Алекс Михаэлидес - The Silent Patient

“Here.” She gave it to me. “You need this.”

She was right—I needed it. I knocked it back and felt a kick from it. Now it was my turn to listen, while Barbie talked. She didn’t want to scare me, she said, but it didn’t sound good. “I’ve seen this on like a million TV shows. He’s studying your house, okay? Before he makes his move.”

“You think he’s a burglar?”

Barbie shrugged. “Or a rapist. Does that matter? It’s bad news, whatever it is.”

I laughed. I felt relieved and grateful that someone was taking me seriously—even if it was just Barbie. I showed her the photo on my phone, but she wasn’t impressed.

“Text it to me so I can look at it with my glasses on. It looks like a blurry smudge to me. Tell me. Have you mentioned this to your husband yet?”

I decided to lie. “No. Not yet.”

Barbie gave me a funny look. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I worry Gabriel might think I’m exaggerating—or imagining it.”

“Are you imagining it?”

“No.”

Barbie looked pleased. “If Gabriel doesn’t take you seriously, we’ll go to the police together. You and me. I can be very persuasive, believe me.”

“Thanks, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“It’s already necessary. Take this seriously, honey. Promise me you’ll tell Gabriel when he gets home?”

I nodded. But I had already decided not to say anything further to Gabriel. There was nothing to tell. I have no proof the man was following me or watching me. Barbie was right, the photo proves nothing.

It was all in my imagination—that’s what Gabriel will say. Best not to say anything to him at all and risk upsetting him again. I don’t want to bother him.

I’m going to forget all about it.

4:00 A.M.

It’s been a bad night.

Gabriel came home, exhausted, at about ten. He’d had a long day and wanted to go to bed early. I tried to sleep too, but I couldn’t.

Then a couple of hours ago, I heard a noise. It was coming from the garden. I got up and went to the back window. I looked out—I couldn’t see anyone, but I felt someone’s eyes on me. Someone was watching me from the shadows.

I managed to pull myself away from the window and ran to the bedroom. I shook Gabriel awake.

“The man is outside,” I said, “he’s outside the house.”

Gabriel didn’t know what I was talking about. When he understood, he started to get angry. “For Christ’s sake. Give it a rest. I’ve got to be at work in three hours. I don’t want to play this fucking game.”

“It’s not a game. Come and look. Please.”

So we went to the window—

And of course, the man wasn’t there. There was no one there.

I wanted Gabriel to go outside, to check, but he wouldn’t. He went back upstairs, annoyed. I tried reasoning with him, but he said he wasn’t talking to me and went to sleep in the spare room.

I didn’t go back to bed. I’ve been sitting here since then, waiting, listening, alert to any sound, checking the windows. No sign of him so far.

Only a couple more hours to go. It will be light soon.

AUGUST 15

Gabriel came downstairs ready to go to the shoot. When he saw me by the window and realized I’d been up all night, he went quiet and started acting strange.

“Alicia, sit down. We need to talk.”

“Yes. We do need to talk. About the fact that you don’t believe me.”

“I believe that you believe it.”

“That’s not the same thing. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“I never said you were an idiot.”

“Then what are you saying?”

I thought we were about to get into a fight, so I was taken aback by what Gabriel said. He spoke in a whisper. I could barely hear him. He said:

“I want you to talk to someone. Please.”

“What do you mean? A policeman?”

“No,” Gabriel said, looking angry again. “Not a policeman.”

I understood what he meant, what he was saying. But I needed to hear him say it. I wanted him to spell it out. “Then who?”

“A doctor.”

“I’m not seeing a doctor, Gabriel—”

“I need you to do this for me. You need to meet me halfway.” He said it again: “I need you to meet me halfway.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Halfway where? I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not here!”

He looked so tired, so upset. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to comfort him. “It’s okay, darling,” I said. “It’s going to be okay, you’ll see.”

Gabriel shook his head, like he didn’t believe me. “I’m going to make an appointment with Dr. West. As soon as he can see you. Today if possible.” He hesitated and looked at me. “Okay?”

Gabriel held out his hand for mine—I wanted to slap it away or scratch it. I wanted to bite him or hit him, or throw over the table and scream, “You think I’m fucking crazy but I’m not crazy! I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!”

But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead I nodded and took Gabriel’s hand, and held it.

“Okay, darling,” I said. “Whatever you want.”

AUGUST 16

I went to see Dr. West today. Unwillingly, but I went.

I hate him, I’ve decided. I hate him and his narrow house, and sitting in that weird, small room upstairs, hearing his dog barking in the living room. It never stopped barking, the whole time I was there. I wanted to shout at it to shut up, and I kept thinking Dr. West would say something about it, but he acted like he couldn’t hear it. Maybe he couldn’t. He didn’t seem to hear anything I was saying either. I told him what happened. I told him about the man watching the house, and how I had seen him following me into the park. I said all of this, but he didn’t respond. He just sat there with that thin smile of his. He looked at me like I was an insect or something. I know he’s supposedly a friend of Gabriel’s, but I don’t see how they ever could have been friends. Gabriel is so warm, and Dr. West is the opposite of warm. It’s a strange thing to say about a doctor, but he has no kindness.

After I finished telling him about the man, he didn’t speak for ages. The silence seemed to last forever. The only sound was that dog downstairs. I started to mentally tune in to the barking and go into a kind of trance. It took me by surprise when Dr. West actually spoke.

“We’ve been here before, Alicia, haven’t we?”

I looked at him blankly. I wasn’t sure what he meant. “Have we?”

He nodded. “Yes. We have.”

“I know you think I’m imagining this. I’m not imagining it. It’s real.”

“That’s what you said last time. Remember last time? Do you remember what happened?”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I just sat there, glaring at him, like a disobedient child.

Dr. West didn’t wait for an answer. He kept talking, reminding me what happened after my father died, about the breakdown I suffered, the paranoid accusations that I made—the belief I was being watched, being followed, and spied upon. “So, you see, we’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“But that was different. It was just a feeling. I never actually saw someone. This time I saw someone.”