Chapter 15
DAY 3
The alarm pulled me from a deep sleep, heralding a promising day that I eagerly anticipated. As I sat up, I caught sight of a large portrait of myself, a dapper image in a suit, exuding power and invincibility, that filled me instantly with confidence. Rising from bed in my nightgown and feeling refreshed, I recalled the previous week when I'd strolled out to the balcony overlooking a vast lawn of freshly cut green grass. The crisp, verdant air had uplifted my spirits, even though part of me secretly longed to sleep in.
Glancing around my room, I admired every detail, from the king-sized bed with its fluffy pillows and soft sheets, to the personal picture on my bedside table and the luxurious rug, even down to the perfect shade of purple that graced the walls. I felt proud of how far I'd come, certain that I could always get more because if I set my mind to something, it was mine.
I made my way to the bathroom in preparation for the day, feeling an immense love for my life. After spending quality time in the shower scrubbing and pampering myself, I applied my skincare routine, a non-negotiable ritual that underscores my appearance. Once done, I stood before the mirror to check my office ensemble. My dyed red hair gleamed exactly as I wanted it, and my hourglass figure was perfectly accentuated by a short skirt that revealed my long legs, completed by stiletto heels. My outfit, a long-sleeved blouse paired with a black mini skirt and tights, was exactly right. Satisfied, I headed downstairs.
Every step down the stairs brought a growing sense of disquiet when I spotted a familiar figure in the kitchen: my stepson, casually eating my food and chatting with the staff. I clutched my fist, forcing myself to remain calm so as not to jinx my day.
This perpetual mood-dampener had a knack for appearing out of nowhere, disrupting even on days when all I needed was an outlet for my frustrations. I snapped, "What did I tell you about letting trash touch my things? Once he's done, you're going to have to throw that away." My tone brooked no argument, and even the chef cowered under my death glare as I made my way to the dining table, ready to be served.
The timid chef quickly nodded, and I turned to Greggory, fixing him with a piercing look that silently branded him as worthless. He glared back in anger and tossed his fork onto his plate, but I ignored him, focusing instead on the meal: toast paired with scrambled eggs and avocado, and a fresh fruit juice. I munched away, my eyes scanning the room rather than returning his gaze.
After a long and tense silence punctuated by several death stares, he finally said, "This is my father's house."
"Your dead father's house," I corrected coolly.
"Yeah, the one you killed," he shot back bitterly.
I sighed wearily, growing tired of the conversation. "Do you miss him? Is that why you keep coming here? I gave you his company because I know you're good at what you do. I get that you feel empty, I do too. Without him, everything seems barren and gloomy. Besides, his anniversary just passed and I still see him in my dreams."
I reached out to squeeze his hand gently, offering what comfort I could. "Your father was never really there for you. You don't have to cling to missing him. If I were you, I'd let go. Life must go on."
He fell silent as my sympathetic words sunk in—I'd successfully met him at his own level, soothing his wounded pride. The resentment of feeling less loved compared to the attention he saw me receive from his father, a man who handed down both affection and abuse, was written all over his face.
"I still feel him near me, and it maddens me that I couldn't save him that night. I was in the parking lot the entire time," he admitted, his voice thick with guilt.
"He even apologized for his behavior and wanted to set things right," he continued slowly, trying to mask the lump forming in his throat.
"Did he now?" I replied, a trace of surprise coloring my tone as I recalled how, on the day of his death, he had promised to sever ties with his son. What a lying snake.
Internally, I fumed, glad that he had been dealt with swiftly. My own proactive streak, however, might one day be my undoing.
"Yeah. Look, I get pissed watching you all happy instead of mourning my dad, so I just want you to remember him. It must have been hard for you. Sorry," he said.
No kidding. It had been hard, after years of physical abuse and hours spent layering on makeup to mask the bruises. I internally rolled my eyes, increasingly resentful of this feeble semblance of a family bond and disturbed by the revelations unfolding.
"Let's not ruin this beautiful day. Let's be grateful that, for now, our problems seem at bay. Today is good, and the breakfast is delicious. I have to run, catch up later, okay?" I declared, my patience stretched thin as I gathered my bag and keys and rushed out the door.
