Алекс Михаэлидес - The Silent Patient

Max.

Of course it’s Max. It has to be Max. He’s trying to drive me crazy.

I’m dreading it, but I must work up the courage somehow. I’m going to do it tonight.

I’m going to confront him.

AUGUST 24

It felt strange and a little frightening to go out last night, after so long inside the house.

The outside world felt huge—an empty space around me, the big sky above. I felt very small and held on to Gabriel’s arm for support.

Even though we went to our old favorite, Augusto’s, I didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel comforting or familiar like it used to. The restaurant seemed different somehow. And it smelled different—it smelled of something burning. I asked Gabriel if something was on fire in the kitchen, but he said he couldn’t smell anything, that I was imagining it.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “Just calm down.”

“I am calm. Don’t I seem calm?”

Gabriel didn’t respond. He just clenched his jaw, the way he does when he’s annoyed. We sat down and waited for Max in silence.

Max brought his receptionist to dinner. Tanya, she’s called. Apparently they’ve started dating. Max was acting like he was smitten with her, his hands all over her, touching her, kissing her—and all the time he kept staring at me. Did he think he was going to make me jealous? He’s horrible. He makes me sick.

Tanya noticed something was up—she caught Max staring at me a couple of times. I should warn her about him really. Tell her what she’s getting into. Maybe I will, but not right now. I’ve got other priorities at the moment.

Max said he was going to the bathroom. I waited a moment and I then seized my chance. I said I needed the bathroom too. I left the table and followed him.

I caught up with Max around the corner and grabbed hold of his arm. I gripped it hard.

“Stop it,” I said. “Stop it!”

Max looked bemused. “Stop what?”

“You’re spying on me, Max. You’re watching me. I know you are.”

“What? I have no idea what you are talking about, Alicia.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I was finding it hard to control my voice. I wanted to scream. “I’ve seen you, okay? I took a photo. I took a picture of you!”

Max laughed. “What are you talking about? Let go of me, you crazy bitch.”

I slapped his face. Hard.

And then I turned and saw Tanya standing there. She looked like she was the one who’d been slapped.

Tanya looked from Max to me but didn’t say anything. She walked out of the restaurant.

Max glared at me, and before he followed her, he hissed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not fucking watching you. Now, get out of my way.”

The way he said it, with such anger, such contempt, I could tell Max was speaking the truth. I believed him. I didn’t want to believe him—but I did.

But if it’s not Max … who is it?

AUGUST 25

I just heard something. A noise outside. I checked the window. And I saw someone, moving in the shadows—

It’s the man. He’s outside.

I phoned Gabriel but he didn’t pick up. Should I call the police? I don’t know what to do. My hand is shaking so much I can barely—

I can hear him—downstairs—he’s trying the windows, and the doors. He’s trying to get in.

I need to get out of here. I need to escape.

Oh my God—I can hear him—

He’s inside.

He’s inside the house.

PART FOUR

The aim of therapy is not to correct the past, but to enable the patient to confront his own history, and to grieve over it.

—ALICE MILLER

CHAPTER ONE

I CLOSED ALICIA’S DIARY and placed it on my desk.

I sat there, not moving, listening to the rain pelting outside the window. I tried to make sense of what I had just read. There was obviously a great deal more to Alicia Berenson than I had supposed. She had been like a closed book to me; now that book was open and its contents had taken me altogether by surprise.

I had a lot of questions. Alicia suspected she was being watched. Did she ever discover the man’s identity? Did she tell anyone? I needed to find out. As far as I knew, she only confided in three people—Gabriel, Barbie, and this mysterious Dr. West. Did she stop there, or did she tell anyone else? Another question. Why did the diary end so abruptly? Was there more, written elsewhere? Another notebook, which she didn’t give to me? And I wondered about Alicia’s purpose in giving me the journal to read. She was communicating something, certainly—and it was a communication of almost shocking intimacy. Was it a gesture of good faith—showing how much she trusted me? Or something more sinister?

There was something else; something I needed to check. Dr. West—the doctor who had treated Alicia. An important character witness, with vital information on her state of mind at the time of the murder. Yet Dr. West hadn’t testified at Alicia’s trial. Why not? No mention was made of him at all. Until I saw his name in her diary, it was as if he didn’t exist. How much did he know? Why had he not come forward?

Dr. West.

It couldn’t be the same man. It had to be a coincidence, surely. I needed to find out.

I put the diary in my desk drawer, locking it. Then, almost immediately, I changed my mind. I unlocked the drawer and took out the diary. Better keep it on me—safer not to let it out of my sight. I slipped it into the pocket of my coat and slung it over my arm.

I left my office. I went downstairs and walked along the corridor until I reached a door at the end.

I stood there for a moment, looking at it. A name was inscribed on a small sign on the door: DR. C. WEST.

I didn’t bother to knock. I opened the door and went inside.

CHAPTER TWO

CHRISTIAN WAS SITTING BEHIND HIS DESK, eating takeaway sushi with chopsticks. He looked up and frowned.

“Don’t you know how to knock?”

“I need a word.”

“Not now, I’m in the middle of lunch.”

“This won’t take long. Just a quick question. Did you ever treat Alicia Berenson?”

Christian swallowed a mouthful of rice and gave me a blank look. “What do you mean? You know I do. I’m in charge of her care team.”

“I don’t mean here—I mean before she was admitted to the Grove.”

I watched Christian closely. His expression told me all I needed to know. His face went red and he lowered the chopsticks.

“What are you talking about?”

I took out Alicia’s diary from my pocket and held it up.

“You might be interested in this. It’s Alicia’s journal. It was written in the months leading up to the murder. I’ve read it.”

Christian looked surprised and a little alarmed. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“Alicia gave it to me. I’ve read it.”

“What’s it got to do with me?”

“She mentions you in it.”

“Me?”

“Apparently you were seeing her privately before she was admitted to the Grove. I wasn’t aware of that.”

“I—don’t understand. There must be some mistake.”

“I don’t think so. You saw her as a private patient over several years. And yet you didn’t come forward to testify at the trial—despite the importance of your evidence. Nor did you admit you already knew Alicia when you started working here. Presumably she recognized you straightaway—it’s lucky for you she’s silent.”

I said this drily, but I was intensely angry. Now I understood why Christian was so against my trying to get Alicia to talk. It was in his every interest to keep her quiet.