“That’d be great,” she said, leaning forward flirtatiously.
“It’s the least I can do, turning you away like this,” he said.
“Thanks so much.” She started down the hallway. “And I will see you tomorrow,” she said over her shoulder.
“Hope so,” the guard laughed back.
When she looked back and saw that he had turned away from her, she slipped into a stairwell and bolted up the stairs to the third floor, taking out the patient files as she went up.
The third floor was quiet. A nurse at the nurse’s station barely acknowledged Sarah as she walked quickly past, eyes buried in Eliza’s file. She quickly found room 302 and peeked in. Through the window in the door, she saw a young woman, pretty and frail, wearing white pajamas and watching television.
Sarah knocked lightly as she pushed the door open and walked in.
“Eliza?” she asked. “Eliza Thompson?”
The woman turned to look at her. “Yes,” she said slowly.
“I’m Sarah.” She didn’t know where to sit, so she just stood still and let the door close behind her. “I was wondering if I could talk to you. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Eliza shrugged. “I’m just watching the Housewives,” she said. “Seems to be the only show that makes me happy these days. Those bitches are crazier than I am.”
Sarah laughed in spite of herself. Eliza smiled, too.
“Are you really here?” Eliza asked, looking at the files in Sarah’s hand.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, I am delusional,” the small woman said, matter-offactly. “Or didn’t they tell you?”
Sarah smiled. “I’m really here,” she said.
“All right.” Eliza held her hands up. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I was hoping you could tell me about your therapist, Dr. Robin,” Sarah said.
It was like a switch had been flipped. Eliza’s face became dark.
“She ruined my life,” she said simply.
Sarah flinched. “Can you tell me how?”
“She fucked with my head,” Eliza said. “Damien and I were going to get me hospitalized early on, but she convinced us that she could help. She kept me in hypnotherapy sessions for months, convincing me that all this shit was in my head when it was really happening to me.”
Sarah’s blood ran cold. “Why was she doing that?” she asked.
“I was one of her guinea pigs. She experimented on me. She even used one of her other patients to lure me into a relationship so she could test me. Problem was, she didn’t count on me telling my husband the truth. And then I realized she was fucking her patient on top of all that,” Eliza said. “She should be the one in here, but of course, she is trying to tell everybody that I’m lying and it’s part of my delusion, but it isn’t.”
“What was the man’s name?” Sarah questioned.
“Who are you again?” Eliza demanded.
Sarah blinked. “I’m sorry, I’m a new doctor.”
“No you’re lying.”
Immediately it felt as though all the air in the room had gone out.
“It’s never been easy for me to know what’s real—I doubt myself all the time. Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m here. By the time I was onto what she was doing, I’d already done too much crazy shit for them to believe me,” Eliza said. “That’s when I ended up here. That’s the hardest part for me. That bitch won.”
Sarah took her hand. “She won’t keep winning,” she said. “I promise you that.”
Eliza looked at her uncertainly. “Who did you say you were?” she asked.
Suddenly, looking into Eliza’s eyes, she saw something she recognized. Eliza’s face wavered, her eyes drifting in mirage-like tears. As Sarah watched, they became the eyes of her mother, apologetic and hopeless.
“I’m sorry,” Eliza said. “I didn’t mean to leave you.”
Sarah felt a draft pass through the room. The hairs on her arms stood on end.
“What did you say?” she asked, shaken.
The vision faded, and it was Eliza she was speaking to.
Eliza leaned back, again on her guard. “I said be careful,” she repeated. She drew her hands up protectively, seeming to shrink into her chair. “I think you’d better leave.”
Sarah’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She glanced at a text message that came through. The message was from Frank: “Where are you? I just got a call from Dr. Robin looking for you. Call me.”
Panicked, Sarah thanked Eliza, then turned and dashed out of the room.
She walked as quickly down the hall as she could without running, so as not to draw attention to herself. The nurse at the station again ignored her, absorbed in her phone. She really had to get out of there before someone noticed her.
At the end of the hallway, she opened a door into a stairwell. The air around her seemed to be spinning. She saw strange colors and heard noises, both faraway and too close. She had to hold onto the banister to keep herself from falling.
She heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Sarah!”
She flew down the steps, two at a time, panting heavily. She heard a familiar voice behind her, “Sarah!” Risking a glance upward, she saw the security guard and Dr. Robin racing down the steps after her. What was she doing here?
She continued down, the footsteps closing in. She ran to the end of the stairwell and pushed through the basement door.
She had gone too far: she found herself in a large boiler room, hot and dank. From the center of the room she heard hissing and sputtering sounds, a dangerous snake waiting to strike. From behind her, she heard the footsteps descending the last few stairs.
She slid under an enormous metal casing and held as still as she could, her breathing heavy and her heart beating like a drum. The casing was hot against her coat; she felt she would faint if she had to remain here for long.
The door opened and shut several times. She heard shuffling back and forth in the room, panting breaths. Below the casing she saw the guard’s shoes run past then Dr. Robin’s boots. She held her breath and waited.
