Switchback Stories (19 page)

Dr Suzanne Gideon’s number was listed on an online directory. I made a call to that number.

‘Dr Gideon isn’t here this morning,’ her secretary informed me, ‘but you may be able to contact her at Shine.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

The secretary gave me a run-down and the appropriate number to call.

I was put through to the doctor. I told her I was with NewsZone, and that I was planning a segment involving her field of endeavour. To my surprise, she suggested a meeting towards the end of the day.

The Shine program was housed in a small cottage, one of the smaller buildings clustered around the west wing of St Burton’s Hospital in the city’s east.

‘It’s five years since the Board here gave me permission to set up this program. Just me and a room – or was it a closet …?’

Dr Gideon grinned and I smiled back.

‘But now we have this building all to ourselves. There are two other specialists who consult here – part-time, as I do, and we currently have over 150 patients.’

‘And all of them with varying conditions?’

‘Oh yes.’

Suzanne Gideon was a slight woman, fortyish, with an innate strength I rarely sense in people twice her size. She leaned forward across the desk, hands clasped. ‘Before we go any further, Claire, I have to tell you I know why you’re here.’

‘You do?’

I blushed. It had never been my intention to deceive this woman.

‘Yes. I received a phone call yesterday from one of my patient’s neighbours. I expect you were one of the women she spoke of, and it seems you must have overheard her ask for me. Am I correct?’

‘Yes. But I didn’t come here to trick you in any way.’

‘Good. You are free to film a story on the Shine program, on the problems we deal with. But not on any individual patient. Clearly, you have tracked down William Danziger. But I won’t allow you to pursue any story ideas you have that involve him.’

‘Can I ask why, without compromising doctor patient privilege?’

‘A year ago William was in good shape. Virtually cured. Then he came upon a train wreck while out walking. Afterwards, when the media made such a big deal about seeking the mysterious helper, he panicked. Sent him right back to where he’d been months before.’

‘I never intended to pursue the story if Mr Danziger was so opposed to it. I don’t want to cause him any pain. I’m here in another capacity, Dr Gideon. I’m one of the survivors of the train crash.’

I saw her eyebrows arch in surprise as I continued. ‘I would simply like to meet with Mr Danziger. To thank him personally for his help …’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

I told her I understood. ‘But some good has come of this,’ I added. ‘I would like to start planning a story on your work here.’

‘And you can have my full co-operation on that,’ she said.

• • •

The last thing I expected was the phone call I received two days later. If I would come alone, William Danziger explained, he would meet me at his home. He asked me if I understood his predicament, whether Dr Gideon had filled me in on the details. She hadn’t, I only knew that the Shine program dealt with a range of psychological conditions.

It was late afternoon. Danziger greeted me at the front door of his house, and ushered me into his living room.

He looked exactly as I remembered him, and once again I sensed the same deep warmth, compassion and strength. It was as though it shone from his eyes and that was one of the things I remembered most about his presence on that terrible day.

It seemed so at odds with what I now knew. Ironic that a person who offered so much to others, was afflicted with some kind of unusual struggle of their own.

He brought coffee and biscuits and we sat at opposite ends of his coffee table.

‘I work from home,’ he said, ‘doing surveys and interviews over the phone for a telemarketing company. They hire me out on a freelance basis. It’s a job that’s suited me … ah … perfectly. Quality Plus was just one of hundreds of clients that used the telemarketing firm that I freelance for.’

I nodded.

‘So, Claire, what do you know about agoraphobia?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot,’ I confessed. ‘It’s a fear of public places, that’s about it.’

He looked at me. ‘Yes. But it goes a little deeper than that. It’s the fear of being out there, in the outside world, of crowds, of being with strangers. Tremendous anxiety about dealing with simple everyday situations.’

‘And that’s the condition you’ve been dealing with?’

‘Yes. But there’s something I want to explain about the other day, when I ran. I was in a state of panic, but that was a rare slip. I haven’t been like that for months. Dr Gideon was concerned your discovery of my identity would cause a setback.’

