Chapter 24

CHARLOTTE

My father dropped me off at school the following morning instead of letting me drive alone, like every other day.

He and Andrea picked me up afterward and drove me to Dr. Nick’s office, which was on the third floor of a large building.

The psychologist greeted us with a big smile, and his overfriendliness made me feel like he was fake. He was cute and tall, which made me suspect he might be a Casanova.

He was clean-shaven and had big hands, and he introduced himself then asked me to sit in the waiting area while he spoke to my parents. I did as I was asked but hated every second of it.

My parents would no doubt be telling him about my crazy grandmother. They’d tell him about how I smashed up the floor and then lied about it. They’d tell him how I sleepwalked, and how I had seen an imaginary hand.

My parents talked with him for twenty minutes.

When they came out of his office, Andrea gave me a sad, encouraging smile—as if she had not brought me here. Ned looked calm, and I wondered if his heart was beating like crazy.

“I’d like to talk to you, Charlotte,” Dr. Nick said.

I passed my parents and followed Dr. Nick into his office. He had a wooden desk with comfortable chairs. The large windows let in a lot of sunlight.

“Your parents tell me that you have never been to a psychologist before.”

“That’s correct,” I said.

“So tell me, why are you here?”

“To please my parents.” I sighed. “I don’t need therapy.”

“Your parents think otherwise,” he said. “Your mother tells me you don’t like talking to people. She says you find it hard to open up.”

I glared at him as if he were the reason for my problems.

The truth was, I felt horrible that no one believed me, and I felt guilty for making my parents worry. It wasn’t fair to take my emotions out on the doctor—he just wanted to help.

“Do you know what patient-therapist confidentiality is?” he asked me.

“No.”

“It means that if you tell me something, I am sworn to secrecy. I am not allowed to tell anyone what you told me, unless you give me permission. If I do tell, I could lose my job.”

“Are you trying to tell me that this is a safe space?”

He nodded. “It is. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me. I want you to be able to say anything.”

I swallowed. “There is nothing I want to talk about.”

“Can we talk about the things your parents told me?” he asked. “I’m sure that would make them very happy.”

I drew a deep breath. Manipulator. He was playing on my feelings for my parents, but I was going to sit here for forty minutes, and might as well talk. “Alright. What’s first?”

“Your parents tell me that they came home one day and found all of their gardening tools in your room. Apparently, the floor was scratched and dented very badly.”

“And they think I did it,” I said solemnly.

“Did you?”

“No, I was at work the whole day.”

“Then who do you think did it?”

I hesitated. Maybe I should take a chance and tell him the truth. He was a professional, and he was supposed to understand people. Maybe he’d even heard a similar story before.

“I know who did it. It was a ghost.”

Dr. Nick frowned. He didn’t look like he thought I was a liar, he appeared curious, and that made me think that he might actually try to understand me.

“Excuse me. I think I heard you incorrectly. I thought you said a ‘ghost’ did it?”

“You heard right,” I told him. “I came home from work and found my room that way. I did not do it.”

Dr. Nick wrote something down on a piece of paper while he kept his expression placid.

“And, just like everyone else, you don’t believe me.”

“I just did not anticipate that answer,” he said in a free-of-judgment tone of voice.

“Of course not,” I said. “You don’t believe in ghosts. What’s next?”

“The sleepwalking . . . ”

“I don’t sleepwalk,” I said. “I never have.”

“Your mother and aunt say differently.”

“They are wrong,” I said.

“Will you tell me what happened the night your aunt caught you sleepwalking?”

I sighed. “There was a ghost in my room—the Red-eyed Lady. I followed her downstairs and ran into my aunt.”

“Did your aunt see this ghost?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Only I can see them. I’m ‘special.’”

He was scribbling on his notepad like a maniac. I was not going to convince him of the truth, though a tiny part of me still held onto the hope that I might.

“And the second incident?”

“We were at a holiday home. One night, I saw the Red-eyed Lady outside, and I walked toward her. She disappeared, and a hand grabbed me. My family came to help me, but they could not see the hand.”

I must have sounded like a crazy person to him. I longed for Dimitri. I wanted to tell him about everything. He would believe me.

“And the hand disappeared when your family arrived?”

“Correct,” I said.

