In still waters - страница 22

"No, no, I'm not guilty!" she screamed, her voice raw and breaking. "I didn't want this, it was all him! He made me do it!"

In a burst of frenzied energy, Mary launched herself off the bed, scrambling into the corner of the room. She huddled there, knees drawn up to her chest, a picture of abject misery. Tom approached slowly, his hand outstretched in a gesture of comfort and support. But as he tried to help her to her feet, Mary lashed out, her hand connecting with his knee in a wild, uncoordinated swipe. Her screams intensified, her entire body wracked with violent tremors.

"My daughter," she gasped between sobs, "she's saying I'm guilty!"

Tom crouched down beside her, his voice low and soothing as he gently took her hand. Years of experience had taught him the importance of engaging with patients lost in the throes of delusion, of anchoring them to reality through human connection.

"Mary, look at me," he urged, his tone gentle but insistent. "What is your daughter telling you?"

Mary's shaking intensified, her teeth chattering audibly as she struggled to form words.

"She's saying… she's saying I'm hiding his 'skeleton' in the closet!" The words tumbled out in a rush, as if Mary feared they might evaporate if not spoken quickly enough. Tom knew he needed to keep her talking, to unravel the tangled threads of her psyche.

"Mary," he pressed, his voice a lifeline in the stormy sea of her mind, "what skeleton are you talking about? Tell me, I want to help you."

Mary's eyes, wide with terror, locked onto Tom's face. She shook her head violently, as if trying to dislodge the very thoughts from her mind.

"You can't help!" she wailed, her voice rising to a fever pitch. "No one can help!"

The strain proved too much for Mary's fragile psyche. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped to the floor, unconscious. Tom sprang into action, calling urgently for a nurse. They worked in tandem, their movements precise and practiced, to revive her. When Mary finally came to, her eyes were clouded with confusion. The torrent of revelations that had poured from her lips just moments ago had vanished, leaving no trace in her conscious mind.

Later, ensconced in the relative privacy of his office, Tom placed a call to Jeffrey. His voice grave, he relayed the severity of Mary's condition, explaining that her stay in the clinic was likely to be extended indefinitely. The treatment she required was intensive, the road to recovery long and fraught with obstacles. Jeffrey's response, slurred and indifferent, sent a chill down Tom's spine. In that moment, he made the decision to withhold the specifics of Mary's outburst. The references to guilt, to hidden skeletons – these were seeds of something darker, something that required further investigation before involving Jeffrey. As he hung up the phone, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that he had just glimpsed the edge of a chasm far deeper and more treacherous than he had initially suspected.

The Green Vault bar disgorged its latest victims, Bradley and Steven stumbling out into the night, their arms slung around each other's shoulders in a parody of camaraderie. Riding high on a cocktail of alcohol and harder stuff, they piled into Steven's blue BMW, the engine roaring to life like some primordial beast. Steven, behind the wheel, cut a figure of casual disregard in his baggy dark athletic pants, white tee, and denim jacket. Bradley, sprawled in the passenger seat, sported a striped shirt that had seen better days and dark jeans that seemed to have molded themselves to his legs.