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My hackles rise at the accusation, even though it’s true.
“What happened to your hand?” I ask.
Pausing from what she’s doing behind the desk, she glances down at the bandage and scowls. “Letter opener. Tell me what’s happening. Your mother says you believe you’re the target of a conspiracy.”
I purse my lips. If I didn’t rely on Mom and Dad to cover my medical bill, I would work with a more professional therapist who didn’t discuss my case notes with third parties. There are rumors going around that Dr. Saint will see anyone for a price and even has clients in the mafia.
“Is it a conspiracy if she avoids questions about my past?” I ask.
Dr. Saint’s eyes soften. She leans across the desk and offers me a half-smile. “Are your memories returning?”
I’m not paranoid, but she always used to sit closer, within touching distance, so she could slide over the box of tissues. Now, she’s hiding behind a desk like she expects me to attack.
If I tell her the truth, she’s likely to relay that information toMom, and I’ll never find out what happened before the so-called accident.
“There are snippets,” I say. “It’s hard to put them into context because I don’t know what happened in my past.”
She nods. “Did they resurface before or after you encountered your uncle?”
My heart skips at the suggestion that Uncle Clive is a player in my missing memories. Not wanting to commit to anything, I say, “Both.”
I tell her about the photo and the threatening note I gave to the police and offer to show her the images on my phone. She remains behind the desk, saying she’ll view them from a distance.
Something is off about the doctor. She’s skittish and seems ready to bolt. Does she think I’m a threat, or did something happen to put her on edge? Not wanting to succumb to my paranoia, I continue.
“Someone is also sending messages from the grave.”
She straightens in her seat. “Xero Greaves?”
“Mom told you?”
“Several of your posts have gone viral on social media,” she says, not even attempting to hide her judgment. “Did you start communicating with him before or after you stopped taking your meds?”
“I couldn’t function with the blackouts.”
“And you didn’t think to speak to me about the side effects?”
“I did.” My teeth click shut.
Did I? I can’t remember if I left a message on her voicemail or spoke to her directly. That time in my life is a blur. I barely even remember what prompted me to write to Xero in the first place. I know he was the one who encouraged me to stop taking the drugs.
I shake off the thought. “How can I spot a hallucination?”
She leans forward, her gaze sharpening. “What type of hallucinations are you experiencing?”
“I keep seeing a ghost who looks like the Grim Reaper. When I ask who he is, he says I already know.”
When she doesn’t respond, I elaborate on my encounters with Xero, making sure to avoid talking about Jake. If Dr. Saint can runher mouth about me to Mom, then she sure as hell can tell the police. I also tell her about the erotic dreams, the seance, and the death of Kayla.
She leans back into her seat and folds her arms. “I think your mind is trying to make sense of stressful events by generating hallucinations of a ghost.”
“I didn’t make it up.”
“Of course not. The hallucinations are your mind’s way of coping. You’ve been through quite a lot recently. Missing the execution of a man you’d formed a deep connection with, a colleague’s mysterious death, and encountering a man from your childhood. Those are many traumatic events.”
“Okay, so what can you tell me about my past?”
She tilts her head. “We can work together to explore the fragments of your memory and piece together a clearer picture of your history.”
