Craven (9781921997365)

by Casey, Melanie

  ‘You can tell me anything. Everything you tell me is in confidence and there’s no judgement here. I want to help you work through this and find some more positive ways to deal with the stress in your life.’

  ‘I’m probably a bit different from your other patients.’

  He smiled again. I couldn’t help feeling it was a bit condescending.

  ‘Everyone is unique.’

  ‘Yes, I realise that, but I really am different from most people.’

  The doctor leant back in his chair and nodded in encouragement. His casual manner was irritating. I could almost hear what he was thinking: another one who thinks she’s special.

  ‘I have a gift.’

  ‘A gift?’

  ‘A psychic ability that enables me to experience how people died when they passed suddenly or violently. Psychic ability runs in my family. My mother and grandmother also have it. Mum’s precognitive. Gran’s a healer.’

  ‘That’s very interesting. How does your “gift” work?’

  His tone was of polite interest; not the shock, amazement or total disbelief I usually encountered when I revealed my party trick. My irritation went up another notch. I hated being humoured.

  ‘When I’m in the exact place where someone has died I experience the last few minutes of their life as if I was the person themselves – it’s like a full sensory, psychic flashback.’

  ‘That must be horrible. It’s causing you to have panic attacks?’

  ‘No, not directly. I’ve lived with it all my life. The panic attacks are only recent. I’m having them because someone is stalking me. I moved to Adelaide recently and I think someone has found out about my talent and is trying to hurt me.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Someone vandalised my car a couple of weeks ago and then I was attacked in my home just over a week ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That must have been very distressing for you.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘And you think the two things are connected and that it’s to do with your, ah, gift?’

  There it was, that faint tone when he mentioned my gift. The guy thought I was making it up. ‘Look, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. The point is, some people really hate what I can do. They think I’m some kind of witch or Satanist and they take exception to it.’

  ‘A psychic gift is quite unusual. Can you tell me more about your gift? How long have you had it? When did it first start?’

  ‘When I was nine.’

  ‘I see. Have you ever been tested to see if there is another explanation?’

  ‘I’ve had CAT scans and tests for epilepsy and brain defects if that’s what you mean. It’s none of those things.’

  ‘All right. Well tell me why you think the vandalism and assault are related to your ability.’

  ‘I’m sure they are. Someone wrote “freak” on my car in blood and the person who broke into my apartment and attacked me wrote horrible things on the wall in red paint. It’s too much of a coincidence for it to be unrelated.’

  ‘You told the police?’

  ‘I have, but the point is, since these attacks I’ve been getting increasingly more anxious. I feel like I’m looking over my shoulder all the time. Any stressful situation seems to bring on an attack. I keep seeing the stalker everywhere. I close my eyes and I see him. I can’t sleep. I’m scared to leave my house …’

  A lump of self-pity welled up in my throat and I had to stop talking. I was afraid I would burst into tears if I said any more. He waited for me to continue.

  ‘There’s more. I’ve been helping the police with a case recently. I was with them when they found the body of one of the victims and I had a vision. I heard the killer’s voice. They wanted me to check out a suspect for them and see if it was his voice.’

  ‘And was it him you heard?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear the voice well enough, it was all distorted. I think the victim had been buried alive. It was horrible.’ I started to cry.

  ‘It’s all right, Cassandra. Can I call you that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I can help you. If there is someone victimising you then you’ve done the right thing by telling the police. I can help you to cope with the stress these traumatic events have brought on. I might also be able to help you to cope with the stress associated with your gift as well. I’d like to hear more about it and the effect it has on you. Maybe we can work out some strategies to help you manage it better.’

  I nodded, afraid to trust my voice in case I broke down completely and sobbed all over him. It was such a relief to tell someone about it all. I suddenly realised why people went to see psychiatrists. It was cathartic.

  Dr Metzger smiled at me. ‘First of all I need to understand a bit more about you. I like to understand my patients before I start treatment. I find it helps me tailor my approach.’

  I took a breath and nodded, still afraid to trust my voice. I stared down at my hands in my lap. I didn’t want to look at him and see pity written all over his face.

  ‘Tell me a bit more about yourself.’

  ‘Well, I’m single. Until recently I lived at home with my mother and grandmother. For a long time I hardly left the house because of my gift but last year I helped with the Fleurieu serial killer case. I nearly died.’

  ‘I remember that case. You were the psychic?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘The killer attacked you?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘That must have been very traumatic. Do you think you might be suffering some residual anxiety from that experience?’

  ‘Maybe. It was horrible, but it made me realise that life is short. It’s part of the reason I decided to move to Adelaide – a fresh start and everything.’

  ‘Moving away might seem like a solution. So are you afraid of having visions?’

  ‘No, not really. Not anymore. I mean, I don’t like them and I’d prefer not to have them but I’ve accepted that they’re part of who I am.’

  ‘So how have you been feeling about the move? Is that a source of stress for you?’

  ‘I guess it is. I’ve never lived out of home before. I’m really close to my mum and Gran and it’s strange being on my own. Jewel Bay seems so far away.’

  ‘You miss them?’

