Chapter 102: Inseparable

Daphne

When I woke in the morning, the king was gone, but the feeling of him lingered. Warm, comfortable, safe. That gnawing feeling of being unwell that I had felt since I left Nate was dulled, and I rolled off the bed with more energy than I had felt for days.

It was a little odd to think that he had slunk away in the night, or sometime in the early hours of the morning, but I tried not to dwell on it. Nothing about our relationship was quite normal. And I had other things to think about than waking up alone.

I dressed in my “professional psychologist” uniform, that is to say, a boring black skirt and blue-grey blouse. I pulled my hair up into a twist on the back of my head and applied a light layer of lip gloss. I wanted to look mature and professional when I met my new boss.

Leanne, the king's homely blond assistant, knocked on my door promptly at 8am to lead me down to the medical wing, where Dr. Conway’s offices were located. There was a comfortable waiting room, with overstuffed chairs and love seats. The low coffee tables were adorned with scattered magazines and a few books of poetry.

There was no sign of the doctor, so I sat on the couch and picked up a book of Robert Frost’s writings. I let it fall open, allowed the pages to part at will, and found eyes tracing over Acquainted with the Night.

“Curious poem, that one.” A rough voice grated on my ears. I looked up into the wizened face of the presumed Dr. Conway. He had kind eyes, a neatly trimmed white beard, and a sparse comb-over. He might have been tall once, but now he was so stooped his back seemed to be forming a question mark. I couldn't help but wonder how old the doctor actually was. Something told me he was way, way past retirement age.

“It makes me feel sad,” I stated, folding the book closed and setting it back on the table. “Alone and out of place.”

“Rather like a werewolf trying to make his way in a human world, don’t you think?” He said with a broad smile that showed neat, white teeth. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Redhawk. I am Anthony Conway.” He stuck out a bony hand. His skin seemed papery and fragile, blue veins bulged out, and the back of his hand was speckled with brown age spots.

“Nice to meet you too,” I smiled back, “I am so excited about this opportunity to work with you.”

“And I’m excited to find a young talent such as yourself to take over my practice. The welfare of my clients is extremely important to me. I reviewed your thesis, excellent, excellent work. Come to my office. We have a few minutes before my first appointment.”

He guided me through the door on the left-hand side of the waiting room, which opened into a large and sunny space with windows that overlooked an inner garden with a beautiful fountain. “So pretty,” I commented. “Do you ever sit outside with clients?”

“Unfortunately, it's a public space, so there is no way to ensure privacy,” Dr. Conway said, “But it is lovely just to have a break, sit in the quiet, meditate.” He gestured toward the chair by the window. “Let me just…” He sat at his desk and started pulling open drawers. “Ah, yes, here it is. This is the current waiting list. As you can see, the need for mental health services is, well, overwhelming.” He stood again, quite quick on his feet for a man of his advanced years, and handed me the paper. “We should make calls, explain that I am not taking any new clients at this time, but we have a new psychologist on staff.”

“Right,” I looked at the long list. “This is a lot.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t foist them all on you at once. Let's start with perhaps ten new clients. When I’ve narrowed down the list, I will let you do the intake interviews. For now, however, I have permission from two of my current patients. You may review their files and sit in on their sessions.”

Finally, I was able to start my work, the career I’d felt called to since I was a young teenager. I’d always had such an interest in the brain, the psyche, the mind and the heart. I liked to think I had a special skill for connecting with all kinds of people, putting them at ease, and I hoped, helping them to heal themselves, to live full, satisfying, productive, and purposeful lives.

I was given the smaller room off the right side of the waiting room as my office. It had previously only been used for storage. There were stacks and stacks of file boxes that must have gone back fifty or sixty years. Dr. Conway instructed me to just pile them by the doorway. He would have them moved to a secure storage facility until he could sort through them. Most of them simply needed to be shredded.

I moved dozens of boxes to uncover the small desk that was pushed under the window. I dusted off the top with paper towels and opened up the files that Dr. Conway had given me to begin to familiarize myself with the case histories of the two clients.

I was so busy and enthralled that I didn’t return to the royal wing for lunch. Rather, I got a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria and returned to my small cluttered office and my new desk, and stuffed my mouth while I continued to read through the copious and careful notes that the doctor had made about the former patients.

I tried to pull my chair further under the desk, but my foot kicked another box. With a grunt, I pushed my chair back. I tried to pull the box out with my foot, but it was too heavy. I had to drop to my hands and knees to pull out, not another cardboard box, but a wooden one. “That’s odd,” I said, as I hefted the thing, which must have weighed thirty pounds.

It looked like a miniature seaman’s chest, with steel reinforced corners and a heavy latch. But it wasn’t locked. I wondered if this was the doctor’s original file cabinet. I brushed away the dust, and pulled back the latch, folding back the cover on its hinges.

Inside, as I suspected, were neat rows of manilla file folders. They all bore the name of the same patient.

Louis Levesque.