‘And that’s what happened once before,’ I said, ‘after the train wreck. You needn’t worry. I don’t intend to-’

‘I know. The doctor told me what you said. That’s why I wanted to meet with you. I’ve followed your career ever since that day, watching you on NewsZone.’

‘To think I was one of those who made such a big deal about finding you, and that it caused you so much grief. I am so sorry.’

He held up his hand. ‘You couldn’t have known about … this thing. It’s hard for others to understand.’

‘I plan to do something about that,’ I said. ‘I’m doing a story on Dr Gideon and the Shine program, about the range of phobias that can afflict any of us.’

He said, ‘I’m largely cured of my anxiety, Claire – I’d like to help you; provide background information on what it’s like to suffer with agoraphobia, and on how the Shine program has helped me.’

‘That would be great. You’re sure-’

He smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. As long as it’s just you and me talking. No cameras.’

He invited me to come again the following evening and he cooked a meal. He answered my questions about the disorder while we ate.

The next week we went to one of the local restaurants, where William had begun to eat out regularly.

On another occasion, as a break from our talks about agoraphobia, we caught a movie. Apart from a little hesitancy from time to time, he showed no signs of anxiety or panic.

I don’t know at what point I realized I was falling in love with William Danziger. All of a sudden it was there, in the way I looked forward to seeing him; in the tingle at the nape of my neck the first time he put his hand in mine.

• • •

I had filmed a fifteen minute segment on the Shine program. It included interviews with two of Suzanne Gideon’s patients. They would appear in shadow, their identities well protected.

On the night the show aired I was still in the studio. William was at home. We’d planned a private dinner together after the program had finished.

Roger Gale entered the suite. ‘I’m surprised you’re here,’ he said ‘I thought you’d be the one out there with the mobile cam.

I turned away from the monitor. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The live feed – from Jane.’

‘What live feed, Roger?’

He stared at me for a moment. ‘You don’t know? Jane’s out there with a mobile unit. She’s got a great scoop that ties in with your segment. We’re about to go live with a newsflash.’

What scoop? Jane had said nothing to me about going out tonight. Roger and I turned back to the monitor as the live feed broke into the program. I felt an ice-cold shiver run the course of my spine.

Microphone in hand, Jane faced the cameras, standing in front of William’s house. Her words to studio anchor man, Fred Marshall, were hammer blows of emotion, pounding my senses.

‘Fred, while researching Claire’s story on the Shine program, we’ve uncovered an extraordinary piece of news. A source close to our show, who was on the site of the Petersville train disaster twelve months ago, identified a man at St Burton’s hospital as the same one who helped so many victims of that terrible tragedy.’

‘The ordinary angel?’ Fred’s reply was overly melodramatic.

I said, ‘Jane had no right to do this, Roger. This could destroy him.’

‘That’s right, Fred,’ Jane continued. ‘We’ve tracked him to this house, and I’m about to approach the door. I intend to ask this man if he’ll confirm that he is, in fact, the mystery helper the whole nation has wondered about for so long.’

‘Jane, do you have any theories at this stage,’ Fred Marshall asked, ‘why this man has kept his identity hidden?’

Before Jane could answer, there was light and noise from the driveway behind her. William’s car shot out of his garage. The driver was just a shadowy blur.

I fled. Roger called something to me as I went but I didn’t hear it. I drove too fast in the direction of William’s home. I don’t know what I intended to do. I couldn’t change what had happened.

The damage had already been done. After a long struggle, after reaching an advanced stage of dealing with his affliction, he’d been dealt the cruellest blow. And I’d started the chain of events that had led to this. Would he think I was part of it?

Jane and her cameraman were beside the news van outside William’s house.

‘How could you?’ I shrieked. ‘To push the spotlight like this on to a recovering agoraphobic … this will crush him, cause dreadful suffering.’

‘You’re over-reacting, Claire.’

I couldn’t stand to listen to her. I got into my car and drove aimlessly. If only I knew where William was. I went back to the studio, hoping work might block my fears.

