Elementary

Gallium

Chapter 31: Gallium

Taylor stopped the car in the driveway of the stand-alone cottage just up from the main harbor area. The driveway was a godsend as there were cars everywhere around the harbor. She was guessing lots of people were traveling for Memorial Day weekend. Bay Harbor looked like just the place to drive in the tourist trade. It was postcard beautiful, with an outlook to the other islands across the clear blue water. Or there were inland lakes and parks to visit. There appeared to be several people walking with cameras and binoculars adorning their necks.

There were yachts and small fishing boats moored up in the small harbors. Lobster Traps and crab pots were piled high on the port side. The evening sky was still bright with a light dusting of flimsical cotton clouds, like the spun sugar being sold from the stall at the pier. She expected that sunset this time of year would be around eight pm. She stepped out of the car. She was thankful for the light breeze coming in off the Atlantic. Fresh Air.

It's a place for a holiday; it has an earthly romantic feel to it. A place to handhold while walking the prom or to cuddle up on a bench somewhere and watch the sunset. But she couldn't see the appeal of living here. Well, not for her, anyway. But this quiet and relative safety type is probably the draw for Claire Bryant. Taylor didn't need to read a demographic study to understand this place. It was white; it was middle class. There was little to no poverty. There were few children or teenagers. People were older, possibly heading towards retirement.

It was a very small town. Taylor had read the population numbers on the sign as she crossed the bridge from Trenton. 2225 people. She considered that there were more tenants in her apartment complex in Boston, coincidentally called Harbor Point on the Bay, than there were in this whole town. Strange coincidences like names always made Taylor think about similarities and differences. She stretched her arms out behind her back, then intertwined her fingers and pushed the tension of the drive away until she heard the satisfying crack of her knuckles. She reached into the back seat and put on a white shirt from the top of her overnight bag.

Claire Bryant was the same age as Taylor. She remembered that. She was in her first serious relationship and looking to settle down and have a family. She'd just finished a course in computer science and was looking to start up her own technology business; then, in the period of about 5 hours one Wednesday night, five and a half years ago, that was all taken away from her. Their lives had been on a similar path until then. Now almost six years later, they were so different. Taylor still had the independence to do what she liked. She found sanctuary in being able to get lost amongst thousands of people. Claire was so frightened by the life she had chosen to hide away in the safest place she could think of. Taylor pushed her hair away from her face. She headed for the front door and took a deep breath.

She rang the doorbell and waited, checking her watch, and it was 507 pm. She was a little late. But she was sure it would be forgiven.

"Hello," A tall redhead opened the door.

"Hi, Special Agent Andersson."

"Dr. Freeman," The redhead extended her hand, and Taylor shook it, "Come in. Claire's just through here."

Taylor followed. The cottage was dressed like a holiday let. There was a theme of blue & white and nautical bric a brac everywhere. She spotted an ornament of a lobster dressed as a chef. Weird. But whatever.

The living area was open plan, and Claire sat on a stool at a kitchen worktop. Cradling a cup of tea as her life depended on it. She was dressed in an oversize aran sweater and jeans. She also had a light scarf on; it was totally mismatched, but Taylor recognized this was likely a way of covering the burn scarring at the back of the neck. She was wearing a wig; it suited her perfectly, and to anyone not looking closely, the physical coverups portrayed a happy, healthy human in her early 30s. It was the eyes though they were the first giveaway. They were a sad amber hazel. Downcast, yet alert with the same panic you'd see from a hunted animal. She was twitchy; Taylor watched as Claire nervously tapped at her cup; you couldn't hear her tapping; her fingernails chewed way down beyond the quick. As Taylor sat across from her, she noticed the skin around the nails was all picked, broken, and open.

"Hi," Taylor said with a quiet smile.

"Taylor?" Claire looked up, "Thank you for coming. Tea?"

"Yeah, that would be lovely. How have you been, Claire?"

"Oh, you know," Claire tried a smile, "You?"

Taylor smiled, "Not much, just working away."

"Did you ask?" Claire asked excitedly about a recalled memory.

"Ask?" Taylor looked for clarification.

"Last time we spoke, you were going to ask your partner to marry you."

"Oh," Taylor had forgotten about that, "No, she indicated that she didn't ever want to get married, so I bottled it," The FBI agent smiled.

"Still together?"

"No, she's married to someone else," Andersson gave a wry smile.

"Ahh shit. Well, I didn't get married either," Claire looked at the worktop, "He said I made him feel like a monster whenever he tried to touch me. I just find I can't relax anymore around men. It makes me wish I fancied women. It would be so much easier," She half-joked.

"Trust me. Women are hard work," Taylor smiled, "But hopefully, this will help both of us. Maybe if I can put the guy away and you can park some of what's going for you, you'd feel a bit more comfortable again."

Claire nodded, "I always like your optimism."

"We're going to get it right this time," Taylor confirmed, knowing she shouldn't be making promises.

The kettle boiled and clicked off. Dr. Freeman made the tea, "Cream? sugar?"

"Neither, just as it comes," Taylor confirmed, "Claire, this is the awkward part where it feels like I am talking about you while you are sitting here. But I need to ask Dr. Freeman about the process and some pointers, so I don't inadvertently cause you any more distress."

"It's okay," Claire nodded, "I'm used to it."

The comment wasn't intended to, but it made Taylor feel bad. She thought about how she'd feel in Claire's situation with people discussing her issues while she sat there. She thought about how she felt with her mother and sister, who would discuss her love life or the lack of it like she wasn't in the room. But she was sure this was worse.

"Dr. Freeman, the behavior specialists are torn on this type of therapy. They told me to ensure I don't suggest or implant false memories."

"It's a common misconception. You can't do that. Claire and I have worked on a script. When it's your turn to ask questions, I will guide the process. You have to ask very open questions like can you tell me what you see? Then use the information only to confirm what Claire is telling you."

"So I can't say how many people are there before Claire tells me she sees people?"

"Exactly."

"How do I make sure that I don't trigger?"

"You can't, but that is why I am here and also why Claire and I have been working on safe strategies for a while. We are at a place where we have worked to soften the response to known triggers."

"Okay, thanks. You are sure you are okay with all of this, Claire?"

"Yeah, like you said earlier. Maybe if you manage to put him away this time, it will help. Also, I don't want to think that there will be lots of women having to live like me."

Taylor wanted to give her a hug. She admired the woman's bravery but could sense how scared she was to return there, even if it was just in her mind.

Dr. Freeman looked at the two women, "After we finish our tea, we will get started. We can't interrupt the session; it has to be opened up correctly and closed in an agreed way between Claire and me. So no toilet breaks. No mobile phones. So if you need to make any calls or pay any visits, then do it now."

Taylor nodded.