  ‘I do, and I’m anxious that something might happen and I won’t be there for them.’

  ‘Realising that your parents and grandparents are vulnerable and assuming a caring role for them is part of maturing. It’s normal. It’s also hard sometimes to accept that they can manage without you, especially when you’ve cohabited well into your adult life.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘So is anything else bothering you?’

  ‘I think I made a bad decision with the job I’ve taken at the university. I’m not cut out to be a teacher …’

  Dr Metzger nodded and settled back into his chair. I kept talking. I was starting to feel better already.

  CHAPTER

  34

  After the session with Dr Metzger I headed home. I had a follow-up appointment in a week’s time and a card with an emergency number for him stashed in my wallet just in case.

  I wandered around my apartment going over what Metzger had told me. He’d given me some exercises to practise if I felt a panic attack coming on. He seemed to know his stuff. I still wasn’t sure he believed in my ability but at the end of the day he was there to help me with anxiety. His beliefs about paranormal phenomena didn’t really come into it.

  A few laps of the lounge room and several mental reruns of the Q&A with Dr Metzger helped to burn off the last vestige of my anxiety. My stomach grumbled sending me into the kitchen in search of food. I spent half an hour making myself a meal out of the contents of my fridge; all courtesy of Mum. The end result was a creamy pasta sauce with asparagus and mushrooms that tasted surprisingly good.

  The carbs and cream worked their magic and by 8pm I was semi-comatose on the couch wat
ching contestants on a cooking show sweat blood over some ridiculously complicated dessert that no mere mortal could ever hope to make.

  The tiny part of my mind that was still working replayed the conversation I’d had with Dr Metzger one more time. The thing that was bothering me was what I’d told him about Mum and Gran. I hadn’t even realised that I was so worried about something happening to them until I’d put the feeling into words.

  With a groan I levered myself up and grabbed my phone. It was time I checked in with them anyway. I hadn’t heard from either of them since Mum had left to head home. The silence was starting to get pointed. I knew what was going on: Mum was determined not to fuss over me. When she was staying with me I’d accused her of fussing too much. She’d brushed it off at the time but clearly I’d hit a sore spot.

  I dialled and waited for one of them to pick up. It kept ringing until their message bank kicked in. I left a message and hung up, frowning. It was 8.30pm on a Wednesday, at least one of them should have been home. Still, it wasn’t unheard of. Mum was probably doing a reading for a client and Gran could be out and about visiting one of her friends. Just because I didn’t have a life didn’t mean they had to sit around waiting for me to call.

  I sat back and tried to watch more television but my mind kept wandering to the events of the last few days.

  The phone trilled. My eyes flew open and I sat up with my heart pounding. I’d drifted off to sleep without realising it. I looked at the clock; it was 8.47pm. It would be Mum or Gran calling back.

  ‘And where have you been?’ I said as I answered the phone.

  ‘Oh, hi. Um, I’ve been here at home marking assignments.’

  I could hear the smile in Claire’s voice.

  ‘Do you always answer the phone like that?’

  I laughed. ‘Hi Claire, sorry, I thought it was Mum.’

  ‘Well it’s just me. I’ve been sitting here for the last hour trying to mark these bloody assignments and I can’t seem to get anywhere with them. I wondered if you fancied a nightcap at the Earl of Leicester? I can walk there if you want to drive? It’s one street over from where I live.’

  ‘I dunno, Claire. I’m looking like a bit of a slob.’ I glanced down at my faded tracksuit pants and fluffy pink ugg boots.

  ‘Throw on some jeans and a jumper. No one’s going to care if you’re not all dolled up.’

  I thought about it. If I stayed where I was I’d be asleep again within fifteen minutes. It wouldn’t hurt to head out for an hour or so.

  ‘Why not? Do you want me to pick you up? Is it safe for you to walk?’

  ‘I’ll get Mike to walk me and you can drop me home afterwards.’

  I launched myself off the couch and into the bathroom. I washed my face, and threw on a token lick of lipstick and a bit of mascara. The black polo-necked jumper I was wearing was moderately presentable so I left that on and went into the bedroom to change into jeans and leather boots. I studied myself in my cheval mirror. With a sigh of frustration I tugged my hair back into a ponytail. Some days I would have given my eyeteeth for straight hair that always fell into place. The ponytail improved things. I grabbed my keys and coat and made for the door.

  Ten minutes later and thanks to the godsend that was my GPS, I walked into the Earl of Leicester. It was a pub that’d been renovated to appeal to a younger, hipper clientele. Warm wooden floorboards and a matching bar gave a hint of olde-worlde charm. An impressive collection of local and imported beers was on offer. I studied the Latin phase emblazoned above the bar, wondering what it meant before I looked around, searching for Claire. I spotted her sitting on a stool at a corner table talking to a tall blonde man who had his back to me. I waved and walked up to them.

  ‘It means liar, liar pants on fire,’ Claire said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The words above the bar. Cass, this is my brother Michael. Michael, this is Cass.’

  He stood up and turned around. He was a big guy, well over six feet tall and solid. He was good-looking but there was a hint of arrogance in his bearing that was an instant turn-off for me. I smiled awkwardly and held out my hand.

