The Banishing (19 page)

Melissa nodded. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Well, domestic abuse is surprisingly common—”

“Oh come on!” Melissa chided. “It’s more than a coincidence. The link between what happened to them and what’s happening now is just too strong.”

Josh stepped closer, reached his arms forward, and embraced Melissa. They remained close, their bodies pressed into each others, until Melissa suddenly—oddly—felt guilty about the contact and pulled away.

She said goodbye and promised to call him later.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The shift on the ward was slow, agonizingly slow. Time dripped like drops of water from a loose tap. The hands of the clock barely moved. Melissa kept thinking about Josh and his confession. Thinking about what he said sent a hot, fiery flush to the surface of her skin, and she tried to keep at bay how he’d looked at her, the way he said he felt about her.

It was a compliment. She was flattered, but even remembering his words presented a pang of guilt that fluttered relentlessly in her chest. Like an angry bird, desperate to flee.

She had to think of Mark. Remember the man he was, the man she might be able to help him become, again. The man she still loved—despite the things that had happened.

There was hope. She had to hold onto that much.

The steady beeps of monitors and BP machines filled the quiet, subdued air of Intensive Care. Melissa’s day had been fairly easy. She had done several bed baths, changed bedding from a patient that had passed away—another heart attack victim—and had taken routine blood pressures, EKG readings, and undertook the weekly stock check of medical supplies.

Now, she wanted to, needed to get out. It had been nagging at her all day—her desperation to find out where Richard Danvers was. She wanted to speak to him. He might know more, and he might tell her. He might be able to help. Even if it was a long shot, she had to try. What else was there to do?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sharon said, creeping up beside her as she poured herself a cup of tea in the staff room.

“You know…” Melissa said, letting her voice trail.

“You look like shit.” Sharon said, her eyes running over Melissa, appraising her, analyzing her.

“Thanks. That’s the second time I’ve heard that today.”

“Sorry but…shit. When’s the last time you ate? You look like you’re wasting away, and the bags beneath your eyes…God, Mel. When are you going to wake up and smell the coffee? Realize that the bastard is slowing killing you.”

“Don’t
you
start…”

Sharon paused. Her face taut. “Huh? You’ve told someone else?”

“Josh Howell. The guy you gave my number to, the guy from the—”

“I know who he is!” Sharon snapped, her eyes glowing and her face instantly lightening. “So, you and he are close now, huh?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “No. Not like
that
, anyway. We just spoke about everything.”

“What does he say?”

“He wants me to call the police.”

Sharon’s face fell serious. “I think he’s right. Look what he’s doing to you. The other night, I actually had a nightmare about you and Mark. The whole thing is like something from a horror movie. I actually feel scared for you. I’ve come close to calling the police, myself—”

“Don’t you dare!” Melissa snapped, feeling her frayed nerves coming close to a breaking point. “Don’t. I’m sorting it out, okay? Don’t call the police.”

Sharon stood there, frozen. “Fine. I’m trying to be a good friend, Mel. Push me away if you want, but you know what Josh and I are saying is right. You’re in denial if you think you can handle this.” Sharon turned and walked away, leaving her tea on the kitchen table.

* * * *

The rest of the shift went uneventfully. Nothing happened. The darkened, shadowy ward felt like a morgue…rows of people, eyes clamped shut, their bodies gaunt and covered by thin, white, bed sheets…skin gray under the glow of the monitors that were situated next to their beds. It all seemed disturbing to Melissa. More than usual.

By five o’clock, when Melissa stepped out of the hospital and into the parking lot, she was relieved to breathe in the cold, icy air. The sky had already begun to darken, the winter season stubbornly pushing away any remaining sunlight.

She wanted to cry. All day—especially since leaving Josh in his office that morning—she had felt raw, vulnerable. Melissa knew life was not always easy. She didn’t hold any irrational, unreasonable beliefs that good people deserved good things. That people who led good, decent lives necessarily had good luck, good health…Life never worked that way.

Things were bad, very bad, and she knew neither Mark nor her deserved what was happening.

Melissa reached her car and unlocked it, just as she felt the first splatter of rain tap the ground by her feet. She looked up and saw dark, brooding clouds shifting across the sky, knowing more heavy rain was on its way.

“Great,” she mumbled, jumping into the front seat.

She pulled on her seatbelt, turned on the ignition, and was about to pull out, when she heard her mobile phone ringing.

Melissa grabbed it from her bag and saw that Josh was calling. For a moment, she considered not answering—still feeling slightly awkward about their chat that morning—but she knew she’d feel bad doing that, possibly making things worse between them, so she answered.

“Hi. How has your day been?” Melissa dressed her voice in a light, casual tone, but she knew Josh would read through it.

He knows what a mess I am. What a mess I’m in.

“I’m glad I caught you. Are you still at work?” Josh asked.

“Well, I’m about to drive home. Why?”

“Where are you, now?”

Melissa sat back, turning off the engine. The car fell into thick silence. “I’m in the parking lot. About to drive home. What’s up?” She thought Josh sounded strained, on edge. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I wanted to see you before you went home. I have something to show you, and it’s a little awkward, if you get my meaning.”

Melissa frowned, staring out of the window as heavy rain tapped like fingernails against the glass. It was pouring now, the sky blackening with ugly, shadowy clouds. “I don’t really get your meaning. Do you want me to come over to your office?”

“I’ll come to you. Where are you parked?”

Ten minutes later, Melissa saw Josh running toward her car. He was wearing a long, black coat—elegant, she thought—and holding a briefcase over his head, sheltering himself from the onslaught of rain.

