know what’s next. Complete muscle paralysis. Full consciousness remaining intact.” The Fixer re-capped the syringe and stuck it back in her boot. “First your striated muscles are paralyzed. You can’t move. Sixty seconds later your smooth muscles stop working. No breathing. No heart beat. That’s where you are now. You’ve got about ninety seconds, Dr. Bastian. Ninety seconds to lie in your petrified body and contemplate the fact you’re already dead. There’s nothing for you to do but close your eyes.” The Fixer took two steps closer and glared down at the helpless man. “But you can’t close your eyes, can you, Bastian? You’re going to watch as your life drains out. Less than a minute now. You’re already nothing. The date’s been chosen for your obituary. All that terror and not a thing you can do. Quite an experience, wouldn’t you say?” The Fixer leaned in close. “Not unlike the one you gave Ortoo.”
She stood and kept her focus on her inert captive. She watched the terror in his motionless eyes; kept her attention fixed until she saw them glaze over.
The Fixer crossed the room and pulled a pair of latex gloves out of her coat pocket. She snapped them on, picked up her whiskey glass, and went to the kitchen. She cleaned the glass and returned it to its spot in the butler’s pantry. Swept up the shards of broken glass she found on the kitchen floor. Wiped the liquor bottle and put it away. Retrieved her winter gloves and hat and surveyed the room for any trace that she’d been there. Then one last look at the dead man on the chaise.
She shrugged into her pea coat, tugged the red beret onto her head, clicked off the table lamp and left through the same door she’d entered.
Chapter Fifteen
Lydia hadn’t intended to come to work the day after New Year’s, but she was worried after last night’s call from her answering service. Savannah Samuels called demanding an immediate appointment. She wasn’t surprised to see her waiting when she pulled into the parking lot. Lydia walked past and unlocked the door. Savannah shadowed her without a word of greeting, her beauty dulled by a haggard look of exhaustion and a pair of baggy sweat pants.
Lydia proceeded to her desk, clicking on lights against the early morning darkness. Savannah collapsed onto the sofa, curled into a fetal position, and rocked rhythmically against the leather.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Lydia gestured toward the microwave in the waiting room.
Savannah kept rocking. Her eyes closed. Oily hair unwashed and uncombed.
Lydia hung her jacket and took a seat opposite her patient. “Savannah,” she whispered. “You’re here and you’re safe. Tell me what has you so upset.”
Still rocking, Savannah stared into nowhere. Red lines of sleeplessness defiled her electric blue eyes.
“I need you to sit up.” Lydia’s voice was firmer now. “Put your feet on the floor.”
Savannah’s rocking stopped. She blinked several times before dragging herself upright. She took a deep breath, unzipped her green nylon jacket, and hugged a throw pillow tight against her chest. “Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Corriger. I hope I didn’t interrupt your holiday.”
“My service said you sounded frantic.” Lydia crossed her legs and leaned back into the chair.
“I don’t know if ‘frantic’ is the word.” Savannah ran her hands through her dirty hair. “Scared shitless, perhaps, but not frantic.”
“Savannah, we’re not doing this today. We’re not playing word games or finding hidden clues.” Lydia’s voice was clear, strong, and steady. “You’re obviously distraught and you’ve reached out for help. That’s a great first step. But the rule here is you can’t ask for help unless you’re ready to take it.”
Savannah stole a glance toward the window before turning her attention to the pillow in her lap. “You haven’t a clue who I am, do you?”
“You haven’t given me much to go on,” Lydia said. “But I’m here. I’d love to know who you are.”
Savannah looked up at her therapist and slowly shook her head. She took several deep breaths before speaking. “It’s getting worse, Dr. Corriger. I’m getting worse.”
“In what way?” Lydia scanned the full length of her patient’s body; taking in the entire tableau of her misery.
Savannah turned her tear-filled eyes upward. “I’m still hurting people. Good people in bad ways. I lie to myself and say it doesn’t matter. That we’re all getting what we deserve.” She blinked at looked to her therapist. “But it does matter. People end up ruined…worse… because of me. Last night I couldn’t stop thinking about all the shit I’ve done.” She huffed out a joyless laugh. “You know. Reflections on the past, resolutions for the future. All that New Year’s bullshit. My past is despicable. I don’t see my future being any different. Last night my head was hell bent on re-playing my greatest hits, you know what I mean?”
Lydia nodded. “We’ve all had times when we dwell on the mistakes of our past.”
“But that’s just it.” Savannah leaned forward, pleading eyes focused on Lydia. “My mistakes aren’t left in the past. The hits just keep on happening. Last night I thought there was only one way out. Only one way to stop myself from hurting people ever again.”
“Were you thinking about killing yourself?” Lydia kept her tone conversational. Normalize the thought to keep her talking.
Savannah nodded. “Like there was no other move for me. So I called your service. It was either that or put a gun in my mouth.”
“I’m glad you called.” Lydia held herself steady, not adding to the drama. “Do you have guns in your home?”
For the first time that morning Lydia saw a flash of the polished, in-command Savannah she’d grown accustomed to.
“You’d be surprised what I have in my home.” She pulled herself taller. “Yes, Dr. Corriger. I have guns.”
Lydia kept quiet for a few moments. She wanted Savannah to watch her think.
“I promise I will never take the option of suicide away from you.” Lydia leaned forward to demand Savannah’s full attention. “But I hope you won’t do it in a fit of impulse. Because if you do, you’ll never have the chance to know what might come next. You’ll never have the chance to see if we could fix whatever it is you seem so convinced is broken.”
Savannah gave a weak smile. “Where’s the red lights and sirens? Aren’t you supposed to save me?”
“If that’s you want, you came to the wrong place. If you want to kill yourself I won’t stop you. I just want to make sure you’ve explored all your options first.”
Savannah’s tears spilled from bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I believe that.” Lydia handed her a box of tissues. “Let’s see if we can work something out together. What do you want to tell me?”
Savannah blew her nose, tossed the tissue into the wastebasket, and pulled out another. “What I say to you is strictly confidential, right? Like you’re a priest.”
“That’s right. Unless I need to take steps to keep you or someone else safe, I can’t tell a soul.” Lydia smiled. “Like a priest.”
Savannah kept her eyes on her hands. “What if I’ve hurt people? Do you tell?”
“There’s nothing I can do about what’s already happened, Savannah. We can talk about it, learn from it, develop strategies to avoid future mistakes. But, no. I can’t tell anyone what you’ve done.” Lydia sensed a cracking in her patient’s wall of mistrust.
“What if I robbed a bank?” Savannah asked.
“We’re not playing games, remember? Confidentiality is blanket. It doesn’t apply to some things and not others.” Lydia took a deep breath to quiet her impatience. “What is it you’ve done that has you so ashamed?”
Savannah stayed focused on her hands. “Remember when I told you I was aware of the effect I had on men? How I use that to my advantage?”
“I remember. You’re a startling beauty, Savannah. You wouldn’t be the first woman to use that to get what she needs.” Lydia hoped normalizing her patient’s behavior would reduce her shame.
Savannah looked down at her disheveled clothes and turned a quizzical look. “Is that what you see? ‘A startling beauty’?”
