Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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A few weeks later
-
Autumn was in it's full throes; blazing orange sunsets, crisp and cool mornings with even crunchier leaves that cascaded down in a careless drift – decorating the edge of the streets with the tell tale sign of the death of summer.
Verity had never been happier. She was finally back and settled completely into what she was doing. She lived in a wonderful community, and had an amazing colleague she could call a close friend.
Just that morning, Verity had even discharged too very well mended patients who were incredibly grateful for her care and advice through their few months sessions. The day trawled on, she was able to get through paperwork – and Henry had nipped out to the bakery in town to get her one of her favourite treats – a jam tart. As if the day couldn't of gotten any better, by the time the office hours were drawing to a close, a mother of a young lady Verity had discharged just the other week had returned with a beautifully decorated strawberry cake to say thank you to Verity and Henry for their hard work.
As she and her dear friend cut a slice of cake each and ended the day with a quiet cup of tea – Verity didn't realise just how much she was smiling to herself.
"I wish someone would look at me the way you look at that cake, V." Henry chuckled, rousing the psychologist from her absent stare with some mild embarrassment. Verity swallowed down the mouthful of delicious vanilla cake and buttercream, and chuckled to herself in gentle amusement.
"Sorry," she started, setting the plate in her lap as she reached for the cup of tea beside her. "Just appreciating all that I have." She replied back, Henry's smile warm and affirming – a reminder that she had been so lucky to land on her feet ending up in this wonderful little village.
The quiet sounds – the distant twittering of birds, the absent ticking of the clock in the waiting area – soon fell victim to the thundering clatter of footsteps up the stairwell. The two doctors looked at each other, puzzled; before rushing up and fleeing out to the waiting area where some of the young lads from Verity's street were red faced and breathless – eyes shot wide in fear.
"What's the matter, lads?" Henry asked, as the three boys started babbling over the top of each other. Raising in his hands in a cool manner, Henry toned down the chaos and calmly looked the first boy in the face. "What's happened?"
"Miss Grant – it's Mrs Montgomery!" he wailed, "Some men came and broke into the house! We could hear them shouting for you-"
Verity needed no further story telling nor description, abandoning all of her belongings in that office as she pelted past the boys and down the stairwell – as fast as a woman could in a pair of towering black stilettos.
In some distant area at the back of her brain she could hear Henry's desperate pleas for her to slow down – but the feral flare of panic gnawed away at her brain like a rabid dog. She couldn't stop, for the fear was pushing her on like a wave sending a helpless raft out to sea. Deep down, she just knew this was the thing she had been fearing so long. The reason she had been denying herself to relax and appreciate the perfection of this new life because it was simply too good to be true.