"You know, you aren't so bad. Most people would have taken every bit of this love-hate mess," he remarked.
And be tethered like a thorn? No thank you, I silently mused, offering him a small, wry smile.
"I know. It's just that I can't keep an eye on everything," I replied, gesturing vaguely to the mansion and inwardly thinking I couldn't tolerate him snooping around.
"You deserve as much as I do. Just keep living, and everything will work out," I added, nearly running out the door.
Once inside my car, I screamed loudly until my throat went dry, then paused. After releasing that burst of frustration, I took out my phone and texted the chef to discard anything Greggory had touched in the kitchen. No matter what it was. I checked my reflection in a mirror, reapplied my lipstick, and drove away from the compound.
Thoughts flooded my mind, but I deliberately left them unheeded, keeping my mind free of clutter. At a red light, a phone notification disrupted my thoughts. I glanced at it, and as I read the message, I looked up at my car ceiling, wishing I'd never woken up or experienced happiness, for the day had soured the moment Greggory had stepped into the house that morning.
When the light finally turned green, a honking car forced me out of my daze. Arriving at the office, I discovered a missed call from the same number that had just pinged me, a message from Officer Stacy. I frowned at the unknown number; guardians of my patients are never allowed to call, so why was Officer Stacy contacting me at such an early hour, insisting she wait at my office? With a resigned sigh, I put on my big black sunglasses and stepped out of the car.
Approaching the entrance to my clinic, each step felt heavier, burdened with uncertainty until I finally pushed open the door to find the Officer seated calmly. Observing her through my shades, I noted her glance my way, then proceeded straight to my receptionist. Checking my schedule, I saw an available slot an hour later, so I instructed the receptionist to reschedule the Officer accordingly, before entering my office without any pleasantries.
During my consultation, everything felt like a blur. I could barely recall my own words as I kept glancing at the clock, each passing second a blow. Jamie wouldn't dare mention what had happened here; I hadn't yet met her guardian, so why was she here? Or had she been here before? Since Jamie entered my life, everything had spiraled, and I wondered whether I should cancel her sessions. But if I did, questions would inevitably arise. I reassured myself: I'd been monitoring her closely, and no alarming reports had surfaced. So why was I feeling anxious?
"Doc? Doctor Quist!" The voice of my patient snapped me out of my reverie.
"Are you listening? I was saying my dog now refuses to eat, and I'm really worried. Every time he sees food, he barks. I'm beginning to wonder if he has an eating disorder," my patient finished, her concern evident. Wealthy people and their utterly trivial problems.
Forcing a smile, I met the gaze of my 68-year-old patient, whose wealth insulated her from real-world struggles despite my charging outrageous fees. Now, I found myself offering to be her pet's impromptu therapist, indulging yet another eccentricity.
"Mrs. Wright, did you try feeding him by hand? You mentioned he loves it when you do that, especially when he's dressed in the latest Golden Goose collection. I'm pretty sure you just gave him bland kibble and made your staff do the feeding. Your little guy deserves your full attention. Look at how peacefully he's sleeping in your arms. Don't take that for granted," I explained in a tone almost patronizing.
"Right you are! Ha ha. I got a bit tired and had my butler feed him yesterday. That's when he began barking and shaking," Mrs. Wright replied cheerfully, as if oblivious to the inner exasperation I felt, wishing I were still tucked in bed.
"So, what's our plan? We're going to hand-feed him in his best attire all the time," I recited as if speaking to a small child.
"Alright, now I hope I never have to see you again. This session is over," I concluded firmly.
"Wow. I love coming here. You make everything better. I'll bring my friends next time. You're truly the best thing that's happened in this town. See you later!" she chirped.
I finally exhaled deeply, relaxing back into my consultation chair. I tolerated her because she brought in money and more of her wealthy friends meant even more profit. I shouldn't complain, yet sometimes I felt like slicing off my ears and leaping out the window from the incessant squeaky voices, clattering high heels, and pet fur scattered everywhere.
