Page 42 of The Therapist

TWENTY-NINE

Lana

I am frozen in place with the gun in my hand as I stare at the man I have fired at. I don’t understand what just happened.

I look down at my hand in horror, my breath coming in white puffs. The gun is just for show, Lana, for show. It’s filled with blanks.

‘Daddy, Daddy,’ I hear and I turn around, the gun still clutched in my hand.

Two small children are standing barefoot on the cold grass of the garden.

They are holding hands and both of them are carrying stuffed toys.

Lila and Felix. Lila looks like her mother and she is holding a purple teddy bear, and Felix resembles his father, a stuffed koala clutched in his arms. I stare at them, horror surrounding the clashing thoughts in my head, the gun heavy in my hand.

In my other hand, a voice on my phone is trying to get my attention.

‘Police, fire, ambulance, hello, hello, police, fire, ambulance, hello, can you hear me?’

I called them. I didn’t know I called them but I did.

‘Is my daddy dead?’ asks Felix, his voice loud enough to be heard by the man on the phone.

‘Hello, hello, ma’am, can you talk to me? I’m trying to trace your phone. Can you talk to me? Is someone hurt?’

My hand is trembling as I lift the phone to my ear, my gaze on the children, who are frozen in place. It is too cold for them to be out here in the garden, especially since they are both barefoot.

‘I…shot him, I didn’t…please, you need to send help, you need to send help.’ My voice rises as a panicked hysteria starts to take over my body. I am shaking and I can feel hot tears on my face. Did I shoot him? Did I really shoot him or did he just trip over?

‘Okay, calm down, calm down, can you tell me if he’s breathing?

Can you give me your address, can you check if he’s breathing?

’ The man is barking orders at me and I cannot seem to make sense of it but finally something sinks in and I say, ‘Anderson Street, number twenty-one, it’s…

I came to find Sandy. She screamed. We thought she screamed.

Ben is here; he was watching, he was…’ I am not making sense and I know that.

‘Okay, ma’am, I need you to check if he’s breathing, can you do that for me? The ambulance and the police are on the way and I need you to stay right there because they will be there soon. But can you check if he’s breathing for me?’

I turn away from the children and look at Mike, completely still on the ground.

Why is he just lying there? I feel my body sway a little as I study him, noting that the grass around his head is darkening with what looks like blood.

Is it blood? Oh God, is that blood? It must be blood.

He hit his head on something. My stomach churns as I take deep breaths and then I drop the gun and my phone and crawl over to him and touch his head, feeling something slick and wet soaking into the sleeve of my white jumper.

Blood. I gag as I push against the wound with my hand, trying to stop the bleeding.

‘Mike, wake up,’ I whisper. ‘Wake up, please.’

The police are coming. The ambulance is coming.

‘Daddy,’ says his little girl, and I turn, keeping my hands on the wound. She takes a step towards me, towards the gun lying on the grass, glinting black in the dim light. I grab the gun quickly.

‘Stay back, honey,’ I say, my voice wobbly with tears, ‘stay back.’

I can’t put the gun down. The children are here and a gun is dangerous to have around children. Where did I get this gun? Why do I have it? Everything is mixed up.

Ben. Yes, Ben gave me the gun. Where is Ben?

‘Ben,’ I shout, turning towards the window again, ‘Ben.’ But there’s no response, just me and two terrified children in the dark garden, backlit by the house, their eyes wide, pupils dilated with fear.

I can hear sirens now, a screaming noise. I can hear them and I know they are coming here. They will take the children inside, they will find Sandy, they will find Ben. Is Sandy in the shed?

Or is that just one more lie?

I want to move, to speak, but I can’t seem to do anything. The man on the phone is still talking to me but I can’t seem to hear him over the buzzing in my head. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.

I sink onto the cold grass, still clutching the gun. White noise surrounds me. I can’t keep up with my thoughts so I just…stop.

‘Is my daddy dead?’ I hear a small voice ask again, and I want to respond. I know I need to respond but I simply…can’t. I don’t know why he is lying on the ground. I don’t know why there is blood. My jumper is wet with it now, the smell creeping inside my nose.

There wasn’t supposed to be any blood. The gun was for show and it was all a show. There wasn’t supposed to be any blood. A howl of despair builds inside me and I can’t stop it. I hear myself screaming, making a noise that should not come from me. But it’s me.

Suddenly there is movement everywhere, lights everywhere, people everywhere and so much shouting.

I close my mouth and look around, taking in all the movement.

Two men with a stretcher are shouting and a policewoman is with the children; she is guiding them back inside.

The whole house is now lit up and someone shines a torch in my eyes. I squint against its brightness.

A man is yelling at me, ‘Put the gun down, put the gun down now.’ The torchlight disappears and I can see that it’s a man in uniform, a policeman, holding a gun, pointing the gun at me.

‘You need to look in the shed,’ I tell him even as he shouts. Because what if she is in the shed?

‘Look in the shed,’ I say again.

‘Put it down, put it down now,’ he screams, his face screwed up with anger, and I look down at my hand that is still clutching the gun and then somehow, I manage to make my fingers release it, drop it, and it lands on the ground in front of me.

‘I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was only trying to help.

’ I wail the words into the air, hoping that he will somehow understand.

‘Don’t move, don’t move,’ he screams as he walks towards me and I want to cover my ears with my hands.

There is so much noise. I can still hear sirens, and behind me another man is shouting, ‘Can you hear me? Can you hear me, mate? Open your eyes, can you open your eyes, it’s okay, we’ve got you, we’ve got you. ’

‘Sandy is in the shed,’ I say as the policeman with the gun leans down in front of me and picks up the gun I was holding, and then someone is behind me, pushing me forward onto the wet grass and grabbing my hands behind my back.

Plastic goes around my wrists, pulled tight, and I wince as my shoulder muscles protest. Ben is not here.

If he was, he would be explaining but he’s not.

‘Someone get me the bolt cutters,’ I hear a woman call and I am hauled roughly to my feet. I stand in stunned silence as I watch Mike get wheeled away on a stretcher with an oxygen mask on his face. ‘Is he okay?’ I ask as the hand holding my arm clamps more tightly but no one replies.

There is a metallic clang as the bolt cutters slice through the lock on the shed door and then the door creaks open, and a policewoman steps inside with a torch.

‘Nothing there,’ she says quickly. It’s only a small tin building, and if Sandy was in there, she would have instantly been seen.

But of course, she’s not in there. She was never in there but she is here somewhere, hiding, watching this, enjoying it.

The wind whips around the garden, rustling the leaves on the trees, and I search each dark corner. Sandy is near. I know she is near. I know she was the one who screamed and I know what she’s done.

But what have I done? Mike wasn’t supposed to get hurt. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

I feel myself sag, my knees collapsing underneath me, and I give into a moment of darkness.

What have I done?