“Do you struggle to sleep?”

“No.”

“Have you ever taken drugs before?”

“No.”

This was feeling like an interrogation, as if he was going to lock me up and I would never see daylight again. He had said this was a safe space, but now it didn’t feel like it.

I would keep my replies as short as possible.

“What do you do in your free time?”

“I read,” I said.

“Do you have a lot of friends?”

“No. Can we stop now?” I asked.

He looked at his watch. “If you want to, then we can add the remaining time to our next session. Charlotte, I am a doctor. I studied for many years, and I know what I am talking about.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to prescribe antidepressants and mood-stabilizing medication for you. I would very much like to see you again.”

This was hopeless. There was no point in speaking. No one understood me. This doctor thought I was crazy. Instead of arguing, I nodded, which seemed to make him happy.

He accompanied me to the waiting area and asked to speak to my parents. They were both wide-eyed and pale-faced. I waited for them to return.

When they were finished, they were cautious around me—as if they expected me to explode. I knew they had booked another session with Dr. Nick. I wanted to tell them that they were wasting time and money.

They bought my medication, and we drove home in silence. I went straight to my room. Before bedtime, there was a knock on the door, and Juan entered.

“Hey . . . ”

“I assume Mom and Dad told you everything?”

Juan nodded. “They are worried about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me . . . ”

“Charlotte, I was there the night you sleepwalked and cried.”

“I know, and I wish you could have seen that hand. I wish you would believe me. No one believes me. That makes all of this so much harder!”

“I wish I could help you.”

“It would help me if you believed me,” I said, “but you don’t.”

“How can I?” Juan said. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Please leave. I had a long day, and I don’t want to fight with you.”

Juan hesitated before she went. I had not seen my sister look so sad in ages. I hated that I was the reason for my family being miserable.

Andrea came in next. In her one hand were pills, in the other was a glass of water.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” I eyed the pills.

“Will you please take these?” my mother asked gently.

I reached for the pills and put them in my mouth. Then I took a mouthful of water.

My mother stroked my hair. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and left, taking the glass.

Why had my mother not given me the full container of pills? Were my parents scared that I would overdose? I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom.

I had kept the pills in my cheek like a hamster. I spat them into the toilet and flushed them away. Then I got back into bed and waited for my mother to return.

When she did, Andrea came straight to the bed and hugged me tightly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

I watched her leave. My father came next, and it made me feel as if I were five years old again.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

“You have nothing to be proud of—I did not do anything.”

“You went to see Dr. Nick, although you did not want to,” he said. “I know it was not easy opening up to him.”

I did not say anything. My dad approached and kissed me on the forehead. “Sleep well.”

I waited awhile, and then went to their room. The door was shut, and I put my ear against it so that I could hear better. I did not like eavesdropping, but felt it was necessary. I had to know what my parents were thinking.

“This is worse than I thought,” Andrea said.

“The doctor knows how to help her. The medication will work. We just have to give her some time,” Ned said.

“She’s delusional!” Andrea said. “And after all these years, she never told us. Who knows how long she’s needed help?”

“We are helping her now,” Ned said. “Did she take the pills?”

“She did.”

“Good. For now this is all we can do. Give her love and support, and make sure she takes her medication.”

“What if she does not get better?”

I had heard enough. I went back to my room and softly closed the door. My heart felt heavy and my eyes wet.

Crazy people did not know they were crazy. Maybe I ~was~ delusional. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there. Maybe I did need help. Everyone seemed to think that there was something seriously wrong with me.

At my desk, I paged through the notebook. The flowers Dimitri had drawn for me were beautiful. They filled me with happiness, and I wished he would show up. I looked at the window, but he was not there.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked Amore.

Amore cocked her head, clearly listening to my voice. She looked peaceful and happy on the bed.

I went to the open window where I had a view of our driveway and street. One of these days, the trees would not have any leaves left.

Then I got into bed and thought of all the crazy things that had happened to me ever since I had seen the Red-eyed Lady being murdered. It was one thing on top of the next. Had I imagined all of it?

It was time I told someone the truth.

My mother would not believe me—she never listened. My father would pretend to be calm, but I would only freak him out. Juan would want to believe me, but even she would think that something was wrong with me.

The only person who would understand and believe me was Grandma May.