Author: Sebastian Fitzek
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sebastian-fitzek/page,5,56546-therapy.html
Viktor realized that he had been staring at her mistrustfully.
‘Yes, I mean, no, I . . .’ he stuttered. ‘Forgive me. I wasn't expecting visitors and I've come down with a bit of a cold.’
He remembered what Halberstaedt had told him. It made him doubly reluctant to invite her in.
‘Oh.’ Anna's face fell. ‘I'm sorry to hear it.’
Out to sea, a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, bathing the cottage in sudden light. It was followed by a low roll of thunder. The storm was getting closer. Irritated, Viktor realized that he could hardly close the door on his troublesome guest. Good manners dictated that he put up with her company, at least until the worst of the weather was over.
‘Since you've taken the trouble to drop by, I suppose you'd better come in for some tea,’ he said reluctantly. Anna jumped at the offer. She was smiling again and Viktor thought he glimpsed a look of triumph on her face. She reminded him of a small child whose pestering had been rewarded with a bag of sweets.
She followed him into the sitting room where they resumed their positions of the previous day; Anna, legs crossed elegantly, on the couch and Viktor with his back to the window by the desk.
‘Help yourself to tea.’
He raised his cup and nodded towards the teapot that was sitting on the mantelpiece over a tea light.
‘Thank you – maybe later.’
Viktor's sore throat was markedly worse. He took a large gulp of Assam tea. The bitter taste was more pronounced than last time.
‘Are you feeling all right, Dr Larenz?’
She had asked him the same question yesterday. It bothered him that she seemed to see straight through him. He was the psychiatrist, after all.
‘I'm fine, thanks.’
‘You haven't smiled since I got here. I hope I haven't done anything to incur your displeasure. I had every intention of catching the ferry, believe me. I wasn't to know that the service would be suspended.’
‘Did they tell you when the boat will be back in action?’
‘They said forty-eight hours. Twenty-four at a push.’
Knowing my luck, she'll be here for a week, thought Viktor, who remembered being stranded on Parkum with his father for at least that long.
‘Maybe you could give me another consultation, seeing as I'm here,’ she suggested boldly, smiling her gentle smile.
She wants to get something off her chest.
‘Another consultation? Ms Glass, I'm not your therapist. Yesterday was an informal chat, nothing more. A patch of bad weather won't change my mind.’
‘Fine, then let's keep talking. Yesterday's chat really helped.’
She wants to tell me something and she won't stop bothering me until I hear her out.
Viktor held her gaze for a few seconds and gave in when he realized that she was determined not to look away.
‘All right, I suppose we can chat . . .’
Let's finish whatever it is that you've started, he added to himself.
Anna leant back happily on the couch and proceeded to tell Viktor the most appalling story of his life.
9
‘What are you working on at the moment?’ he asked to get the ball rolling.
He had woken up that morning with a question on his mind. Who will she bring to life next?
‘I don't write fiction anymore. Or at least, not what most people would understand by fiction.’
‘How would you describe it?’
‘These days I only write about myself, so autobiography, I suppose. It kills three birds with one stone: it allows me to indulge my literary bent, it gives me a way of coming to terms with my past, and it rules out the possibility of fictional characters coming alive and driving me crazy.’
‘I see. Then tell me about your most recent breakdown – the one that culminated in your admission to the Park.’
Anna took a deep breath and folded her hands as if in prayer.
‘Very well. The last character who came to life was the heroine of a children's book. A modern fairy tale.’
‘Can you tell me about the plot?’
‘It centred on a little girl called Charlotte. A delicate slip of a thing with angelic blonde hair – the sort you see on commercials for biscuits and chocolate. You know the type.’
‘As hallucinations go, I can think of worse.’
‘True. Charlotte was a darling. People found her adorable. Her father was the king and they lived in a palace on an island.’
‘How did the story start?’
‘With a quest. One day Charlotte fell ill – seriously ill.’
Viktor, who had been preparing to take another sip of tea, replaced his cup on the desk. Anna had his full attention.
‘She lost weight, became frail and sickly, and was struck down by all kinds of mysterious infections. One by one, the king consulted every doctor in the kingdom, but no one knew what was wrong with his daughter. It wasn't long before the royal couple were frantic with worry. Meanwhile, poor Charlotte was declining by the day.’
Viktor was so absorbed that he forgot to breathe.
‘One day she decided to take charge of her own destiny. She ran away from home.’
Josy.
In spite of his best efforts, Viktor caught himself thinking about his daughter.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Anna, puzzled.
Viktor ran a hand nervously through his hair. He must have spoken out loud. ‘Nothing. I didn't mean to interrupt. Carry on.’
‘So Charlotte set off on a quest to find the cause of her illness. I suppose you could call it a parable. A little girl refuses to give up hope and sets off into the big wide world on her own.’
No, thought Viktor. This can't be happening. His mind ground slowly to a halt. It was the same feeling of paralysis that he had experienced in Dr Grohlke's clinic; the same catatonic numbness that had accompanied him every single day of his life until he had decided to call off the search for Josy.
‘Are you sure you're all right, Dr Larenz?’
