Blood Loss

Colin stuck his head around the door. ‘Ren — that meeting with the AUSA’s canceled.’

Ren covered the phone. ‘Wait. I’m nearly done.’

Colin shrugged. ‘Gary just called.’

‘But, we’ve come all this way-’

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Colin.

WTF?

‘Sorry, Glenn, I’m back,’ said Ren. ‘Are you looking at the people running these asylum “fan” sites, or posting on them?’

‘Yup,’ said Glenn.

‘If you need any extra eyes on that, let me know,’ said Ren.

‘What do you make of the drawing?’ said Glenn.

‘That’s one freaky little monkey,’ said Ren.

‘Is it a see-no-evil hear-no-evil thing?’ said Glenn.

‘I don’t know,’ said Ren. ‘I’d like to think about it some more. My phone’s ringing, Glenn, I have to take this. It’s Gary.’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Glenn. ‘Thanks for all this, Ren.’

‘I’ll keep you posted.’ Ren switched calls.

‘How are you doing?’ said Gary.

‘I’m good, but …’

‘But?’ said Gary.

‘Colin just told me the meeting’s canceled-’

‘Yes,’ said Gary. ‘Nothing we can do about that. What time is it?’

‘Now?’ said Ren. ‘Twelve thirty.’

‘OK — you should be able to make that appointment,’ said Gary.

‘What appointment?’ Shit. Shit. Shit. The psychiatrist. ‘What appointment … time have you got there?’ Like that’s convincing.

‘Same as it always has been, Ren. One p.m. No change …’

‘Just checking,’ said Ren. She paused. ‘I’ve no car.’

‘Grab a cab.’

‘OK.’

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How did I fall for this?

24

Dr Leonard Lone was in his early fifties, sitting in an office that appeared to have been designed in the decade leading up to his birth.

Next client: brittle housewife with closeted husband.

Dr Lone sat cross-legged in a chair beside his desk. He was dressed in a mauve shirt, a pale green round- necked sweater, ghostly blue slim-fit jeans, and beige sandals with thick gray woolen socks. He pointed Ren toward a seat two feet in front of his.

Men should not cross their legs.

Ren pictured a website of psychiatrists, like a shopping website, where the images sped across the screen, and you could stop briefly and click on an image to get a closer look. She would have scrolled past the priestly Dr Leonard Lone. He smacked of downplaying your sexual exploits.

Ren wondered whether psychiatrists could tell how quickly she summed them up. Or if they cared. It averaged two minutes, but she always stayed for the full session to have her mind changed. She wondered if psychiatrists also noticed when they didn’t click, and did they hope she wouldn’t come back.

‘Hello, Agent Bryce …’ he said, reaching out to shake her hand.

‘Ren is fine,’ she said.

‘And is Ren fine?’ said Dr Lone.

Oh. Dear.

‘I’m … OK,’ said Ren. And not into you enough to feel like telling you otherwise. She slid her chair back a fraction.

‘So,’ said Dr Lone. ‘I’ve gone through your file, and … well, you’re obviously an FBI Agent. That must be quite a challenge.’

‘It can be,’ said Ren. But you’ll never understand exactly how.

Dr Lone waited. ‘So, tell me how is everything at work right now?’

Why are people always interested in my work? Ask me about relationships. I’ll get a gold star: one man. No pressure. No drama. No crime or drug history.

‘You’re smiling,’ said Dr Lone. ‘That must be a good sign.’

Of me entertaining myself. ‘Work is fine, actually,’ said Ren. And I need to get back to it. And I’ve already sent you out of the first round of Shrink Idol. So this pricey hour is a total waste. And I am sick of psychiatrists. And I already found the perfect psychiatrist. And now she’s dead. And it was my fault. And …

Dr Lone tilted his head. ‘How are you coping with the loss of your last psychiatrist?’

La. La. La. La. La. ‘As well as can be expected,’ said Ren. I can not believe I said that.

‘Have you had any grief counseling?’ said Dr Lone.

‘No,’ said Ren. That would be sensible and terrifying.

‘Maybe that’s something you could look at,’ said Dr Lone. ‘Along with your visits to me.’

Internal eyebrow raise.

‘So … what do you hope to gain from coming to see me?’ said Dr Lone.

Zero? A pain in my ass? Weight? ‘Em …’

‘Do you feel that you’re here under duress?’ said Dr Lone.

Ren paused. Be nice. ‘I understand why I’ve been sent to you,’ said Ren. ‘To a degree … actually, I don’t really. Because I’ve been fine.’

Dr Lone nodded. ‘It’s a condition of your employment that you are under a psychiatrist’s care, isn’t that right?’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. Sadly.

‘Well, maybe that’s all this is …’ said Dr Lone. ‘A formality. To keep your boss happy.’

Oh, you don’t believe that.

‘What are your concerns about coming here?’ said Dr Lone.

Let me think: I’m not sure I like you. Or you’re right for me. Or there’s any need for me to be here. ‘I don’t want to be put on medication.’ You said that last part out loud.

‘We’ve only just met,’ said Dr Lone. ‘I won’t be handing you a prescription today.’

‘And … any other day?’ said Ren.

‘I don’t necessarily believe in medication,’ said Dr Lone.

What? But I want you to. Even though I don’t want to take any. I just want to know it’s there. And that you believe there’s a quick fix. If, at some point, I need one. Which I don’t right now.

‘Why do you think I would medicate you?’ said Dr Lone. ‘If everything is fine.’

Damn you.

‘Everything’s great,’ said Ren. ‘Really good. I’m getting a lot done.’

Dr Lone nodded. ‘And are you getting much sleep?’

No. I don’t need it, but that’s the wrong answer. ‘Yes.’

‘How many hours are you getting each night?’ said Dr Lone.