“They’ll help you…you’ll get better.” John mimicked Anna’s breathy, half-pleading words. “You’re ruining my life, Anna. Anyway. Fetch Mimi. I need to speak to her.”
Anna crumpled as if beaten and lowered her face to her hands.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she wailed.
“Good question. I’ve asked myself the very same one. Go home. Tell Mimi I need to see her. Urgently.” He put a hand on Anna’s shoulder, which twitched and then shook, and put his mouth against her ear. “Or somebody here is going to get hurt. Do it, Anna.”
He sat up, knowing she had to do as he asked and smiled with as much mock tenderness as he could muster. “Goodbye, dearest,” he said, raising his voice, standing and helping her to her feet. “Tonight. I need her to be here tonight. Sooner if possible. It’s more urgent than you can imagine.”
He took hold of Anna’s shoulders and propelled her forward, away from him, out of the recreation room.
“Come on then,” said the kind-faced nurse. “We have to go back.”
“Can’t I stay here?” John picked up a newspaper from the wheeled trolley beside his chair. “That cell is disgusting.”
“It’s just till the assessment’s done. The doctor will be back to speak to you soon.”
“I’m not talking to that popinjay again,” John warned the nurse, following him along the corridor. “I want a woman.”
“Don’t we all,” quipped the nurse, showing him into the cell. “Take it easy, Mr. Stone. You’ll be out of there before you know it.”
But it was half an hour before Dr. Wolseley was free to interview John again; half an hour for John to hone his strategy.
By the time she arrived, he was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, leaning back on one arm, smiling dazzlingly.
“Oh, so they do take patient requests seriously,” he purred, moving up the bed to make room for the junior doctor.
“Well, it’s not a priority issue that you get to see a female doctor, Mr. Stone,” Dr. Wolseley chided. “You just happened to be lucky that I was in today.”
“Yes. Very lucky. And call me John.”
“Thanks, John.”
Dr. Wolseley, used to all kinds of bizarre behaviour, found that she was struggling with the force field of charm around this man. Did he have a personality disorder? Perhaps a sociopathic narcissist or something. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and she was going to have to be careful.
“So what’s your name?”
“Dr. Wolseley.”
“Your first name, I meant.”
“Well, it’s Jennifer.”
“Ah, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer,” he said, seeming to revel in the word. His repetition of it made Dr. Wolseley hear it differently, as if it was exotic rather than perfectly ordinary. The tight ponytail at her nape prickled. “She spends her days amongst shattered minds. What must that do to a young woman?”
“Enough about me. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Oh yes, you do. All right. I feel fine. I’m not depressed. I’m not entertaining suicidal thoughts. I’m not tempted to harm myself. I’m not anxious. I’m not afraid. I’m not hearing voices—though some people are hearing my voice. I’m a man who works hard and wants to get back to work. How’s that?”
“Umm…people are hearing your voice? What did you mean by that?”
“I meant, Jennifer,” John said, moving a hand closer to the doctor’s tweedy trousers, “that my voice carries a long way. A very long way.”
She looked into his eyes and forgot what she meant to say next.
He was next to her now, crowded into her personal space, closing that gap between her face and his at a steady, implacable rate.
I should move away. I can’t move away.