”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, Oliver.”

  “—a male patient, they shouldn’t have been allowed enough time—” he stammers, trying to make up something believable. He words everything he says so wisely that it seems as though he’s been lying to himself and almost believes the story he’s trying to tell her.

  “You had sex with her.” Her words are sharp, and this time very to the point. She knows. There’s no sense in arguing now.

  Oliver stands in the doorway, unable to look Tara in the eyes. He pauses for a second, debating whether or not he should try to continue on with this charade.

  There’s no point. His marriage is clearly falling apart in front of him.

  His silence is all the confirmation that Tara needs, and she slaps him in the face. He braces himself and it stings, but it was expected, so it definitely didn’t catch him off guard.

  “I cannot believe you’d do this,” Tara whispers. “After all these years—after everything we’ve been through. We had our ups and downs, Oliver, but we’ve always worked through everything. What happened to you? What did I do to make you so fucking unhappy?”

  Oliver stares at the white wall of the house he knows he will soon no longer live in. He cannot answer her. He wants to spare her the classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ answer, because that’s what it would be. It wasn’t her, at all. Oliver brought this all on himself. He spent far too much time at work, and drifted away from Tara slowly over the last three years. He was no longer attracted to her. When he came home to her at night, he didn’t want to do anything other than look over paperwork and sleep. He was too consumed with his life at work, in which he counseled people daily, and could not find any reason or will to focus on someone who did not need his help.

  Right now, looking at the pain in Tara’s eyes and the anger on her face, he could tell that she had in fact needed him all along.

  “I’m so sorry, Tara,” Oliver whispers.

  “I can’t even believe this is happening,” Tara screams. “How could you do this? You loved me.”

  “I still do love you, Tara. She was just—I don’t know. She needed me. She needed to feel love. I was weak, and I gave in after session upon session of listening to everything she’s endured in her life. Her ex-husband was so miserable to her, and she killed him—almost certainly in self-defense—yet she’s the one who is punished? I felt sorry for her. She needed to know that someone out there was going to be good to her,” Oliver tries desperately to explain.

  “What do you mean? You weren’t good to her. You took advantage of her. You took advantage of the situation she was in and you forced yourself on her. She was needy—you know she has an addictive personality. You told me all about it. I should have seen this coming; you don’t ever discuss your other patients with me. This is your fault. I blame you, not her. You made the choice. She only went along with it, Oliver. I hate you.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I want you out. I want nothing to do with you, and you will never see the kids again. Do you understand?”

  “Tara, I—”

  “Get out. And call Frederick, because I’m definitely going to be giving him a call, too, as well as the director of your facility. And every other facility in the area. I will make sure you never practice again and that your license is taken away. Get out.”

  Oliver stands on the steps of his house, staring at the road, watching the snow fall to the ground—the perfect metaphor for his entire world crashing down aro
und him. He is unsure of where to go but he needs to go somewhere, so he gets into the car and he begins to drive. He drives for hours until he runs out of gas, and then he slowly glides over to the side of the road and puts on the brakes. He shuts the car off and rests his head on the steering wheel.

  His life is over. There is nothing left for him now.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  You’re so beautiful and I hope you’re true

  I want to spend forever being here with you

  “Are you sleeping with anyone else?” I ask Oliver.

  “No, of course not. I mean—not even Tara. We haven’t been intimate in a very long time. There has been no one since you, Lauren,” Oliver replies, with his hand touching mine as he looks me in the eyes.

  “Not even one of the other girls that works for you?” I ask.

  “No, of course not.”

  “I mean, if you’re sleeping with me, you could totally be sleeping with one of them and I wouldn’t even know. Are you lying to me?” I ask. I sit here, studying his face—trying to figure out if he’s being truthful.

  “No, I’m not. I haven’t slept with anyone else.” He looks sincere.

  “Okay. I trust you. I just don’t trust them,” I sigh.

  “Do you want to leave together?” Oliver asks.

  “What?”

  “Do you want to leave together?” he repeats. “Run away together? Start our lives together?”

  “Yes.” I answer quickly, without even really thinking about what he just asked. All I know is that I want to go away with him and start over. I want to forget everything that has happened in the last little while, and just move on with a new life; a new life with Oliver, where he doesn’t have a wife.

  “Good. Let’s leave tonight.”

  “What about the café?” I ask.

  “Someone else can run it for a while. I’ve got enough competent staff at this point; they won’t even notice I’m not around.”