Have You Seen Me?(55)

I glance at my watch. There are only a few minutes left to the session, but we still have so much ground to cover.

“Yes, there’s something else that might be important. He figured out that the blood on the tissues—the ones that were in my coat pocket—was a different type than mine. So it’s not from one of my nosebleeds or anything.”

This time it’s Erling who looks off, thinking.

“What do you suppose that means?” she asks, returning her gaze.

“I keep coming back to the idea that I might have witnessed something bad on Tuesday. That I saw someone get hurt or attacked, and I tried to help them, and that’s what made me disassociate, not the fight with Hugh. And that would explain why I needed to borrow a phone.”

“Borrow a phone?”

“Oh, gosh, sorry, I never got to that part the last time.” The sessions are shorter than I wish they were and so much seems to be happening in between. “Remember how I told you I’d called the desk manager at WorkSpace, trying to find someone who knew when our appointment was? I apparently told him I was using someone else’s phone. And so I think I lost mine somehow when this bad thing happened.”

As I’m talking, I feel a trickle of sweat roll down the back of my neck and realize I’ve started to hyperventilate.

“I just wish I could figure it out,” I add. “And that things were better with Hugh, and that I could share some of this with my dad. To make everything worse, my friend Gabby has gone MIA on me. It’s like—”

“Ally,” Erling interrupts, leaning forward. “I want you to take a couple of deep breaths right now. Would you like me to go through the process again?”

“No, I remember . . .”

I do as she says, inhaling, holding, letting each breath out slowly. It definitely calms me down a little.

“Good,” Erling says, reading my expression. “I know it’s important for you to figure out the truth, Ally, but I’d like you to consider taking the rest of the day to relax. You mentioned once how much you enjoy going to the café near your home. Take some time alone there before dinner, have a cup of tea, bring a book with you if you want.”

“Right. I can do that.” Of course, I’m behind on my own book and the column, too, but those will have to wait.

“I also want you to put a temporary halt on any data gathering. I know information seems extremely valuable right now, but it’s clearly distressing you, and I’m afraid it might trigger another dissociative state. For the time being, I think you should stay offline.”

“Okay,” I say, silently swearing that this time I mean it. “I just wish it wasn’t so long until my next appointment.”

“Unfortunately, I’m fully booked tomorrow, but what if we plan to speak on Saturday? I don’t have office hours on weekends, but I could do a session with you over the phone or via Skype? Do you use Skype?”

“Yes, of course,” I tell her. “I’d really like to talk this weekend.” It’s a relief to know I won’t have to wait until Monday.

“Let’s say two P.M. Email me your Skype handle when you have a moment.”

She rises, signaling the session is over.

“Thanks,” I say, rising, too. “Then I only have to get through tomorrow.”

“One last thing, Ally,” she says as we walk toward the door. “You asked what you should do if the police in Millerstown want to see you again. If that happens, I think it’s important that you take an attorney with you.”

My heart lunges forward. “You think I need an attorney?”

“Simply as a safeguard, Ally. You don’t want to say anything you don’t mean to. We can talk about that more on Saturday.”

She walks me to the waiting room, says good-bye, and closes the door behind me. The next patient isn’t here yet and I have the space to myself. I lean against one of the walls, trying to catch my breath.

It will be all right, I promise myself. It’s going to get better. I’m going to get better.

But I don’t know if I really believe that.





22


I grab a cab home and as I’m turning my phone off silent, it rings in my hands. Gabby.

“I’d nearly given you up for dead,” I say. I don’t mean for it to come out bitchily, but I notice my frustration over not hearing from her leak into my voice.

“Well, I practically am,” she says, her voice froggy.

“Hey, what’s the matter?”

“I came down with the worst fucking cold. I think I must have picked it up from this guy who was in my row on the plane, hacking his brains out.”

“Oh gosh, that’s terrible, Gab.” I now feel more than a twinge of guilt for being dismayed by her radio silence. “Can I do anything?”

“No, no, I’m just sorry to be out of touch. I wanted to call you, but I haven’t been able to lift my head off the pillow.”

“Have you checked in with your doctor?”

“Yeah, and she said it’s probably viral so antibiotics won’t help. What’s happening with you? Tell me.”

“Still trying to figure things out,” I say, lowering my voice. “I hired a private eye, like you suggested—an ex-cop named Mulroney—and he’s turned up some interesting stuff.”