Page 33 of The Therapist

TWENTY

TUESDAY NIGHT

Lana

But Sandy is fine, that’s what the detective said. So how come Mike didn’t know that? How come Sandy hadn’t contacted him to tell him she was fine? Why would he come to my office if she had? The questions keep coming up as I try to understand exactly what’s going on here.

And suddenly I cannot stay in the house any longer.

‘Iggy,’ I call.

‘Yeah,’ my son replies from the living room, where he is watching television and eating his apple.

‘Do you want to ride your bike next to me while I have a run?’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he shouts, bouncing into the kitchen with delight. ‘We haven’t done that for a million, billion years.’

I laugh at his joy, taking a moment of pleasure from the day.

Outside it’s cold, the temperature dropping quickly, and I know that soon it will be dark.

It’s September and the beginning of spring but any warmth feels very far away.

I pick streets where I know there will be fewer cars and some lights.

Iggy and I have done this before and he knows the rules: he rides on the path and I run behind him.

It’s hard at first, my knees complaining and my lungs burning with each breath, and I am momentarily upset at myself for not doing this more often, especially since Iggy enjoys it so much.

But soon I settle into a rhythm, my breathing evens out and I feel a rush of endorphins. Iggy zooms along in front of me and I’m pleased that very few people are out.

After half an hour we get to the end of the cycle paths and Iggy stops so we can turn around. His cheeks glow red with exhilaration and cold.

‘Hold up a minute,’ I say, ‘I need to check my phone.’ I want a minute to catch my breath before we go back and I know Iggy is not tired at all.

I glance down at my phone and see I have a new message. Shock ripples through me as I open it and see who it’s from.

Sandy. I read it once and then again.

Lana, help me. He’s going to kill me.

Where are you? I type back quickly, seeing that the message came through fifteen minutes ago. I stare down at the phone as sweat dries on my body and the cold wind seeps in through my layers.

But there’s no reply. Now what? Now what the hell do I do?

‘Okay, let’s go,’ I say to Iggy.

And we’re off again. My feet pound the pavement as I struggle to keep my thoughts in order.

Finally, we are home and I tell Iggy I’m going for a shower.

Standing under the hot water, I again turn over the idea that this is all some sort of sick game that Sandy and Mike play together, that they like the attention and the fear that this generates.

Is that possible? They have two small children and Mike works, so where are they finding the time for this kind of thing?

Unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever heard of in my time as a psychologist.

At conferences there are often whispered tales of odd patients. Ben’s experience with Carla comes to mind. I know why he didn’t want to work with Sandy. It must have been so hard for him but I wonder if he has considered that this is some sort of game between Sandy and Mike.

Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I call his number, wanting to leave a message saying that I hope everything is okay. But he answers the phone.

‘Lana, hi.’

‘Hey, Ben, I just wanted to check in and see that everything was okay…with your parents. I’m not sure what’s happening but I just wanted to check in,’ I finish lamely.

‘Ah, thanks for calling.’ He sighs. ‘Honestly, it’s nice to talk to someone who understands about this stuff.

My dad has bipolar disorder and he was off his meds and my mother couldn’t cope so I was up all of last night on the phone, speaking to his doctors and trying to be there for her.

I know I can’t see patients on so little sleep but I came in just to make sure no one needed to see me urgently.

I got a nap in and I’ll call my mother soon because I need to make sure that she knows she has my support.

I feel so bad for being here when I should be there.

I just want to make sure that it’s all under control again. ’

I feel a pang of sympathy. Everything going on with Sandy and Mike shouldn’t be affecting Ben, not now when he has his own family stuff to deal with. ‘If you want to go over there, I’m sure it’d be okay – I mean I’m sure Kirsty can reschedule all your patients.’

‘No, no, it’s fine. I won’t have to take time off after all because I found him a place at a clinic and it’s private so it’s not cheap. Basically, I need to work.’

‘I understand and I’m glad you got it sorted out. But if things change, do what you need to do. I’m sorry you’re going through this.’

‘Thanks, Lana. Anyway, that’s life,’ he says with a dry laugh. ‘Is everything okay with you?

‘Well…’ I begin, unsure of how to explain things.

‘I have been thinking about Sandy but I assumed you would tell me if there was anything to know. Have you heard from police?’

‘Um…’ I take a deep breath, relieved to be able to talk to him about this because I really need to talk to someone. I fill him in on today and then I explain about the message that I just received. I tell him about my theory that this is some sort of game between the two of them.

