Chapter Eighteen
Harley - Present Day
My phone vibrates in my pocket while I’m in a late-night session with a patient. It goes off once, twice. I shift in my seat to pull my phone out of my pocket and put it face up on the side table next to my iced coffee. Which is now more ice than coffee.
This evening’s patient is a long-term sufferer.
One who spends every session fixating on her cheating husband even though he’s no longer her husband.
He’s her ex. And now has a new wife and young twins.
They’ve been divorced for a decade, and she’s now the proud owner of a restraining order.
Some people are beyond helping. Somewhere along the way I’ve become her newest fixation because no matter how many times I sign off her sessions, she finds a reason to come back.
My phone goes off again, the screen lights up, and my entire body freezes when I see the word magpie.
“I’m sorry, Sarah, I’ve had a family emergency. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to cut the session short. You can have extra time next week.”
“But, Harley, what about—”
“You need to stay away from your ex. If you end up being arrested for violating your restraining order, we won’t be able to have our sessions anymore.” She has a slight obsession with our appointments, so I know that will sway her decision.
I skim the messages, but it’s the bottom ones that capture my attention.
Magpie: Please don’t reply or they will know I have asked for help.
Magpie: Please, Harley, I’m begging you to help me.
Magpie:
I look at the time. These were sent two hours ago.
What the fuck? My brain cannot compute what I am reading or why I am only getting these messages now.
Usually, during a session I would put my phone in aeroplane mode, but since I met Quinn yesterday, I’ve been unable to focus on much of anything else.
I gave her a safe word, and I meant it, which means I have to be available for her, and I’ve failed at the first hurdle.
She’s so untrusting; she’s never going to take me at my word again.
I click the pin she sent me, and it takes me to a building surrounded by woodland.
I switch the map to street view and hope that it’s an updated image.
It’s not an area I recognise and looks to be about four hours from here.
The building looks well looked after; there are a couple of people in what looks to be uniforms working in the grounds, but I’ve never heard of this hospital.
I screenshot the image and upload it to the internet.
Saving Hearts Mental Hospital loads, and before I know what’s happening, I’m falling down a rabbit hole and looking at the reviews and comments of this place.
Mentallyillmaddie: This place is the worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in. Had to clean my toilet with a toothbrush to earn my meals, and don’t get me started on what they do if you don’t take your medication. 10/10 DO NOT RECOMMEND.
Bobreadskinkyshit67: Sent my ex-wife here when she lost the plot. They fried her brain, and she was right as rain again.
Fried her brain? What?
I pick my phone back up and scroll back to her most recent messages.
Magpie: My parents have somehow managed to gain power of attorney, and they have had me committed to a mental hospital because of my prior suicide attempt—which wasn’t even a suicide attempt. Whatever they’ve been told will have been a lie.
Magpie: They brought me here for ECT therapy.
A therapy I never wanted. I only came because they said it was an initial appointment and I thought I would be able to convince the doctor I didn’t need it.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if you can help me—or if you even want to help me—but I’m scared, Bones.
There’s something about this place that feels off, like there’s something I’m missing; it’s too perfect.
Magpie: They’ve said phones are contraband, and once they strip search me, they will find it, so I’m in the toilet texting you this. After this message, I won’t be able to communicate with you.
Strip search? Fucking hell.
How the fuck did I miss that? Power of attorney?
That’s not an easy thing to achieve. And if her parents have used that to put her there, it’s not going to be easy for me to get her out.
Usually I wouldn’t interfere, but it was clear in her demeanour and behaviour last night that the people who have subjected her to the most abuse are her family.
When family is the reason a stranger has to talk you off the edge of a bridge, that tells you just what kind of people they are. Maybe we need to have a conversation.
I turn my attention back to my research and search ECT at Saving Hearts.
The photograph that comes up sends shivers racing down my spine.
I know that face. Dr Stephanie Jones was my mentor—if you can call her that.
She taught me everything NOT to do in this industry.
How not to treat patients, how not to do procedures, how not to do anything that would better the life of the person in your care.
It baffles me that she still has a medical licence.
The last I heard of her, she was being investigated for neglect charges after a private patient of hers died, and their family weren’t happy with the outcome of the investigation into her death. It was ruled a suicide by the coroner, but there were doubts all around.
I type her name into my search bar, and thousands of results come up:
THERAPIST PROSECUTED FOR DEATH OF A PATIENT
THERAPIST WALKS ON A TECHNICALITY
THERAPIST ALLOWED TO KEEP HER LICENSE BECAUSE OF GOVERNMENT COVER-UP
Well, those don’t bode well for Quinn. It’s gone ten at night, so I’m stuck as to what I can do right now. Hopefully we are both overreacting, and she’s safe, but I need to see her myself to know for sure.
I spend the rest of the night researching how to reverse a power of attorney order and what I need to prove that it’s been used irresponsibly. It’s not simple, but it’s possible, and with a little bit of fabrication on my part, I may just pull this off.
Don’t worry, Little Magpie, I’m coming for you.