Chapter Nine
Take a seat, Jake, I’ll be just a second,” Lauren Michaels said smiling.
Chandler sank down into a soft, plush beige velour sofa. The sofa was comfortable but he was glad that he wasn’t expected to lie back in the clichéd manner.
After the initial panic at being told by the department that he had to see a shrink, over the last few months Chandler had begun to look forward to the sessions. He saw them as his opportunity to say what he felt. And although being totally honest and open was still a work-in-progress he was revealing more each time he spoke to Lauren.
The truth was he had expected the experience to be corny somehow, or just embarrassingly formal but his sessions with Lauren were nothing like that. She was natural, relaxed. What’s more, he had come to rely on her. A thought he didn’t wholly like to admit, even to himself. But knowing he could call her, night or day, gave him a strange comfort. And in the early days he had needed to call her. Often.
Chandler looked around the office. He was so familiar with the layout that he was able to spot the slightest thing that was out of place. Lauren was writing at a huge antique oak desk, which had a red leather panel covering the center. His eyes swept the carved wood, taking in the intricate design around the edges and down the legs. She had a formal brown leather ink-blotter placed before her, but Chandler had never seen her use anything other than a roller ball. He suspected that the blotter had been a present, perhaps from her parents when she graduated but he never asked her about her life or family. It just wasn’t done.
The desktop wasn’t as tidy as usual. There was a small pile of legal-sized files on the desk in front of her. She had the top one open and was writing notes into it, possibly about her last patient.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she felt his eyes on her. “Running a bit late today. But you’ll still get your full hour.”
She looked flustered. Her normally well-groomed brown hair was ruffled, a stray strand had broken away from her neat ponytail. Chandler also noticed a pale pink pimple blooming on her normally flawless skin.
“Don’t worry,” Chandler replied. “Take your time.”
Behind the desk was a large painting; a boring print of flowers in a field. Something generic that reminded him of a famous painting, but not quite. Perhaps the style was like Van Gogh. Chandler’s mind barely acknowledged its presence above the cursory glance of expectation to find the familiar piece there as he let his eyes fall on the row of cabinets that lined the wall to Lauren’s right. One drawer was left atypically open.
“There,” said Lauren closing the file.
She stood up and came around the desk, taking a seat in the chair opposite the sofa, legal pad and pen in hand, even though he was sure she didn’t need them with the digital recorder dutifully sat on the coffee table between them.
“Things have been a bit manic. I take a short trip and the world falls apart,” she smiled.
Chandler smiled back. “Everyone deserves a break. You should take them more often.”
Lauren glanced down at her notepad as though contemplating this advice.
“So how have you been?” she asked. “You didn’t call me over the last few days. I’m taking that as a good sign.”
“I’m okay. I’ve been busy—on this new case. I guess it’s taken my mind away from my personal issues.”
“So you’re still on the Juniper case?” Lauren asked.
Chandler looked down at his hands. “I know you advised against it, but I’m enjoying the work. It has … given me … purpose.”
“In what way?”
Chandler was thoughtful. Her question was ambiguous. Most of them were. He wondered what part of his answer she was referring to when she asked the question. He struggled for a moment with the thought of giving a generic answer that would tell her nothing. Then realized his thoughts missed the point of his reason for being here.
“The work is challenging. I’m not at all sure that Juniper is guilty. In fact, I suspect he isn’t,” Chandler said. “Part of me wants to investigate, not only to find the killer, but to clear the artist. He seems harmless. Not like some people I’ve dealt with before. Plus … the attacks are …”
“Sick?” asked Lauren.
“Unusual, but the attacker is warped. They always are, no matter how a murder takes place. Or what their motivation. But I’m curious about this one. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before.”
“Wait a minute, you said … attacks. I thought there had only been one murder?”
Of course the papers knew nothing about Maria Matthews or the fact that the police suspected the same perpetrator. Chandler frowned. He really shouldn’t talk about what they had or the other victim with Lauren. But she was bound by strict confidentiality laws. She couldn’t reveal this information to anyone.
“There was another victim.”
“Another murdered girl?”
“She’s still alive.”
“Oh my God … but …”
“I’d rather not give you specifics, except to say the injury wasn’t bad enough to kill.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Lauren said. “Tell me how you’re feeling? How this is all affecting you?”
Chandler slipped into therapy mode and shared his ongoing anxiety about Jules, his insecurities with his job. But the words felt automatic. He was strangely distant from them.
“I don’t think you need me anymore,” Lauren said at the end of the session. “I’m going to send an email to the department, explaining that you are fully fit and well.”
