Dahlia - The Velvet Witch and Her Dark Spirit

PART 17 - DOCTOR CROSS

Getting to know Dahlia is like opening Pandora's box. Every time the lid comes off, another dump of strangeness comes barrelling out and smacks you in the face. Or the back of the head, as the case may be.

"Levi, we're gonna be late. It's nearly four—I knew we shouldn't have laid down," she says in a panic.

Dahlia's struggling into her jeans with the tight denim stuck at her knees. She tries an aerial jump-and-pull manoeuvre but mistimes it and crashes to the floor. I launch over to help, but she shoos me off.

"You need to get dressed, Levi."

I stare at her as the frustration from earlier comes flooding back. I pull on a shirt, hooded jumper and my favourite black trench coat.

"Please," she yells, reading my mood.

"I still don't understand why you can't tell him you're unwell to get out of it."

"Because if I did that every time I didn't want to go, I'd never go and likely end up in a loonie bin. Plus, I told you I need a fresh script from him before I go completely bonkers."

"They aren't going to lock you up for missing an appointment."

She huffs and says, "You don't know what they're capable of, Levi. They've done it before."

"What? Locked you up?"

"Yeah of course. After Charles died."

"They couldn't have possibly pinned that on you. You said they reported it as a suicide."

"But when they informed me of his death, I said some things that I shouldn't have known. Then they got agitated because my riddling answers weren't making sense."

The jeans finally give in to the struggle and slide up her thighs.

"Then I tried to run but knocked over an officer in the process. She fell funny and injured her wrist. They arrested me in front of the whole school and dragged me down to the station—charged me with assaulting an officer and a bunch of other trumped-up offences. I was locked up for days before a court heard my case."

She slips into her Adidas trainers and jumps up.

"When the judge heard the story, she was just as frustrated. But she didn't think jail was for me. She ruled that I should go to a head hospital for evaluation. She said I'd suffered so much trauma that I would need serious professional care. Which was a blessing and a curse."

She gets to the door and holds it open with a foot while she pulls on one of my hooded jumpers.

"That's when the court ordered me to see Doctor Cross, who I thought was my friend, but it didn't turn out that way."

"So, the crown pays for your therapy?"

"Ha!" she laughs mockingly. "No, I pay. Though initially, I went into Doctor Cross' care because he was running a program for traumatised minors. That was back when he had a soul."

I grab my sketchpad to keep me entertained while I wait. I lock the door and double-check it. I don't feel like having any more of my work curated by the Dark Spirit.

The street is ice cold. A wide bead of dirty brown snow is lining the gutters. The sun has just set, making the sky glow a violent red in its wake. Dahlia is bouncing on the spot while trying to scout a cab and send a text. I grab her around the waist, pull her in and flick my coat around her. I rest my cheek in her hair and close my eyes.

"Where are all the cabs?" she grunts.

"They'll be by. Want me to call one?"

"No, because I'll feel bad if we take another."