Sweet Revenge thriller

Chapter Ten

IT ISN'T UNTIL I SLINK INTO BED full of apprehension when it clicks that the 'serious warning' is only about the practitioners protecting themselves. I've been putting myself through hell for no reason! However, I will acknowledge that what I'm about to do is a bit more than unorthodox.

Lila rings and asks the blunt questions. 'Are you coping?'

'Yes.'

'Like, are you functioning? Back to normal?'

'Yes,' I tell her. I will not let on that most weeks I have spent two of the seven days unable to get out of bed. Floppy has got used to her dog-pit out on the balcony. It will do no one any good to know about my pitiful relapses. I see them today as pitiful relapses, but I know at the time I recognised them for what they are—bouts of clinical depression, unable to rise above the searing hurt that completely disables me. Like, my heart actually feels broken and I cannot see any way forward. Thankfully, on the third day, I awake with a sliver of hope, just enough for my brain to cast orders to climb back up out of my hellish stinking quagmire. And fortunately, when Lila rings the two dreaded days are over and it will do no good to tell Lila my 'true state of being.'

'I'm getting there, Lila,' I tell her.

'Honey, you only have to say and I can be at yours within 12 hours.'

'God no!' It comes out as a scared order. 'I mean, I'm fine, seriously,' I add. 'Well, as fine as I can be with you know, what's happening.'

She seems happy with that.

Over the next few days excitement mounts, I'm one step closer. I know he's going to be a lot cleverer than Patrick. I'm bound to relax and because I'll only see his face it'll be easy to share my inner demons. I decide he's probably middle-aged and has a thriving practice somewhere in the city, but he's set this web-site up for people like me, patients who need a different approach than the old hand holding / couch methods.

On Friday I work out how much his computer cam will take in and I skitter around the apartment and make sure my 'house is in order.' I'm out to make a good impression.

* * *

My hand rests on my mouse and the instant my digital pings 8 o'clock, I click the web browser and click on the link.

My computer cam springs to life.

Simultaneously I gasp and my stomach lurches with repulsion.

I'm looking into a darkened murky dungeon-like chamber, something out of the dark ages. A spiral of water trickles down cobbled dark brown bricks on the far wall. In places I see a build-up of green slime. I can virtually smell the dank odour it secretes and feel the chill air. But my imagination is playing tricks on me...it's not the chill air from the dungeon I see before me. It's the dark shadow in my own apartment, winding its way up my legs.

I close my eyes and fill my lungs then slowly let out a nervous breath.

The dungeon is all in my fucked up head!

With such hope, I slowly open my eyes again into half slits and peer at the screen. Same as before which I now relate to a scene from a horror movie! WHAT THE FUCK?

I wait for ages. Nothing happens. No one comes into view.

'Are you there?' My voice is strangled.

'Yes.' A female voice answers. She sounds so young.

'Are you the, um, psychiatrist?' I ask. Because I was so sure I'd be talking to a man.

'I'll be helping you,' she says. Her voice is soft and sounds far away. 'If you let me,' she adds.

Seriously, she sounds like a kid still at school! I crane my neck so I'm five inches from my screen. I can see light coming from the far corner of the chamber and the flickering glint it creates on some of the wet bricks points to it being a naked flame of some sort.