Panic began to rise in his chest. “You mean, I don’t need to come here anymore?”
“Precisely. Jake, you’ve made excellent progress and your enthusiasm seems to have returned for your job. It’s healthy interest. The only thing that still concerns me is your lack of social life. But given the circumstances that may take you a long time to change.”
“I don’t feel ready to stop the sessions,” Chandler admitted. He was so different in Lauren’s surgery from the confident professional that his colleagues saw. He felt weak, raw, exposed, and yet it was still okay to be this way around her.
“It’s only natural you should feel that way,” Lauren said. “I’ve been your crutch, but now you need to learn to take steps without me.”
For a moment Chandler was confused, he wondered if he had spoken his vulnerability aloud, but then realized she was responding to his fear of stopping seeing her.
“In a doctor/patient relationship there is a certain amount of dependency that develops. But Jake, I wouldn’t be saying this to you if I felt you couldn’t handle it. I think it will be good for you to try being totally independent again.”
Chandler shook his head. “I’m not ready.…”
“Of course you are.”
Chandler’s world was once again spinning out of control, but what frightened him the most was his total fear of not seeing Lauren again. He tried to analyze it. His dependency on her was stronger than he had imagined.
“I’m not saying this is our last session,” she said. “But we are going to start spreading them farther apart. Instead of weekly, I’m going to see you every other week this month. Then we will see how things go.”
Chandler’s heartbeat settled down as the panic receded. He could do that. He could. He didn’t always want to come here every week at the same time. Sometimes he would prefer to stay at the station working on his cases. Often it was an unwelcome interruption when he had to go out. But always when he saw Lauren, he became calm. He was welcome here. Reassured by her composed expression and the meter of her voice which was almost hypnotic. The time spent with her always went quickly.
“I think you should try to find a hobby,” Lauren was saying. “Didn’t you mention you used to paint? Why not take it up again? Creativity gives us a focus for our anxieties and emotions. It could also be something positive. Maybe even take a class at the college. Something that will give you a reason to commit.”
Chandler nodded. And a small bell chimed, the timer on her desk, indicating that their hour was up. “Positive?”
“Yes. It occurs to me how dark the nature of your job is. It must be hard to feel positive when surrounded by death.”
Chandler looked up at her.
“I suppose your job is the same in many ways. You get everyone’s troubles, all day long. You must hear some terrible stories. How do you keep optimistic all the time?”
Lauren blinked, then smiled. “I keep positive because that’s the only way to stop the horror from drowning me. Pagans believe that we chose to be happy or sad. That if we are unhappy, then negative things happen to us. We draw that bad energy in. Positivity on the other hand repels it. Of course my learned colleagues would tell me that depression is a chemical imbalance, a bad childhood, or because someone has become the victim of bad circumstances. However, some people believe that we create those circumstances by our attitude.”
“Interesting philosophy. But you’re a psychiatrist, you don’t believe that.”
“I’m many things, Jake. Psychiatry is my job. What I believe is that some people have a chemical imbalance, and that some bad things happen that we cannot control. Like the death of your wife. But it has been my observation that not all depression is caused by these things. Sometimes the negativity of a person does draw in bad elements or indeed makes them react to a situation in a different way to a happy, upbeat person. Sometimes a person whose, for want of a better word, cup is half-empty, sees the bad in a situation that his opposite will find a silver lining in.”
“You’ve never spoken to me this way before,” Chandler said.
“I’m telling you this because I want you to start looking for small joys. Your daily coffee. A polite person opening a door for you. A clue that will lead you to your criminal. Smile instead of frown; the returning smile you will get will inspire a raised feeling of spirit.”
“Our time is up,” Chandler pointed out as the timer continued to beep on Lauren’s desk.
“No. It’s never up,” said Lauren.
Then she stood and switched off the timer.
“Think on what I’ve said. Find something that makes you happy. Something that returns some happiness back into your life, no matter how small.”
Chandler left her office. His head was reeling. He was enlightened somehow, as though her parting words and advice meant more than the months of psychobabble she had previously given. Maybe this was always her goodbye speech, but somehow he didn’t think so. It seemed heartfelt and not rehearsed and maybe that was why she had really struck a chord with him. All of those generic shrink responses she gave to everyone on a daily basis, maybe she was tired of the bullshit, or maybe by analyzing her patients she had realized how diverse their problems were.
Whatever the reason, Lauren’s philosophy left him believing that he needed to ponder her words carefully. Perhaps it was just as simple as making a life choice. But how?
How could anyone “choose” to be happy? That wasn’t as easy as it sounded.