Like a Pill
Heather sat on Dr. Angel’s couch, holding the pillow and looking expectantly at her psychiatrist. He was the only person who understood her, who knew her as much as she knew herself. The small office was her safe haven and she waited for the words that turned on her invisible safety valve. They were the seven words that gave her permission to explore her soul and until she heard them, she wouldn’t begin.
“Where would you like to start today?” he asked.
She smiled. Heather knew it wasn’t healthy that she idealized him so much but she couldn’t help it. He read her like a book and she desperately needed a good reader to get her through the blind spots. She only wished he allowed for the possibility of the unexplainable at times. She wanted him to travel with her to places where reason didn’t exist and only faith would guide the way. She knew he was capable of it because of his religious beliefs but couldn’t understand why he didn’t allow her to have it as well.
She figured she may as well just get to it. Her main objective was to share with her doctor that she believed her random attacks were all related. She would somehow work up to telling him her attacker had been the same man every time. The risk was high because the confession spoke to her instability on many levels. It said she not only believed in time travel but also that she was the target of a supernatural enemy. It wasn’t a confession she could take back or brush off by saying she was just kidding.
She glanced around nervously and looked for cameras or tape recorders. In case he decided to finally call in for back-up, Heather wanted to make sure he couldn’t prove her words. Although she trusted Dr. Angel more than she had ever trusted anyone, she never forgot who he was. He was her doctor and was still mandated to follow a certain protocol when dealing with crazy people.
“Okay,” she began. “Try to stay with me cause it’s gonna sound weird,” she said pensively. She was quiet as she waited for the affirmation that he wouldn’t abandon her either mentally, physically, or spiritually.
“I’m listening,” he said.
“All right, it’s like the attacks are becoming more memorable instead of fading away,” Heather began. She left out the part about being stalked by a guy who disappears into thin air and is obsessed with the time.
“What’s clearer about them now than before?” he asked.
“Well, the attacker for one,” she answered. “His face used to be blurry.”
“And it’s not any more?”
She shook her head slowly and peeked out at him from behind a curtain of hair.
“I don’t want to say it,” she replied quickly.
“What’s stopping you?”
“My need for you to believe I’m sane,” she said.
“Or maybe the need for you to believe you’re sane?” he ventured.
“I don’t know,” Heather said warily. “I’m sure you’ll find a logical explanation for it. You’ll probably say that my memories are convoluted or that I’m unknowingly applying the same face to each attacker.”
She knew what was going through his mind as the words came out of her mouth. He believed she was transferring all of her thoughts and feelings onto him and that it was she who feared finding the logical explanation. He would try to convince her she needed to make it bigger than it really was because she lacked something else and if he were successful, she would have to accept the worst case scenario. She would have to believe that nothing supernatural was happening and that she was just suffering from paranoid delusions.
He sat back in his chair, his combination of frown and grin throwing her off.
“You’ve already decided what my response will be but you haven’t even told me what’s going on,” he shared, amused.
Heather searched for the right words. She was afraid of his response on two entirely different levels. If he disbelieved her, she knew it would mean he didn’t trust her and that he never had. Even worse, his disbelief in her would prove his inability to believe in anything bigger than them. She didn’t want to face the issues that would arise if either came to light.
“You remember the time lapses between the attacks, right?” she asked him.
“Well,,” he leaned forward. “If memory serves me correctly, there was the break in at twelve, the attempted kidnapping at seventeen, and the mugging just a few years ago, right?” he asked.
Heather nodded.
“So,” he began, “they took place over a span of about twenty years,” he concluded.
“That’s right, twenty years,” she repeated.
“Okay,” he responded slowly.
The puzzled expression remained stuck to his face. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t with her so she could find another way to bring him in. Their honesty and communication had always worked to open up lines that otherwise would have stayed closed.
“Well, don’t you think it’s weird that I seem to attract so many bad guys who want to hurt me?” she asked.