  ‘Hello, Michael.’

  He frowned and looked down at my hand. I started to feel awkward, holding it out. Eventually he gave my hand the briefest shake. I got the distinct impression that it was the last thing he wanted to do. Was physical contact a problem for him? Maybe I shouldn’t have forced the issue. I made a mental note to ask Claire about it.

  Michael stepped away from me like I had something nasty and contagious.

  ‘I have to go. Don’t be late,’ he said to Claire before striding towards the door and stepping out into the night.

  ‘I don’t think I made a very good first impression,’ I said, feeling rejected.

  ‘He’s not very good with strangers, plus he doesn’t really approve of what you do. He’s still hooked on all the fundamentalist crap that our father used to spout. He thinks you’re in league with the devil.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘I wish.’

  ‘No wonder he didn’t want to shake my hand.’

  ‘Cass, don’t worry about him when he’s being ridiculous. Now, more importantly, what do you want to drink? I’ll get the first round.’

  ‘What are you having?’

  ‘I reckon I’ll have a Baileys on ice.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  She headed off to the bar for our drinks and I sat stewing on what she’d said about Michael. I couldn’t help taking it to heart.

  Claire came back with our drinks and noticed my mood. ‘Oh, don’t look like that! Michael can be a real dick. I’ll keep him away from you in future.’

  I tried to smile.

  ‘If you hadn’t been busy worrying about my idiot brother you could have spent your time more productively. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed the two guys at the end of the bar?’

  I looked around. Two sets of eyes were trained in our direction. The men were probably mid-thirties, dressed in jeans and polo shirts. One was lean and dark, the other one had light brown hair and a heavier build. The brown-haired one waved.

  I looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘What did you say to them, Claire?’

  ‘I told them I was coming back with your drink but that we’d come over to join them in a minute.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘I did, and I call dibs on the dark-haired one, he’s much more my type.’

  Two and a half hours later we left the pub after being kicked out by the barman closing up for the night.

  ‘Can I take you out for lunch one day next week?’ Chris, the dark-haired one asked me.

  I felt myself blush. He’d taken more of a fancy to me than Claire despite her best efforts. I’d done my bit, steadfastly trying to steer him in her direction until she’d dragged me off to the toilet and told me to give it a rest and enjoy his attention.

  I smiled at him, feeling my heart flip-flop in pleasure. Thoughts of Ed intruded on the moment, making me hesitate. Ed was complicated. The idea of a lunch with a good-looking guy without baggage sounded wonderful.

  ‘Don’t think too hard about it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m starting to feel like a loser.’

  ‘Lunch would be nice,’ I said.

  ‘Great!’ He stood, waiting.

  I looked at him blankly.

  ‘I might need to ring you?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ My blush spread all the way down my neck. I was glad it was dark. He pulled out his mobile and I rattled off my number. He bent down and brushed his lips against mine before heading off to catch up with his mate. I raised my hand to my mouth. It had been the merest whisper of a kiss but my lips tingled and I temporarily forgot how to breathe.

  I finally looked around for Claire. She was over near their car saying goodbye to Chris’s friend in a much more demonstrative fashion. She wandered back to join me with a big smile on her face.

  ‘I can’t believe you were snogging him!’ I laughe
d as we climbed into my car.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t snog Chris,’ she shot back.

  I decided not to mention the almost-kiss. ‘We’re going to have lunch next week.’

  Claire sighed. ‘You’re such a lady.’

  ‘You mean I’m a prude,’ I said.

  ‘I think you’re a bit shy and old-fashioned, and there’s nothing wrong with that.’

  Her words made me feel better. I drove the two minutes to her house and dropped her off before heading for home. I’d only had two drinks the whole night but it had been fun. The conversation and attention from an eligible male that wasn’t Ed had made me feel good about myself. I turned up the radio and belted out the song at the top of my lungs.

  By the time I got home I was feeling tired but elated. Life was suddenly looking a lot less grim. Maybe I didn’t really need a shrink. Maybe all I needed was a decent social life.

  I parked the car and climbed out still singing. I did a cursory scan of the parking area. There was no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows. I walked the short distance to my apartment. Halfway there I noticed something on my doorstep. It looked like a bag. My heart started to beat faster. I walked up to it. The sensor light came on and I could see that it was a lime-green sports bag.

  My senses were on full alert. I looked around again. There was still no sign of anyone. I tried my screen door. It was securely locked. What should I do? I was torn between opening the bag and just leaving it and calling Ed. It could be anything. What if it was a bomb?

  I gave myself a shake. I was being ridiculous. Bombs were made by terrorists. No terrorist was going to waste a good bomb on me. It was probably something meant for one of my neighbours that someone had left on my doorstep by mistake. I gritted my teeth and reached down. Hardly breathing, I slowly unzipped the bag. Just as I got it open the sensor light switched off again, plunging me into sudden and total blindness. I waved my arms around, making it light up again. Holding my breath I gingerly prised open the bag.

  My stomach lurched. Bile flooded my mouth and I fell to my knees, vomiting onto the tiles of my veranda. Tears filled my eyes.