‘That’s bizarre. But do you think it’s actually some kind of game? I mean what’s the payoff?’

I know that this is an important question because it’s the question we try to encourage our patients to ask of themselves when they are engaging in destructive behaviour.

What’s the payoff? What are you getting from binge-eating or gaming or dating emotionally unavailable men?

Human beings are not that complicated and even terrible, damaging addictions have some sort of payoff, regardless of whether a person is able to acknowledge and understand it or not.

‘I don’t know. Maybe they get off on the idea that a stranger is thinking about them and worrying? But what if the police have it wrong and Sandy is actually in danger?’

‘Maybe call them again, explain about the message.’

‘I can’t. Detective Franks seems to believe that I’m overly invested in Sandy and specifically warned me off. And Franks says that Sandy is actually bothered by my behaviour but I can’t just ignore the message either.’

Ben says nothing for a bit . ‘You’re not thinking of going over there again, Lana, are you?’

I realise that this is exactly what I am thinking about. If I go over there and tell Mike I’m willing to listen to him, maybe I can figure out what’s real and what’s not.

‘Lana,’ says Ben, ‘tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘The police think I’m the problem, Ben, and it may be that this is all some sort of game, but what if it’s not? What are my options here?’

Ben sighs. ‘Okay, listen. If you’re going to go over there, I’ll come with you, okay? We need there to be two people to make sure that whatever he tells us, we can corroborate it. And you need to…bring that gun in case he really has done something.’

I don’t know what to say to that. Having the gun has made me feel safer. I couldn’t physically stop Mike any other way. But it feels like a scary escalation to bring it when I go over to Mike and Sandy’s house, as though I am inviting more violence into the situation than necessary.

‘Do you really think we need it?’

‘We’re just going to talk and hopefully it’ll all get cleared up.’

The gun is only a prop and he’s offering to come with me. It will be different to last time, when I found myself in the house alone with Mike.

‘Okay, okay good, so when do we go over there?’

‘I mean…tonight if you can get someone to watch Iggy.’

Lana, help me. He’s going to kill me. Sandy’s message was clear but was it all for show or is she really in danger?

I can’t go rushing over to that house again. I feel pulled in different directions with each passing moment. This is real and a woman could get hurt. This is a game and these two people are looking for an audience. This is just a misunderstanding and the message was a mistake.

Whatever this is, I need to consider that I am a mother with a child and I can’t make any stupid decisions.

I need to take a step back from this, do some proper research on Sandy and Mike, consult some of my case studies, see if I can find anything on the internet like this.

‘No, not tonight,’ I tell him, ‘tomorrow night, Wednesday night. Iggy sleeps over at Oliver’s on Wednesday night.’

Ben breathes down the line. ‘Okay. Whatever works for you.’

I feel a rush of guilt all over again. But I tried to help. I called the police and they think I’m the problem. ‘I know we’re both worried now but I feel like I need to look into this a bit more.’

‘Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow at work, I hope.’

‘I hope so too,’ I reply. ‘Get some sleep.’ I’m not rushing into this again. I’m going to take some time, google something like this and see if anything pops up and, that way, I will be ready for what happens tomorrow.

I end the call and go downstairs to have dinner with Iggy. I sit and listen to him read after dinner, feeling a warm glow of pride at how well he’s doing.

Once he’s in bed and I’m back in my room, I grab my laptop and scroll through different cases that I have studied, trying to find something similar to what I believe is happening here.

But there’s nothing that is even close to what I think this is.

And then I google ‘Couple gaslight therapist’ and only find endless articles and posts from people complaining that their therapists are gaslighting them.

I do find some information about cluster B antisocial personalities like narcissists, who may lead the therapist where they want them to go.

I don’t know if I would call Mike a narcissist but it’s probable that Sandy is. I have been picking up something strange about her in every session. Is Mike being used by Sandy?

The theories circle in my brain until the alarm I have on my phone buzzes. I have it set for eleven every night or I don’t get enough sleep.

Exhausted, I close down my computer and look at my phone. I try Sandy again, just in case she answers, in case she is fine, in case this is all over and I simply don’t know it.

But, once again, I am told the mailbox is full. I sink into sleep more confused than ever. Is Sandy missing? Framing me? Framing her husband? Playing a game?

Or is Sandy dead?