When the noises had receded deeper into the basement, she crawled out and slowly opened the door back out into the stairwell. No one was there. Sarah’s mind was reeling with all the information she had heard, she was spinning, she had to retain her grip on reality long enough to tell Eric all she had learned. She closed her eyes and started counting backward to herself.
She felt hands grab her bag and pull her back into a tight grip. She screamed and fought against the heavy arms holding her. A hand covered her mouth and she bit down hard. The man released her and she spun around to face him. It was Ben Turner, his eyes wide with fury.
“Get away from me!” she shouted, charging forward to knee him in the groin.
He fell back with a grunt against the steps. She went back down to the boiler room and picked up a length of pipe leaning against one wall. Ben followed but stopped when he saw the pipe.
“You need help,” he said, his voice mechanical. “I’m here, Sarah. I’ve only ever wanted to help you.”
She waved the pipe at him, horrified. His face was a blur—now Lawrence, now Eric. She blinked to clear her vision.
“Don’t come any closer,” she hissed.
“Don’t you remember how I made you feel?” his inhuman voice grating and raspy. “Don’t you want that again?”
His feet seemed to disappear into the shadow at the edges of her vision—and she understood. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t there.
She closed her eyes, willing him away. She thought of her children. They were real; she was real.
When she opened her eyes, Lawrence was gone. But she knew Dr. Robin was real and was still out there looking for her. She had to get out and home to Eric.
She quickly walked out to the stairwell, then up and out to the cool air of the evening.
CHAPTER 18
But inwardly, she lived a burning, passionate existen
ce. When alone on the grass beside the water, she would lie down flat on her stomach like an animal, her black eyes wide open, her body writhing, ready to spring.
THÉRÈSE RAQUIN
She found another cab home and fell asleep on the ride, exhausted and confused. On the ride, she dreamt of the winter Darcy turned six.
Eric had arranged a special ski vacation in Colorado, a “real winterland adventure,” he’d called it. None of them had wanted to go. He had planned the trip as a surprise for the family.
She had been furious with Eric. Darcy was a sensitive child with a delicate constitution; she was always coming down with colds, inexplicable leg pain, and stomachaches that kept her in bed for days. At the time, Darcy had just recovered from a series of coughing fits that had lasted for weeks. Her pediatrician had recommended vacations to warm, humid places.
Eric had grown up skiing and missed it terribly. He loved the mountain air and the vigorous exercise; he wanted the kids to love skiing and to be as good at it, too. “The tired legs, the achy muscles—you’ll sleep like logs,” he had promised them.
They landed in Colorado and drove up the windy road to Telluride. It was beautiful; the sharp-edged peaks surrounded them, high and clearly visible in the freezing sunshine. It had felt like they were entering a secret world, an ice-fairy paradise.
Within an hour, Sarah had come down with a splitting headache. Eric told her it was just the altitude. Her anger had only exacerbated the pain—but thinking of Darcy, she had swallowed her fury, refusing to burden the others with it. She’d felt dark smoke circling around her, tying her down; she’d gotten increasingly heavy and sad until all she could do was lie down on the hotel bed, curled up with her eyes turned toward the wall.
She skipped dinner that night, and her headache worsened. When Jason came to check on her, she hadn’t even had the energy to turn around and answer him. She stayed in bed the following day and the day after that.
The kids had gone excitedly to ski classes each morning, and in the end Darcy skied down the biggest slope, earning a medal from the ski school. She wanted to hug her daughter, swing her around in the air with pride. But her heaviness had only gotten worse, it kept her in bed for the entire week.
It made matters worse that she seemed to be the only one suffering.
Darkness had long since fallen by the time Sarah opened her front door.
The house, too, was dark. Eric was waiting for her in the foyer.
“Sarah,” he cried, reaching out to her.
She collapsed into his arms, bursting into tears. She smelled his familiar scent, felt his arms around her. He would protect her; he always had. How had she been so foolish as to doubt him?
“It was her,” she sobbed. “It was Dr. Robin.”
“What was?” Eric asked, still holding onto her tightly. “What has she done?”
“She used me,” she said. “I talked to another patient of hers.”
“Sarah, just—just calm down,” he said.
She pulled back from him.
“Are you hearing me? I found her. Her name is Eliza. She can tell you everything.” She pulled at her husband’s arm. “Eric, please—”
A voice came from the next room: “Enough, Sarah.”
Sarah turned abruptly. Dr. Robin was walking toward her, eyes shining.
An image flashed through Sarah’s mind, of the man at Coney Island, the man with the madness in his eyes. She backed away from Eric, feeling the blood draining from her face. How could he have betrayed her?
“Stay away from us,” she shouted at Dr. Robin. “You lied to me—it was you from the beginning!” She reached for her husband.
She gasped.
Eric was gone.
Only she and the doctor remained.
“Eric!” she screamed.
Dr. Robin stepped toward her, her voice calm.
“It was you, Sarah,” she said. “It was always you.”
“Eric—” Sarah sobbed, staring frantically around the room.
“Ben is my patient,” Dr. Robin continued. “You saw him in the waiting room and fixated on him as you did all the others. You believed you were in a relationship and followed him to the park.”
