A Portrait of Madeleine

Chapter 1: The Life We Leave Behind

In the spaces between cold, isolating silence, I was acutely aware of the hand of a clock on the wall, ticking away, giving me the sensation of a needle piercing the base of my neck. I felt as though I was in a room that was a cross between a vintage trinket shop and a strange dream. Not exactly an endorsement for my therapist. I sat atop a sagging couch, a faux-leather affair, with a few torn stitches and a faded stain on the armrest that was oddly distracting. The room was lit by a dull fluorescent light overhead, which cast an eerie glow over the space between us. The carpet on the floor had an intricate design that seemed to shift and writhe like a living thing, its complexity making my head spin. A halo of scented candles adorned a nearby wall, which only served to cast flickering shadows over the animal heads hung on the walls. The room was overstimulating, and I could not get my mind to find any sort of peace within it.

"You've wandered off again," my therapist Dr. Ava Moreno said with a gentle snap of her fingers.

"I have these vivid dreams. Within them, I'm back at that train station. Madeleine is about to fall, and this time I reach out and grab her hand. Instead of saving her, she pulls me down with her, and for a single lucid moment I feel relief."

"That sounds overbearing. Were you thinking about the dream right now?"

"I apologise, I can't seem to focus lately," I replied.

"The dream is a manifestation of post-traumatic stress. It's only been a week. After what you've been through, it's understandable to feel untethered."

"What do you imagine it is that I feel?" I asked, my voice sounding like I'd issued a challenge.

She gave me a warm, reassuring smile.

"It's normal to feel shaken and disturbed by what you witnessed. The trauma of seeing someone take their own life can have a profound impact on your worldview, on your mental health and on the very nature of your personality and emotions. It's important to acknowledge your feelings, Adam."

"Is it normal to feel as though you lost someone you could have really loved, and you'd only just met them that day?" I asked.

"Of course it is. To love, even idealistic love, is completely normal."

"I just don't understand it."

"I'm more concerned with what's going on with you rather than finding a reason behind what happened. Are you having any flashbacks, nightmares or intrusive thoughts?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"Lately it feels like all I have are intrusive thoughts."

"Would you care to describe them?"

I said nothing.

"Adam, stay with me. I think it would help you to be open about this."

There was a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her face. The clock ticked on, marking the passage of time, but the hands seemed to be moving in reverse.

I couldn't articulate the words out loud. I was afraid, overwhelmed, anxious, obsessive, haunted, all by her face on that cold winter day, and those final moments that had replaced all other memories of mine. My life before Madeleine felt non-existent, much like the introduction to a dream.

"Perhaps you're experiencing a sense of survivor's guilt, wondering why you couldn't prevent her death or why you were spared from her fate. That you wish you could have helped her, and you can't possibly understand what would drive a person to take their own life in that way."

"I do not even know if she had a family."

Her eyes never seemed to leave mine, even for the briefest of moments, as if she was transfixed on my trauma, getting her own fix.