I then moved to my desk and sat silently for a few minutes, steeling myself for whatever Officer Stacy might say next. I checked my reflection once more, reapplied my lipstick, rearranged my hair, and signaled the receptionist to call the Officer in with some water and tea.
Rising to meet her with my best smile, I greeted Officer Stacy as she walked into my office.
"Hi. I'm sorry about this morning and for keeping you waiting. I was having a dreadful start, and my patient kept buzzing my phone for a meeting," I explained as I showed her to a seat.
"Oh, don't worry. I called on a whim and essentially disrupted your schedule," she said with a small laugh, waving her hands lightly in an attempt to smooth things over.
"I was surprised to receive your call so early since I hadn't set an appointment for you, given that you're Jamie's guardian, Officer Stacy," I remarked, relieved that she hadn't taken offense to my earlier remark.
She was striking, clearly in her early thirties, with smooth, glowing dark skin. Her braided hair and confident, assertive air gave her an almost model-like presence, a cop with an enviable skincare routine and flawless features. High cheekbones, full lips, a pointed nose, and cat-like eyes framed by perfectly shaped eyebrows. All told made her appear effortlessly glamorous.
"Call me Stacy. I know, and I apologize for the mix-up," she said with a smile that revealed perfect, straight white teeth.
"Alright, Stacy," I replied, returning her smile.
"I'm not actually here about my niece. We're investigating a possible suspect, and your name came up as his therapist. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions, if that's okay," she explained.
I visibly relaxed as she finished speaking, but before I could reply, a buzz came from my drawer that made me freeze. Of all times, why now?
"Sorry, I thought I had my phone on silent," I mumbled as my smile faltered. Stacy seemed to notice the distraction, her attention briefly drifting to the décor in my office, giving me a moment to recompose.
"So, what's the name of this suspect you mentioned?" I redirected her focus.
"Nick Cole."
"Who?" I feigned ignorance, desperate to learn what they already knew. I couldn't risk any slip-ups.
"Nick Cole, your patient. We saw your name on his file," Stacy repeated, her eyes studying me for any hint of reaction.
"He's a suspect in the case of an elderly man who's now hospitalized after being harmed. We're hoping to get some insight into his behavior. How likely he is to hurt people."
"Do you have any solid evidence that he did it? Because I can't divulge any information just on suspicion," I countered.
"It's not just suspicion. We haven't even brought him in for questioning yet. We need any details that might help us secure a conclusive arrest," Stacy explained.
"Listen, I'm not the person to come to for suspect interrogation, you know that. Unless you want my license revoked, I can't help you," I stated firmly as I saw her nod.
"I figured as much, but it was worth trying. I'll be back once we've got a warrant that clears you to help," she said, a note of disappointment in her voice.
"No problem," I replied with a smile. Then I asked, "By the way, how's Jamie?"
"She's okay. She was bubbly for a while but had an outburst. Her stepdad's death has really hit her hard. You've been a real help to her. Thank you," Stacy said.
"I'll continue to work with her and schedule a meeting to update you on her progress. Her breaking point hasn't been reached yet. Did she mention anything more?" I probed.
"Nothing alarming, she just said she didn't mean to kill David. I know the guilt over his death is really dragging her down," Stacy replied dismissively with a wave.
Great, just great that the brat wouldn't keep her mouth shut. Almost immediately, a beep from my assistant reminded me of my next appointment, sparing me further interrogation, which I welcomed.
"Well, I shouldn't keep your patients waiting. Thank you for your time. Please call me if you get any more information," she said as I showed her the door and sent her off with a smile.
Alone once again, I finally exhaled the breath I'd been holding. I inhaled deeply to regain composure. This wasn't an emergency. I had everything under control. I returned to my desk and froze momentarily. My phone lay on the table. Has she noticed? But there was no time to ponder, so I grabbed my second phone to check my messages.
The notification read, "The old man is in the hospital."
"No shit, Cole, the police just asked me about you," I muttered to myself. Glancing at the clock, it read 9:30 AM. Of course I'd have to trudge through the rest of the day.