Melissa reached over and opened the passenger door for him, and he saddled in, pulling the door shut behind him.

He swept in cold, fresh air with him. His wet coat was dripping small drops of water onto the floor and seat, and as he lifted his briefcase onto his lap, he smiled at her and said “hi”, all the while avoiding her eyes.

He still feels awkward. About his feelings.

Melissa tried to nudge the tense atmosphere away and smiled back, nodding toward the case resting on his knees. “What have you got in there? FBI files or something? Why the big secret?”

Josh seemed to relax, his shoulders loosening up a bit. He smiled over at her, again. “Well, this kind of
has
to be secret, Melissa, or I could get into big trouble.”

“What’s going on?” she pressed. She felt tired—no, exhausted—and wanted desperately to get home, get to bed, perhaps without even eating dinner. Melissa had never felt so drained. She worried about her drive home, because she had felt so drowsy all day.

Josh ran a hand through his dark hair. Sighing, he looked at her as if he was contemplating something serious, something that unsettled him. “I recognized the names you gave me this morning,” he said at last, looking over at her. Meeting her eyes for the first time.

“The names?”

“Grace and Richard Danvers.”

“Shit. You’re kidding me! You
knew
these people?” Melissa gasped.

Josh, saying nothing, fumbled with the lock on his briefcase and pulled out a thin, green folder. It was slightly bigger than A4, and on the top, left hand corner was a sticker:

PATIENT: RICHARD DANVERS

PATIENT REFERENCE NO: 427389

REFERRED TO: PSYCHIATRIC UNIT; DR. JOSH HOWELL

“Josh! He was your patient? Why didn’t you—I can’t believe this.”

Josh turned from her and stared out at the splinters of rain plummeting against the car and shrugged. “I didn’t know, not at first. When you said the name Danvers, I knew it rang a bell. After you left, the name kept nagging me. You have to remember, I see a hell of a lot of patients, so names come up, and I don’t remember half of them…” His voice died, and he turned back to her. After a moment, he said, “I looked it up. Saw the file on Richard. Then, it came back to me—who he was and why I’d seen him. Then…well, let’s just say, Melissa. I’m a rational man, but what I saw hit me like a brick.”

Melissa stared down at the file on Josh’s lap. She wanted to read it, but she paused, waiting. Her heart began thundering, and she knew Josh had learned something.

Something important. Or he wouldn’t have come.

“Josh, what is it? I need to know.”

“Well, either there are a
lot
of deluded people out there, or you might be onto something about that house. You were right—it must be more than coincidence.”

“Why? Tell me, Josh. What’s in that file? What did Richard tell you?”

Josh cleared his throat. Staring down at the green file and fingering it, running his fingers along the edge of it. “I only saw Richard a handful of times, hence the thin file. I saw him
after
Grace had committed suicide. He was a mess. Completely broken down. When I say mess, I mean, he was sane and everything, but he was just a shell of a man after his loss.”

“The man who beat and raped Grace was suffering from grief, because he drove his wife to suicide,” Melissa said aloud to herself. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

Josh didn’t say anything for a moment, then he shifted in his seat, handing her the file. “I’m breaking a lot of rules doing this, Melissa. You can have a look now, but I need to return it, tonight. It’s mostly medical history, GP history, whatever. There are other things in there, though. Things he said that I noted down.”

“Can you wait while I read it?” Melissa asked, reaching over and taking the file from him.

Josh nodded. “Melissa,” he said, his face pale in the half-light, “It’s weird. The things he said matched with what you were saying. Things about the house. At the time, I thought he was in some sort of denial, like a coping mechanism…it’s common. In the context of what you said this morning, it’s just eerie.”

Melissa nodded, hungry to read whatever it was that had disturbed Josh so much. She thanked him for what he was doing—knowing what a risk it was to share confidential patient records—and opened the file.

She shuffled past pages of his date of birth, address, GP history, and found some handwritten notes at the back. Written by Dr. J. Howell.

She took a deep breath and began reading.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Notes by Doctor Josh Howell:

I have been asked to meet with Richard prior to his mental health act assessment. He is new to the mental health service, having presented no symptoms in the past, and there is currently no evidence of mental illness in his family history.

Richard Danvers has expressed that he is suffering from grief due to the loss of his wife, Grace Danvers. He has described this grief on numerous occasions as “overpowering”.

Grace died from multiple, self-inflicted stab wounds to the stomach and abdomen. Her suicide was, in Richard’s own words, “expected, but still shocking, still unbelievable”.

Richard has found the last two months—Grace passed away in September—difficult to cope with. He admitted that he hadn’t been sleeping well, sometimes getting as little as two hours of sleep per night. He appeared drawn, gaunt, and tired.

Richard admitted that he himself has, at least on two occasions, contemplated suicide. He is currently prescribed a variety of painkillers and anti-depressants and is using over-the-counter sleeping aids.

Richard has been expressing delusional thoughts that his wife killed herself, not because of him, but because of something that lived in the house they shared at 46 Bambury Court. He believes that something resides in the house that caused his behavior to altar, to the point that he was unaware of what he was thinking, doing, or watching at any given period of time.

Richard felt that he could spend whole days unaware of what he had done. He described those occasions as “lost time”, as if he had somehow been taken over.

I asked Richard if he felt it was possible that losing his wife after he had been subjecting her to abuse could be the underlying cause of his depression and anxiety. He said “no”, that it was all “because of the house”.

During my time with Richard, he became upset, tearful, often appearing afraid. I asked him about this, and he said he was always frightened, because of the things he had seen in the house and the things it made him do.