Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (34 page)

“So Ella, how are you doing?”

“I'm fine, Dr. Livingston. How are you?”

“Well. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome. That was a quick session. Are we done here?”

“Ella, you’re not a captive. You can go whenever you want.”

“You know I was thinking about the first time I met you the other day.”

“Are you recollecting that better?”

“What do you mean?”

“In all the time you’ve been seeing me, this is the first time you have mentioned it. When I brought it up, you deflected with stories of ghosts.”

Why did he always make me feel so small and defensive? I tried to remember what he was talking about, but couldn’t distinguish those first few sessions from the hundreds that followed. “Anyway, why I brought it up, I am curious about your take on my falling down the stairs.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re avoiding my question. Do you believe I fell or that I tried to kill myself?”

“I do not make judgments here. . . .”

“Bullshit. You make them in police reports. Everyone makes judgments. Tell me the truth.”

“Do you feel like people often judge you?”

“Don’t try to turn this on me.”

“If you read the police report then you know what my professional opinion was.”

“I want to stop taking the medication now.”

Dr. Livingston appeared puzzled at first, then his face switched to curious. “Why?”

“I want to try without it.”

“I'm not sure if that’s the right decision to make at this point in your therapy.”

“We've been through this before. If I have to, I’ll just stop taking them on my own.”

“Okay. We'll lessen them gradually until you are off, but if you start feeling any adverse symptoms you need to let me know at once.”

“I’m still unclear as to why I was put on them in the first place. I was sad after Danny died, but isn’t that normal? Shouldn't I have been sad? It's not normal to try to block all emotion.”

“Do you feel like you are blocking your feelings?”

 “I feel like the medication is. I feel like I am not accepted when I have emotions or exhibit them.”

“Why is that?”

“You tell me. Why did you immediately push medication on me?”

“I am sensing a lot of hostility in you today.”

“I'm questioning your judgment. Is that necessarily hostile?”

“You were there for every decision made. I haven’t forced anything on you. Why are you questioning this now?”

“You guys bullied me. I didn’t even want to see you. I most certainly haven’t agreed to any of this willingly.”

“Do you feel like you're a victim?”

“No, at least not anymore.” I stood up. “Good bye, Dr. Livingston. I won’t be back.” I walked out the door—something I’d wanted to do since I started coming here. It felt absolutely amazing to finally to do something proactive, to not let my life continue to be dictated by a ghost.

I found myself looking forward to the small dinner party I was planning, excited about another small piece of normalcy being reintroduced into my life. I focused on cleaning and preparing dinner while mindlessly humming. It had been a long time since I’d truly been this happy. It was turning into a wonderful day. Nothing weird or strange, just blissfully normal.

Susan and Doug arrived thirty minutes early to “help me prepare.” They were both all smiles, seeming as happy to be back to something that resembled normal as I was. I suspected, however, their early arrival had more to do with wanting time to question me about Gabriel before he arrived than actually being helpful.

“Everything looks amazing, El,” Susan said inspecting the meal I was preparing. Brueschetta and a cheese platter waited on the counter for hungry guests on the counter. Lasagna and Greek salad would follow, with cherries jubilee to finish.

“I'll have to work out for a month to work this off,” Susan joked. Doug hung back not saying much or joining in on our conversation. It briefly went through my mind that he still blamed me for Danny’s death, but I did my best to dismiss it. He was probably just missing Danny. This was normally the time they would wander off to talk about man stuff while Susan and I carried on with our woman chatter. I put Susan to work chopping cucumber and sent Doug to the wine cellar.

After he stepped out of the room, Susan said, “Doug hasn’t been the same since Danny died. I don't know if it was the brush with his own mortality or what. I pretend I don’t notice though, because when I try to talk to him he gets angry.”

“So I've been warned. I thought he seemed quiet. I figured he was just missing a male counterpart.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You were in this deep dark hole of guilt and self-pity. Now, well, you seem like a different person.” Susan paused and I could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. “Detective Troy has made quite the difference in you. How does it feel to be dating again? Especially someone who knows all skeletons your closet?”

“Who’s dating?” Doug asked coming up the stairs.

“Ella.” Susan said the same time I said “No one.”

A range of different emotions flashed across Doug’s face. “Which is it then?”

“I'm not dating anyone. Detective Troy and I are friends. He’s helping me.”

“With what?” Doug asked.

“Finding Danny’s killer.”

His blank expression was broken by a smile that almost looked like relief. “How's that coming along?” He asked with mild interest, but I sensed him slipping away from the conversation, as if he’d found out what he wanted to know from me.

“Slow.”