And I
was
afraid. For William. Was it possible for him to panic so much he would attempt something stupid? Surely not. The man I’d fallen in love with wouldn’t hurt himself. Would he?

It was very late – 11pm – when the night security man called from the front gate. ‘Claire,’ said Tony Melville, ‘there’s a guy here, looking for you …’

‘I’ll be right there, Tony.’ I raced out to the gates. William was there and I threw my arms around him.

‘William, I had no idea …’

‘I know that,’ he said.

We held each other close.

‘You can’t let this affect you -’ I began, but William placed his fingers on my lips to silence me.

‘I didn’t race from the house tonight because I was having a panic attack.’

‘Then why?’

‘If I’m going to speak to anyone in the media, about this whole wretched angel business, about my problem, then it will be you. This is our story, Claire.’

I stared at him. ‘William, you don’t have to be on the news -’

‘But I do. I have to face this once and for all–my unwanted fifteen minutes of fame-’ he smiled, ‘and then it will all be over. But I want you to be the one to interview me. Just you and me in the studio.’

‘We’ll need a cameraman,’ I reminded him with a grin.

He laughed, ‘Just you and me and the cameraman. The most effective way to conquer your fears is to confront them face to face.’

‘That’s why you’re doing this?’

‘Partly,’ he said. ‘But also because I have an opportunity to speak on behalf of all the agoraphobics out there. And to draw community support for the work of Dr Gideon, and others like her.’

I linked William’s arm in mine. We walked through to the main studio, drawing strength from each other.

This was the kind of story for which a reporter dreams, a story that is both intriguing and heart-warming.

Soon that story would be told and it would be over. The media moves on…

But for William and I, the real story was just beginning.

H
e came to her on the first day, a supportive friend, with an ear for the tide of dark emotions that rocked her like the winds of a winter storm.

She was awash with guilt, because it had been her idea to come here for the winter. She loved the solitude of this cabin in the mountains, where the landscape was cloaked by soft, deep layers of snow. It was a place where her imagination could soar. There was no phone coverage this far up the mountain, so no cell phones, no text messages, no emails.

Her husband, Joel, had agreed to the idea. ‘It makes no difference to me where we spend the winter,’ he said, ‘as long as you’re happy.’

Implying he never could be.

Diana had learned to be patient with these moods since the car accident that had left him with a permanently injured leg. They managed to live on the income from her freelance writing.

Lately, Joel’s moods had been less frequent and he’d begun to speak more positively about the future. Soon, she hoped, he would laugh again. That was why the idea of his suicide held no logic. Not now.

The last time she’d seen him had been in the middle of the night as he fumbled for his clothes. ‘Restless,’ he said. ‘Going outside for a smoke.’

‘Okay,’ she said dreamily before slipping back to sleep.

She’d woken the following morning to an empty house and, panicked, she called the police.

She stood and watched as the police rescue team arrived, complete with climbing equipment and a sniffer dog.

The dog led them out toward the cliffs.

I can’t believe this is happening.

They found him later that day at the base of the nearby gorge. They assumed Joel had limped, with the use of the cane he so hated, to the cliff edge and stepped off into the empty darkness.

Cameron had flown in later that day, and driven in a hired four wheel drive up to the cabin. Diana simply buried her head in Cameron’s chest and allowed herself to feel some sense of security in his embrace.

Cameron and Joel had been boyhood mates. They’d stayed in touch through the years, and the previous year Cameron had joined them for a few days at the cabin.

The three of them had a great time, drinking beer, remembering old times, sharing laughs. It had been the first time since the accident that Joel had loosened up, even if only very briefly.

It was after Cameron left, that Joel first began to show occasional signs of emotional healing.

Diana told Cameron she’d decided to stay on at the cabin for a while.

‘I feel close to Joel here. He loved these mountains, you know.’

‘I know.’

She immersed herself in her writing. Cameron stayed on to be with her, trusting his small computer sales business to his partner, a vivacious career woman named Helen Morgan.