Page 60 of The Therapist
‘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 myshoulder 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?
THIRTY
Mike
He can’t breathe, can’t breathe. There is something covering his face and he wants it off.
‘No, no, don’t do that.’ A woman’s voice. ‘We’ve got you, mate, stay calm, we’ve got you.’
‘What happened?’ he tries to say but the words are garbled, caught up in his throat. He was trying to open the shed because Sandy was in the shed, except she wasn’t. And Lana shot him.
But she didn’t shoot him because that’s not where he’s hurt. He would feel pain where a bullet entered his body – wouldn’t he? – and he can’t feel pain anywhere except on his head. The garden is a mess and he has been meaning to clean it up, to put away the scooters and the bicycles and other outdoor toys, but he didn’t get around to it. And when he stepped back, he tripped over something, Felix’s scooter maybe? And he went down. The pain he felt was sharp, hard, metal. He must have passed out.
Sandy wasn’t in the shed. He knows that. Then who screamed? Sandy screamed. Where was she? Somewhere in the garden.
That means it was true; everything he was told only hours ago, on the phone, was true. He didn’t want to believe it but now he has no choice. His wife is not just unhappy and troubled but deeply disturbed and willing to hurt others for her own gain, but the articles in the cookie jar told him that, the terrible articles hidden in a treat jar for only his wife to enjoy.
‘My kids,’ he says.
‘They’re with the police. If you have family who can take them, the police will find them. But they’re safe. Don’t close your eyes, okay, keep talking to me. I need you to keep talking to me.’
Mike wants to close his eyes. He really wants to but he turns his head to look at the paramedic who is tending to his head wound. She has blue eyes and is wearing a mask.
‘Am I okay?’ he asks.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ she says as his heavy eyelids drop closed.
He’s certain she is lying. He will never be fine ever again.
THIRTY-ONE
WEDNESDAY NIGHT/THURSDAY MORNING
Lana