“You don’t think it's a ghost anymore?” Susan smiled at her little dig at me.

“Don’t judge until you’ve been in this house for at least a week, then tell me you don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Susan doesn’t believe in anything.” Doug smirked and busied himself with opening the wine bottle.

Susan frowned. “I believe in people. Ghosts are ridiculous. Someone killed Danny and it wasn't supernatural. It was a flesh and blood killer.”

“Perhaps.” I shrugged. “Perhaps not.”

“What have you found?” Susan asked.

“Odds and ends really—nothing I want to get into. Even if a ghost didn't kill Danny, that doesn’t mean the house isn’t haunted. Weird things happen here all the time, and it's not just in my head like Danny used to say. Gabriel’s seen and heard things too.”

“Who’s Gabriel?” Doug asked obviously not keeping up.

“Detective Troy,” Susan said sharply. “He must be here an awful lot if he’s witnessed your ghost, El.”

It was my turn to choose my words carefully. “He is here a lot. It's nice to have the company sometimes.” Susan pursed her lips and Doug’s back stiffened.

“What do you guys want from me? Am I never able to have friends, to move on? Danny died over a year ago. I don’t have the energy to mourn anymore. Am I supposed to be a perpetual widow?”

“No one’s saying that. It's just hard to get used to another man being in Danny’s house,” Susan said quietly.

“It’s
my
house.”

At this most opportune time, my phone rang. It was Gabriel canceling on the evening. Something had come up with work and he couldn’t make it to dinner. I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. Chalking it up to wanting Susan and Doug to get to know him so they would accept him, I didn’t explore the other possible reasons for my dismay.

“That was Gabriel. He can’t make it tonight. Something came up at work.” At this news, Doug seemed to perk up a bit and Susan relaxed visibly. “If you guys would give him a chance, you’d like him.”

“I'm sure you’re right, Ella, but I spoke with him enough during his investigation,” Susan said tartly.

Despite our differing opinions on Gabriel dinner went fairly well. We reminisced about better days. I never realized the impact Danny’s death had on them. The tension between the two of them was noticeable and often uncomfortable. I felt guilty for being so difficult after the funeral, for not allowing room for their pain. Before desert, Doug excused himself saying he had an early delivery coming to the store in the morning and he needed to make room for it.  Susan volunteered to get a cab home and he left after kissing Susan goodbye and giving me a friendly hug.

“He was quiet tonight,” I said conversationally.

“Yeah. He has a lot to do with the inventory. I wasn’t feeling well, so he was at the store all day instead of doing the paper work like normal. Now he has to catch up on everything.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I just had a headache.” Susan was quiet for a while, then blurted out, “I don’t know if Doug and I are going to make it.”

“What?”

“It hasn’t been good between us for a long time, even before Danny died. Doug’s just so removed and distant. It's only getting worse. It started with both of us being so busy with the store that we never really had time together. We've grown so far apart, I hardly recognize him. I have no idea what he’s thinking anymore.”

“I'm sorry, Susan.”

“I just don’t know what to do to fix this, you know? I don’t know how to reach him, to reintroduce myself, so to speak. . . . I can hardly get him to say two words to me at home. Tonight is the most I’ve heard him speak to a non-customer in a month.”

“You have to try. If Danny were here now, I would try.”

“Danny wouldn’t be giving you the silent treatment.”

“No, perhaps not. But we would have plenty to talk about.”

Susan tilted her head to the side. “Like what?”

“He was having an affair.”

“Ella…”

“Don’t be condescending. I know I’m right. I have evidence.”

“What kind of evidence could you possibly have after this long?’

“I have a sock, a shirt, and . . .  a hair.” I noticed Susan’s long blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail for the evening. My mind was running in glue, stuck and unable to process any further information. It was shutting down as a form of self-preservation. The world seemed frozen around me as the thought my mind had been avoiding for however long finally surfaced and it all clicked. The words escaped from my lips. “It was you.” I said feeling sick.

“That is ridic—”

“No, not ridiculous—I know it's you. That shirt is one that I've seen on both you and Doug. I can’t believe I didn’t remember before now. The hair, how he managed to find the time, it all makes sense.” Anger surged up, replacing the initial shock. “How could you? How could you pretend to be my friend? How could you stand by me like you were some sort of saint when really you’re a backstabbing, whore? How?” I ended in a yell. Tears didn’t come to my eyes though; only white-hot fury burned there. Susan was crying. Proof enough of her guilt.

“I'm so sorry. You were never supposed to find out. I'm so sorry,” she kept saying almost like a chant. This did nothing for my anger.

“Stop saying you're sorry and give me some answers!”