Things We Can't Tell (Cold Case Series 1)

i.

The patient

𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚎𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝-𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚎.

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚡𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢. 

𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎-𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍. 𝙳𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

S E S S I O N 1

I'm cold despite wearing my white coat. Still, I chose to tie my long brown hair into a ponytail. Sitting on a sofa, hands with paper and pen. Across the room is a woman.

She's staring ̶g̶̶l̶̶a̶̶r̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ at me. I forced a smile, not minding her deep black eyes looking. My dark brown eyes met hers, like looking in a mirror with no similar features, just our posture and position. 

Black eyes with dark circles. Black long straight hair. A mole under her right eye. Pale skin that matches her white sleeveless dress. Her features match her face. I would say she's beautiful. But there's something ̶u̶̶n̶̶c̶̶a̶̶n̶̶n̶̶y̶ mysterious with her that I can't point out.

Maybe it's the way she stares at me? Watch my every movement. As if I couldn't turn my back on her. She puts me on guard every moment.

But still, as always, I showed a smile.

"How are you today, Lindsey?" I asked her gently, knowing what she'll answer.

Nothing.

She will say nothing.

My smile didn't disappear. Behind the papers I'm holding is a black notebook and pen. A black hardcover with a garter closing the pages, as far as I can remember, the inside is just plain white pages.

"Let's see your journal for last week, shall we?" I said again, opening the notebook. "Did you write something? Did you take my advice? You could start by noting your activities first. What you do, what you see. Then, when you're already comfortable writing, you start writing your emotions. Let's see . . ."

Nothing.

She wrote nothing.

But again, still, I smiled. I closed the notebook. "That's okay, we could start again for this week." I put down the notebook at the table between us, slowly pushed it towards her. "You could start by writing when you eat or sleep."

Again, there's no progress. She's not cooperative. It's already our 16th session and she hasn't written nor showed any signs of opening up to me. 

"I'll prepare your medicines for this week, make sure to get enough rest. Don't forget your journal." No reaction, her face didn't change since the moment she sat down in front of me. "Our session is done, you can go now."

I watched her as she took the notebook and left the room. Our session only lasted for 8 minutes. 8 minutes of smiling and talking to myself. Like I was the only person in the room, in front of a doll, a quiet emotionless doll. Our sessions kept getting shorter.

I sighed, pushing myself to stand up. I need to make our lunch and do the chores for the week. Rather than a therapist, I'm like her personal caretaker. Honestly, I don't know why I'm still doing this. I'm just convincing myself to do this for my career as a doctor. ̶I̶ ̶a̶̶l̶̶r̶̶e̶̶a̶̶d̶̶y̶ ̶k̶̶n̶̶o̶̶w̶ ̶s̶̶h̶̶e̶̶s̶ ̶b̶̶e̶̶y̶̶o̶̶n̶̶d̶ ̶h̶̶e̶̶l̶̶p̶.

Still, despite my thoughts, I prepared our dinner. I noticed that we're almost out of food, I guess I have to take groceries soon.

As if living with a mute person is not quiet enough, the place itself is soundless. A bungalow in the middle of nowhere. It's too far from the city and I couldn't travel here from time to time, so I stayed. 

I could only hear myself every day. Walking on the wooden floors, doing the dishes, making food which I'm doing now. Beside the kitchen is a window where branches of the trees are peeking. It's making figures at night that creep me out, so I always put the blinds on before the sun sets.

With my key, I opened the kitchen drawers to take some equipment I use for cooking. I hide all of the things that Lindsey could use to harm herself ̶m̶̶e̶. Because of her paranoia, I have to make sure of her ̶m̶̶y̶ safety. I made sure to lock the doors, I couldn't control and hide all of the things that she could use outside.

After I prepared our lunch, I prepared her medicines for this week. Like our cycle, she eats first and I clean her room. This is our fixed routine.

Her room is just next to mine, the windows are shut, and she has no curtains or sheets. She doesn't have any furniture except her bed, closet, lamp table, drawer, and sofa. Her room is always clean though, but I clean just in case. It's the same every day anyway.

But today was different.

Like I always do, I clean her bed first . . . only to notice a wire hanging under it. My expression changed when I saw it for the first time, something that wasn't supposed to be here. ̶S̶̶o̶̶m̶̶e̶̶t̶̶h̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶ ̶s̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶s̶̶h̶̶o̶̶u̶̶l̶̶d̶̶n̶̶t̶ ̶h̶̶a̶̶v̶̶e̶.

I slowly pulled it out, a familiar object peeked under the bed. I broke out in a cold sweat, my heart skipped a beat and I was breathless for a second.

Why does she have this?

It's a telephone.

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