Sarah shut her eyes. She saw Lawrence, walking along the pathways of Central Park, oblivious to her following him.
“No,” she said, shaking the image from her mind. “No, you’re lying—”
“You know it’s true, Sarah,” the doctor said coldly. “You’ve done it before. Juliette—Hannah—it’s all part of your disorder, these jealous and obsessive thoughts.”
Sarah ran into the living room. “Eric—” she cried, looking for him in vain. Dr. Robin followed her.
“He’s not here,” she yelled. “You need to realize that he’s not here, Sarah!”
“What are you talking about?” Sarah shrieked, spinning around. “What have you done with him?”
Dr. Robin spoke slowly, as though she was reasoning with a child. “You know, Sarah,” she said. “Dig deep. I know you can.”
The darkness moved behind the therapist, and Sarah saw there was a man there. He stepped forward.
“We can help you,” Dr. Robin was saying. “But you have to come with us.”
Sarah backed away, her eyes fixed on the therapist. “And Eliza?” she said.
“What about her? She told me what happened. You did the same thing to her!”
“There is only one person you can trust, and that person is me. I’ve been trying to help you this whole time,” Dr. Robin said.
Sarah collapsed to the floor. Her head felt as though it would split apart. She put her hands to her temples.
“I have to be better,” she said. “Jason and Darcy. They need me.”
The man stepped closer, gripped Sarah’s wrist.
Sarah looked up at him.
It was Eric. He held her face gently in his hands.
“I love you, Sarah,” he said. “You have to let this go. You have to heal. Please. I need you to be okay.”
Sarah closed her eyes. The warmth of his love flowed over her and she felt the tears streaming down her face. She saw him in her mind, smiling; she remembered him motionless on the ground.
No. He was here with her.
She felt him take her hand, pulling her to her feet. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes.
Dr. Robin was standing in front of her. Someone else stood behind her, pinning her hands.
Eric?
“Come with us,” the doctor said and gently guided her toward the door.
Sarah struggled to look behind her. The man was taller than Eric, heavier. Where was her husband? What had she done?
“Eric!” she shrieked.
Then, in the shadows she saw him looking at her, his eyes pitying; the absent husband, the absent father. The man behind her shoved her forward, and she saw the shadow flicker, the image of her husband fading.
She remembered—yet this time the truth was stronger, and instead of him she saw herself, hovering over his body, crying desperately for him to come back. The late nights, the absent mornings, the strange comments from her children, the pitying glances of strangers and friends—it had been right in front of her, all along.
Her husband was gone.
Eric was dead.
CHAPTER 19
Hatred was forced to come. They had loved like brutes, with hot passion, entirely sanguineous. Then, amidst the enervation of their crime, their love had turned to fright, and their kisses had produced a sort of physical terror. At present, amid the suffering which marriage, which life in common imposed on them, they revolted and flew into anger.
THÉRÈSE RAQUIN
She sat in the backseat of a car. Through her swollen eyes, raw from tears, she saw darkness outside, lights flashing past quickly.
She had let the doctor lead her, her thoughts chaotic and confused. Where were they taking her? Did it matter? Perhaps it would be better simply to drift off, to invite better dreams to replace her consc
iousness; perhaps, if she slept deeply enough, she would never wake again.
Her husband had been gone for six months. It all came to back to her in waves. Sitting at the table with the kids, Eric hadn’t been there. She realized Manuel hadn’t given Eric an umbrella when it was raining because he hadn’t been there. And had everyone else noticed that she was talking to herself at the party because Eric hadn’t been beside her? It was all too unimaginable to accept, but, then again, Sarah couldn’t grasp what was real or not anymore.
Maybe the only person she could trust was Dr. Robin.
There was a new sound in the car: a voice speaking to her through the car speakers. Or was it the radio? Sarah looked around; Dr. Robin was in the front passenger seat, not looking back at her.
“I can’t go back to that day,” the voice said—a stranger’s voice, metallic and heavy.
“You have to, Sarah,” another voice answered through the speakers. It was Dr. Robin’s voice: persistent, forcefully calm. Yet the doctor hadn’t moved.
“How can I?” the first voice pleaded; and in an instant, Sarah knew that it was her own voice she was hearing.
“I just want to forget,” the voice was saying, quieter now. “But I can’t.”
The car had stopped. Outside it was pitch black now. The back door opened, and Sarah was led from the car. An icy wind blew through the trees, chilling her.
The man moved away into the dark as Dr. Robin pulled Sarah’s jacket around her and escorted her down a gravel path. Sarah saw the remains of violets lining the path, soft as velvet still—the herb of the trinity, symbol of true love—and knew where they had brought her. This path was hers; she’d planted those violets. The country house. She also noticed yellow tape surrounding their family tree.
“It is still a police scene, and they will be back in the morning. We don’t have a lot of time for you to remember everything. I think it’s important that you remember,” she heard the therapist say, her voice a tired mother’s as she unlocked and pushed open the front door. They entered, her feet dragging beneath her like a sleepwalker’s.
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