‘Pardon? Oh, sorry . . .’ He stared at the fingers of his right hand which were drumming nervously on the antique mahogany desk.
‘Forgive me, I should stop drinking so much tea. But tell me more about Charlotte. How does the story end? What happened to her?’
Where did Josy go?
‘I don't know.’
‘Surely you know how your own story ends?’ he asked roughly. The question sounded more aggressive than he had intended, but Anna seemed unperturbed.
‘I told you before, Dr Larenz, I never got past the first few chapters. And that's why Charlotte came after me. It's how the nightmare started.’
Nightmare?
‘What do you mean?’
‘Charlotte was the last of my characters to come alive. What we experienced together was so stressful that I broke down completely. That's when I was admitted to the Park.’
‘Let's back up a little. Tell me exactly what happened.’
Viktor knew he was breaking the rules. It was too early for the patient to discuss the trauma, but he simply had to know. Anna bowed her head and stared at the ground. He persisted, but this time more gently.
‘When did you first see Charlotte?’
‘About four years ago in Berlin. It was winter.’
November 26, thought Viktor.
‘I was on my way to the shops when I heard an awful noise: screeching tyres, the crunch of metal on metal, splintering glass. It sounded like a car accident. I can remember thinking “I hope no one's hurt”, then I turned round to see a girl in the middle of the road. She was rooted to the spot. The crash was obviously her fault.’
Viktor sat rigid in his chair.
‘Suddenly, as if she could sense I was there, she turned round and smiled at me. I recognized her right away. It was Charlotte – the little girl from my book. She ran over and took me by the hand.’
Such frail, thin arms. So delicate.
‘My mind seemed to shut down. On the
one hand, I knew Charlotte wasn't real; she had to be a delusion. On the other, she was standing right beside me. In the end, I had to believe the evidence of my eyes. So I followed her.’
‘Followed her? Which way? Where did she go?’
‘Why? Does it make a difference?’ asked Anna, blinking in confusion. She seemed put out.
‘Not in the slightest. I'm sorry, go on.’
Anna cleared her throat and stood up. ‘If you don't mind, Dr Larenz, I'd like to take a break. I know I pressured you into this conversation, but I thought I was ready, and I'm not. The hallucinations were extremely traumatic. It's not easy for me to discuss them.’
‘I understand,’ said Viktor, managing to sound sympathetic even though he was desperate for her to carry on. He got to his feet as well.
‘You won't have to worry about me bothering you again. With any luck, the ferry will be up and running tomorrow.’
No!
Viktor tried feverishly to think of a reason for making her stay. He couldn't allow her to leave the island, although that was exactly what he had made her promise to do.
He hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room. ‘One last question: what was the book called?’
‘I hadn't decided. I only had a working title: Nine.’
‘Nine?’
‘Charlotte was nine years old when she ran away from home.’
‘Oh.’
Younger than Josy.
Viktor was surprised at himself. He had come very close to believing Anna's story. In fact, he had almost hoped that her delusions were somehow connected to the truth.
He took a few steps towards her and realized that his symptoms were getting worse. The aspirin had done nothing to get rid of his migraine, his temples were still throbbing, and his eyes were watering. Anna was standing in front of him, but her contours were blurred, as if he were seeing her through a glass of water. He blinked, his vision cleared a little, and when he looked again, he saw an expression on her face that he couldn't quite decipher. Then it came to him: he and Anna had met before. He knew her from a long time ago, but he couldn't put his finger on when or how. It was like recognizing an actress but not knowing which characters she played or what she was called in real life.
He helped her clumsily into her coat and escorted her to the door. Anna stepped outside, then turned round suddenly. Her mouth was almost touching his face.
‘Oh, that reminds me. You know you asked about the title?’
‘Yes?’ Viktor took a step backwards, feeling a rush of nervous energy.
‘I don't suppose it's relevant, but the book had a subtitle. Oddly enough, it didn't have anything to do with the plot. The idea came to me in the bath and I went along with it because it sounded sort of funny.’
‘What was it?’
For a split second he wondered whether he really wanted to know. Then it was too late.
‘The Blue Cat,’ said Anna. ‘Don't ask me why. I was going to have a picture of a blue cat on the jacket.’
10
‘OK, let's get this straight . . .’
Viktor could tell that the paunchy detective was shaking his head incredulously on the other end of the line. He had rung the PI as soon as Anna left the house.
‘You're telling me that a mental patient turned up on your doorstep in Parkum?’
‘Correct.’
‘And this woman is convinced that she's being hounded by characters from her own books.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you want me to find out whether the delusional ramblings of Ms . . . What was her name again?’
‘Sorry, Kai, but I'd rather not say. She's a patient – not my patient – but a patient all the same. Everything she tells me is confidential.’
To a point.
‘And you reckon Ms What's-Her-Name's hallucinations are connected to Josy's disappearance?’
‘Right.’
‘You know what I think?’
‘You think I'm crazy.’
‘That's putting it mildly.’
‘I don't blame you, Kai. But I can't dismiss what she told me. It's too much of a coincidence.’
‘You can't – or you don't want to?’
