The Twilight Garden

4

'Would you please state your name, for the record?'

'My name is Josephine Bray.'

'Thank you. Today is the twenty-second of September, and this is our first session. Based upon previous interactions with Josephine, I have diagnosed her with Chronic Depression. There is also the possibility that she may develop Schizophrenia in the future, therefore I have added in the diagnosis of Onset Schizophrenia.' He paused and looked at Josephine. 'I understand that you disagree with my diagnosis—is that correct?'

'Yes.' Josephine inhaled deeply as she stared at the recording device on the desk. It had been her father's, and she hadn't seen it used since just before his death. He would record notes and thoughts while he was researching. There must have been dozens of strange, oily disks filled with his voice hidden in the study. 'Yes, it is correct.'

'Can you tell me why you disagree?'

'First of all, Dr Scott, there is no history of Schizophrenia of any sort in my family. Not diagnosed, at least. I cannot fully disagree with your diagnosis of Chronic Depression, however. I have never known myself to be excessively dark or brooding, except for the past few months since my father's death.' Josephine explained. 'In regards to the Onset Schizophrenia, I am not hallucinating—either visually or auditorily—which is key in that diagnosis, is it not?'

'Though hallucinations are a symptom of Schizophrenia and are often used as the basis for diagnosis at this time, that is not the only key.' Leland chuckled, leaning back in the chair. He laced his fingers together.

'You have suffered a significant loss of sleep, your mother has stated that she often sees you with an expressionless gaze—as if you were daydreaming or focusing intently on a conversation, but no one else was present—you have withdrawn from family and friends and seem to be suspicious, even hostile, to those around you. Josephine, your behaviour fits both of the diagnoses, with or without the hallucinations.'

His explanation took her by surprise and she averted her gaze. Was this true? Had she withdrawn from her family and friends? Was she suspicious and hostile toward those around her? She tried to recall any specific interaction or event that might confirm his words, but her mind was blank. She couldn't remember much from the last few days let alone months.

'Josephine, what is on your mind?'

She looked back at Leland, unable to formulate words. She shrugged her shoulders and continued in her silence.

'Why don't you tell me about your father? This was his study, yes?'

'It was.' She said in a bitter tone. 'He spent most of his time in this room. He was a very solitary man, my father. He hardly allowed mother in this room, but I had an open invitation. Perhaps that was because I knew how to be silent, I knew how to observe and be still—my mother is a loud person, as you've no doubt already learned. Her curiosity is not a positive trait, nor is her incessant questioning of choices and opinions. She is not curious for the sake of it, she is curious for the sake of gaining the upper-hand in any given situation.'

'I see. So, as a child, you spent more time with your father than with your mother?'

'At first, not by choice. Mother never wanted children, for her own reasons that no one understands, so I was handed off to nannies and servants as an infant. Through the years, I learned valuable lessons in this study—I learned how to read, write, observe, and even to play the piano.'

'I see.' Leland responded, making notes on his pad. Josephine watched as he wrote, listened to the scratch of his pen on the paper, and the whole moment seemed so familiar to her. Her father was sitting behind his desk, numerous books open and spread around him. He was taking notes—with a fervent speed he wrote, his pen scratching against the paper. He didn't look up as she entered the room, or as she sat at the piano and began playing his favourite song. He only stopped once, to glance out the window toward the forest, the look on his face strained. She had wanted to speak to him, wanted to ask what he was writing, why he looked so concerned. But, she hadn't—and that had been the last day she had seen him, behind his desk.