Алекс Михаэлидес - The Silent Patient

“Oh, yes?” Yuri gave me an odd look. “But—I thought the therapy was discontinued?”

“It was. I need to have a private conversation with her, that’s all.”

“Right, I see.” Yuri looked doubtful. “Well, the therapy room is occupied—Indira is seeing patients there for the rest of the afternoon.” He thought for a second. “The art room is free, if you don’t mind meeting there? It’ll have to be quick, though.”

He didn’t elaborate but I knew what he meant—we had to be fast, so no one noticed and reported us to Stephanie. I was grateful Yuri was on my side; he was obviously a good man. I felt guilty for having misjudged him when we first met.

“Thanks. I appreciate this.”

Yuri grinned at me. “I’ll have her there in ten minutes.”

* * *

Yuri was as good as his word. Ten minutes later, Alicia and I were in the art room, sitting opposite each other, across the paint-splattered work surface.

I perched on a rickety stool, feeling precarious. Alicia looked perfectly poised as she sat down—as if she were posing for a portrait, or about to paint one.

“Thank you for this.” I took out her diary and placed it in front of me. “For allowing me to read it. It means a great deal to me that you entrusted me with something so personal.”

I smiled, only to be met by a blank expression. Alicia’s features were hard and unyielding. I wondered if she regretted giving me the diary. Perhaps she felt a sense of shame at having exposed herself so completely?

I left a pause, then went on, “The diary ends abruptly, on a cliff-hanger.” I flicked through the journal’s remaining empty pages. “It’s a little like our therapy together—incomplete, unfinished.”

Alicia didn’t speak. She just stared. I don’t know what I’d expected, but not this. I’d assumed giving me the diary signaled a change of some kind, representing an invitation, an opening, an entry point, yet here I was, back at square one, faced with an impenetrable wall.

“You know, I hoped that having spoken to me indirectly—through these pages—that you might go one step further and speak to me in person.”

No response.

“I think you gave this to me because you wanted to communicate with me. And you did communicate. Reading this told me a great deal about you—how lonely you were, how isolated, how afraid—that your situation was a lot more complicated than I had previously appreciated. Your relationship with Dr. West, for instance.”

I glanced at her as I said Christian’s name. I hoped for some kind of reaction, a narrowing of the eyes, a clenched jaw—something, anything—but there was nothing, not even a blink.

“I had no idea you knew Christian West before you were admitted to the Grove. You saw him privately for several years. You obviously recognized him when he first came to work here—a few months after your arrival. It must have been confusing when he didn’t acknowledge you. And probably quite upsetting, I imagine?”

I asked it as a question, but there was no reply. Christian seemed of little interest to her. Alicia looked away, bored, disappointed—as if I had missed some opportunity, gone down the wrong track. She had been expecting something from me, something I had failed to deliver.

Well, I wasn’t done yet.

“There’s something else. The diary raises certain questions—questions that need answering. Certain things don’t make sense, don’t fit with information I have from other sources. Now that you’ve allowed me to read it, I feel obliged to investigate further. I hope you understand that.”

I gave Alicia back the diary. She took it and rested her fingers on it. We stared at each other for a moment.

“I’m on your side, Alicia,” I said eventually. “You know that, don’t you?”

She didn’t say anything.

I took that as a yes.

CHAPTER FIVE

KATHY WAS GETTING CARELESS. It was inevitable, I suppose. Having gotten away with her infidelity for so long, she started getting lazy.

I returned home to find her about to go out.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, pulling on her trainers. “I won’t be long.”

“I could use some exercise. Fancy some company?”

“No, I need to practice my lines.”

“I can test you on them if you like.”

“No.” Kathy shook her head. “It’s easier on my own. I just keep reciting the speeches—the ones I can’t get my head around, you know, the ones in act two. I walk around the park, repeating them aloud. You should see the looks I get.”

I had to give it to her. Kathy said all of this with perfect sincerity, while maintaining constant eye contact. She was a remarkable actress.

My acting was also improving. I gave her a warm, open smile. “Have a nice walk.”

I followed her after she left the flat. I kept a careful distance, but she didn’t even look back once. As I said, she was getting careless.

She walked for about five minutes, to the entrance of the park. As she neared it, a man emerged from the shadows. He had his back to me and I couldn’t see his face. He had dark hair and was well built, taller than me. She went up to him and he pulled her close. They started kissing. Kathy devoured his kisses hungrily, surrendering herself to him. It was strange—to say the least—to see another man’s arms around her. His hands groped and fondled her breasts through her clothes.

I knew I should hide. I was exposed and in plain sight—if Kathy turned around, she’d be sure to see me. But I couldn’t move. I was transfixed, staring at a Medusa, turned to stone.

Eventually they stopped kissing and walked into the park, arm in arm. I followed. It was disorienting. From behind, from a distance, the man didn’t look dissimilar to me—for a few seconds I had a confused, out-of-body experience, convinced I was watching myself walking in the park with Kathy.

Kathy led the man toward a wooded area. He followed her into it and they vanished.

I felt a sick feeling of dread in my stomach. My breathing was thick, slow, heavy. Every part of my body was telling me to leave, go, run, run away. But I didn’t. I followed them into the woods.

I tried to make as little noise as possible, but twigs crunched under my feet, and branches clawed at me. I couldn’t see them anywhere—the trees grew so closely together that I could only see a few feet in front of me.

I stopped and listened. I heard a rustling in the trees, but it could have been the wind. Then I heard something unmistakable, a low-pitched guttural sound I recognized at once.

It was Kathy moaning.

I tried to get closer, but the branches caught me and held me suspended, like a fly in a web. I stood there in the dim light, breathing in the musty smell of bark and earth. I listened to Kathy moaning as he fucked her. He grunted like an animal.

I burned with hate. This man had come from nowhere and invaded my life. He had stolen and seduced and corrupted the one thing in the world that was precious to me. It was monstrous—supernatural. Perhaps he wasn’t human at all, but the instrument of some malevolent deity intent on punishing me. Was God punishing me? Why? What was I guilty of—except falling in love? Was it that I loved too deeply, too needily? Too much?

Did this man love her? I doubted it. Not the way I did. He was just using her; using her body. There was no way he cared for her as I did. I would have died for Kathy.

I would have killed for her.

I thought of my father—I knew what he’d do in this situation. He’d murder the guy. Be a man, I could hear my father shouting. Toughen up . Was that what I should do? Kill him? Dispose of him? It was a way out of this mess—a way to break the spell, release Kathy and set us free. Once she had grieved his loss, it would be over, he’d just be a memory, easily forgotten, and we could go on as before. I could do it now, here, in the park. I’d drag him into the pond, plunge his head underwater. I’d hold it there until his body convulsed and went limp in my arms. Or I could follow him home on the tube, stand right behind him on the platform, and—with a sharp shove—push him in the path of an oncoming train. Or creep up behind him on a deserted street, clutching a brick, and bash out his brains. Why not?