Viktor pretended not to hear. ‘A small girl succumbs to a mysterious illness and disappears without trace. And not just anywhere – in Berlin.’
‘OK,’ said Kai, ‘but the woman could have been lying when she said she hadn't read the papers. What if she knew about Josy?’
‘I considered that too, but Josy's health problems weren't public knowledge.’
Viktor remembered how the police had advised them to keep back the information regarding Josy's sickness. The media would have seized on the story of the mystery symptoms and sensationalized the case.
Besides, there was another advantage to withholding the details, as the young officer in charge of the investigation explained, ‘It gives us a means of identifying the real abductor. We're expecting all kinds of calls from opportunists who claim to be holding Josy in the hope of getting their hands on your cash.’
The tactic proved effective. The appeals for information about Josy prompted a flurry of calls from people all claiming to be the kidnapper. In response to the question ‘How is Josephine?’ they invariably reported that she was doing ‘just fine’ or ‘quite well, considering the circumstances’. Both replies were definitively wrong. Josephine fainted on a daily basis and being abducted was hardly likely to have improved her health.
‘OK, Doc, so a little girl gets sick and runs away from home,’ said the PI. ‘So far, so good, but what about that stuff about a royal palace and an island?’
‘Technically, Schwanenwerder is an island. It's only accessible from Berlin-Zehlendorf by a bridge. And the house is practically a palace, you said so yourself. As for the stuff about the princess, Isabell used to call . . . or rather, Isabell calls our daughter her little princess. It all adds up.’
‘Listen, Victor, don't get me wrong. We've known each other for four years now, and I'd like to think we're friends – but you shouldn't take this woman seriously. She hasn't told you anything you didn't already know. Her story's like a horoscope – too vague to be useful.’
‘You're probably right, but I owe it to Josy to check out every possible lead, no matter how unlikely.’
‘All right, you're the boss. But let's remind ourselves of the facts. The last credible sighting of Josephine came from an elderly couple who saw a man walk out of Dr Grohlke's clinic with a little girl. They didn't challenge the guy because they assumed he was the father. Their statement was backed up by the man who runs the kiosk on the corner. Your daughter was abducted by a middle-aged man. And she was twelve years old, not nine.’
‘Don't forget the blue cat! Josy's favourite toy was a fluffy blue cat called Nepomuk.’
‘Hallelujah! Supposing this woman abducted your daughter, why would she come to you? She hides out with Josy for four years and then one day, out of the blue, she hops on a ferry to Parkum. It doesn't make sense.’
‘I'm not saying she was responsible for Josy's disappearance; I'm saying she knows something, that's all. And I'll do my utmost to get it out of her in the course of her analysis.’
‘You're seeing her again?’
‘I invited her for another chat tomorrow morning. I hope she'll come; I was a bit unfriendly at first.’
‘Why don't you cut to the chase and ask what she knows about Josy?’
‘How?’
‘Show her a picture. Ask if she recognizes her, and if she says yes, call the police.’
‘I've only got a photocopy of a newspaper article. I didn't bring any decent photos.’
‘I can fax you one.’
‘It's not worth it. I wouldn't be able to use it – yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘In one respect my patient was definitely telling the truth: she's schizophrenic. As a therapist, I have to earn her trust. She's already signalled to me that she doesn't want to talk about what hap
pened. If she thinks that I'm accusing her of perpetrating a crime, she'll never speak to me again. She'll shut down completely. I can't take that risk if there's the slightest chance that Josy might be alive. She's my last hope.’
Hope.
‘You know what, Viktor? Hope is like a shard of glass. Tread on it, and you'll end up wincing with every step. The best policy is to tweezer it out. Sure, it will hurt like billy-o and the wound will take a while to heal, but after that you can walk again. There's a thing called grieving, and you should try it. The kid's been missing for four years! For Christ's sake, Viktor, a jumbled story from a mental patient isn't exactly a promising lead!’
Unknown to the PI, his perorations on the nature of hope had furnished Viktor with the answer to Bunte’s second question.
‘OK, Kai, we'll make a deal. I'll stop searching for Josy in return for one last favour.’
‘What?’
‘Find out if there's any record of a car accident taking place in the vicinity of Grohlke's clinic between 15.30 and 16.15 on November 26. Can you do that for me?’
‘Yep. But in the meantime I want you to back off and put all your energy into finishing your bloody interview. Understood?’
Viktor simply thanked him for his help. It seemed silly to make promises that he had no intention of keeping.
11
Three days before the truth, Parkum
Bunte: It was obviously an immensely stressful time for you. What helped you cope?
Viktor chuckled. In a few moments, his next session with Anna would begin, provided she turned up. They had made the arrangement the previous day, but Anna had refused to commit. Working on the interview was a way of distracting himself. He had deliberately chosen the easiest question in order to take his mind off Charlotte. And Josy.
What helped you cope?
He didn't have to think about the answer. It consisted of one word: alcohol.
At first it was a sip or two, but the longer Josy was missing, the more it took to numb the pain. In the end he was drinking a full tumbler for every bad thought. Alcohol repressed the memories – and gave him some answers as well. More specifically, alcohol was the answer.
Q: