Chapter 45
Under the scent of plastic, and wind, and sweat, there’s something familiar. Something about the way the wet hair is tickling my cheek. Something about the smell.
Eucalyptus.
And the voice in my ear.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
He releases me, and for a second, I think I’ve finally cracked. There’s a peaceful sort of quality to it, for that moment, because maybe none of this is real.
Because he can’t be here.
“Get away from her!” I hear someone shouting, and then someone tugs me back, and I am starting to feel like rag doll.
Martina is utterly drenched, wet hair clinging to her cheeks and rage in her eyes.
“No,” I try to say, “it’s not him, he’s—”
“Don’t take one step closer,” Martina pants, still behind me.
Armin looks from me to the doctor; I see confusion and anger battling on his face.
“Okay.” He puts his hands up. “I don’t know what’s going on here.”
I look behind him, over at the staff quarters, and I feel another surge of adrenaline.
“We can’t stay here,” I tell him.
“Who are you?” Martina asks Armin, her face twisted up. “We’ve called the police!”
“No.” I tear myself loose from her. “It’s not him. He’s okay. I promise.”
Martina doesn’t take her eyes off Armin.
“Isobel, what’s happening?” Armin asks me.
“I’ll explain,” I try to say, but my teeth are chattering, my head swimming. My knees feel like jelly.
“But we have to … we can’t stay here.”
“Okay,” Armin says, following my line of sight.
“Main building,” I manage to get out.
We’re close enough that we’re in through the door in only a couple of minutes, door shut behind us. It’s warmer in here, and for a moment, I feel like I need to collapse; I see Martina falling to the floor on her knees.
But I can’t. I look at Armin, and I say:
“We have to block the door.”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
He doesn’t ask. I walk over to the couch and grab it by one end.
Armin takes a hold of the other end, and we pull it in front of the door; I see Armin wedging it under the doorknob.
My body seems to decide I’ve had enough, because I sink down into the couch, water dripping off me onto the fabric, staining it darker.
I rub my fingers over it.
I think of the dark droplets on Sandra’s white sheets.
Tears are still running silently, making my eyes sting.
When I feel the couch cushion giving way to Armin beside me, I know I should look up, know I should say something, but I can’t find the voice to do so.
“Hey.” Armin very gently places his hand on top of mine. “Isobel.”
I close my eyes. I see Sandra.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?”
I reach for the words. I can’t find them. I need to tell him about the person in the woods, outside the window, about the stolen files, about the generator, about everything.
But what comes out, as a whisper, is:
“Sandra is dead.”
“What?”
I don’t know if he couldn’t hear me, or if he just can’t understand what I’m saying, but I repeat:
“Sandra is dead.”
There’s a buzzing in my ears. And in my hands. There are black spots dancing in front of my eyes.
It doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t feel real, either. I try laughing, to see if maybe that will break the spell; if it might make me wake up, and all of this will have been a terrible dream.
But the sound that comes out of me is nothing like a laugh.
“Who are you?” I hear a voice, as though from far away.
“I’m Isobel’s friend,” another voice answers. This one is better, calmer; I press my forehead against my knees, and I try to fill my lungs with air, try to remember how it feels, try to listen to that second voice.
“What are you doing here?” the first one asks.
I feel like I’m underwater.
“I was worried about Isobel,” the second voice responds. “She wasn’t calling me back. I hadn’t heard from her in days. So I drove here.”
Then a hand on my upper back, and that second voice, the good voice, Armin’s voice, closer to my ear:
“Breathe. Just breathe. Come on. In and out.”
I gasp for air, and I think:
I can’t do this. I can’t. I don’t know how to do this.
“It’s okay,” Armin tries to soothe me. “It’s going to be okay.”
But I know that it’s not.
I draw another deep, rattling breath.
“Isobel,” I hear, and I look up.
Martina is sitting in front of me. Her face is blotchy with dissolved makeup, her hair a wet, disheveled mess.
But she’s looking me in the eyes.
“Name four colors you can see right now,” she says.
She doesn’t sound like Dr. Martina. She doesn’t sound calm, or ethereal, or superior. Her natural voice is slightly higher, a bit nasally.
“Colors?” I repeat, confused.
“Look around the room,” she instructs me. “Name four colors you can see.”
I still can’t breathe. I still feel like I’m about to pass out, like I’m floating above my body.
But I look around.
“Green,” I say, and then I look at Armin, who is wearing a deep-teal raincoat.
“Teal.”
“Good,” Martina encourages me. “Two more.”
I look down at my jeans.
“Gray,” I say.
I close my eyes and see only red.
“Eyes open, Isobel,” Martina tells me. “Come on. One more color. You can do it.”
I open my eyes again.
“White,” I say, looking at her shirt.
She nods and smiles. “Okay. Good. What was the name of the first school you went to?”
“Gustav Vasa Primary School,” I respond.
“And the name of your first pet?”
I have to think back. “Harry the Hamster.”
Martina nods slowly. “Very good. Can you breathe?”
I inhale deeply, and find, to my surprise, that I can. “Yes.” I’m surprised.
She smiles, and it’s, I think, the first real smile I’ve seen from Dr. Martina. She sinks back down into her heels.
“Very good.” She’s sounding quite breathless herself.
Armin looks over at me.
“Isobel.” The way he says my name is comforting enough to make me want to cry. For a moment, I just take him in; his long, slim face, those spiky eyelashes, the little parenthesis between his eyebrows.
I feel the temptation to just break down, to hope he will take care of it. Of me. Or that someone will. That some unknown authority figure will come by and fix this, get everything back to normal, so that I can fall apart.
But I can’t. Not right now.
“What’s going on?” he asks me.
I breathe in through my nose; out through my mouth.
“I think someone is trying to kill us.” Saying it is painful; it makes it real. But I have to keep going.
“They killed Sandra. They destroyed the backup generator. I don’t know why this is happening, but we have to get everyone out of here, and we can’t. I don’t know what we’re going to do, but we have to do something.”
Armin stares at me.
Then he looks from me to Martina.
And then he nods.
“Okay.”
Only now does some of what he said earlier fall into place in my mind.
“Wait,” I say. “Did you say you drove here?”
“Yeah.” Armin looks at me warily. “My car is right outside the gate.”
PATIENT REGISTRATION FORM
NAME: Susannah Viola Wallin
DATE OF INTAKE: 2023–09–04
DATE OF BIRTH: 1995–02–16
GENDER: Woman
PRONOUNS: She/Her
GENDER OF ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL PARTNERS: I identify as pansexual, but I’ve mostly dated women.
DIETARY RESTRICTIONS: I’m allergic to mango. I know, weird. Other than that, I eat everything!
MEDICAL CONDITIONS (any nonpsychiatric medical conditions or medical incidents we may need to be aware of): I broke two of the knuckles on my right hand when I was sixteen. They are fully healed, though, no lingering pains!
DIAGNOSTIC HISTORY (ANY PSYCHIATRIC DIAGNOSES, CURRENT OR PREVIOUS): None :)
PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE OF PSYCHOLOGICAL TREATMENT (ANY THERAPY OR COUNSELING YOU HAVE GONE THROUGH IN THE PAST, OR ARE CURRENTLY UNDERGOING): I’ve been to therapy a couple of times, but I’ve never found a therapist I’ve really liked.
They never really seem to listen to my point of view.
That’s part of why I’m so excited to get to work with Dr. Martina, because I feel like she will really get me and see me for who I am.
INCITING INCIDENT (EXPLAIN HERE, IN YOUR OWN WORDS, WHY YOU HAVE SOUGHT TREATMENT AT THE HIMLAFALL CLINIC): My fiancé broke up with me out of nowhere.
It absolutely destroyed me. I did everything for this girl, and I tried so hard, and I loved her so much, and I just don’t know what I did wrong.
I want to get her back, but I need help figuring out how to explain to her how much she hurt me, and that she can’t keep acting the way she does.
I feel like all I do is give and give and give and people just keep letting me down. I feel like Dr. Martina will understand, because she seems like she’s the same kind of person I am. I really feel like she will understand me.
People just keep leaving me. It feels like they all disappoint me in the end.
My last partner kept trying to put words in my mouth.
She would make up these wild stories about how I had done things to her and twisted my words.
All I ever wanted was for her to love me and affirm me the way I need. I never asked for much.
I’m still so angry. But I love her. I need Dr. Martina to help me figure out how I can explain this to her.
I know we can be so happy if she just stops all this and takes me back.