Chapter 11: The Doctors Orders_The Scarlet Jane Files

I am told, in the early hours of the following morning, that I am to meet with a psychiatrist to ensure my mental wellbeing.

 “My mental wellbeing?” I ask, careful to level my eyes on the Wiper before me. “Does the Agency think I’m… what? Crazy?”

 “They don’t think you’re crazy,” Shadow replies. “However, after your experience in the deprivation tank, Amelia Vanderoof thought it would be best that you speak to someone.”

 “About what?”

 “Everything,” Shadow says.

 Everything, I think.

 The word is so calm, so collected, so fragile, yet it bears so much gravity that at first, I cannot believe what I have just heard. As the implications begin to sink in, however, I feel the intensity of yesterday’s emotions come surging forth and find myself reeling in the process.

 My father’s accident—

 My mother’s murder—

 My untimely confession—

 I feel, for one single moment, like I am back at the hospital—that I am staring into the darkness, at a man who may or may not know what is best for me—and for a single moment, I feel that I will crumble.

 But I won’t, I tell myself. I won’t crumble. I can’t.

 No. To crumble here, and now, in aftermath of my second test, would prove that I am

 weak, that I am foolish, and that I am not cooperative.

 So, with a sigh, I return my fixed gaze to Shadow and say, “When will I see them?”

 “Adam McKnight said he could see you this afternoon.”

 “A man?” I ask.

 “Would you prefer we send a woman?”

 “No, no,” I say. “It’s just—” I pause. “I just don’t know what to expect anymore.”

 “We can arrange for a female psychiatrist if that would make you more comfortable. It would just take some time.”

 “No. Really. It’s fine.”

 Besides, I then tell myself, I’d rather not sit around and drive myself to insanity by over-thinking everything.

 With a nod, Shadow turns to face the doorway. “I will relay your permission to Mister McKnight. He should be arriving between the hours of twelve thirty to one.”

 “Okay. Thanks… I guess.”

 Though Shadow slips into the hall without a word in response, his silence is indicative of the nature of this upcoming visit.

 I am to meet with a man who may know more about me, and my circumstance, than even I do.

 How can that not be unsettling?

 * * *

 I have just finished taking a late shower, and have emerged from the bathroom in fresh clothes, when a knock comes at the door.

 “Miss Brown?” a man’s voice asks. “Are you there?”

 “I’m coming!” I call but grimace all the same.

 I approach the door cautiously. Slip my fingers around the handle carefully. Allow myself a moment to consider what is about to happen, then twist and pull the door inward.

 Outside stands a well-dressed Black man in a black-and-gray suit.

 “Are you Mister McKnight?” I ask.

 “I am,” the man replies. “May I come in?”

 I step aside to allow him passage and wait until he is standing within the kitchenette before closing the door behind him.

 “Normally I would have you come to an office,” Mister McKnight says, “but given your circumstance, I feel you might be more comfortable speaking in your own room.”

 My circumstance, I think.

 The frown that tugs at my features instantly inspires Mister McKnight’s eyes to settle upon me.

 “Would you like to sit here?” I ask, turning to consider the small table.

 “I’d like you to make yourself comfortable,” the man replies.

 “Let’s sit in the bedroom, then.”

 I turn—and though the few steps into the bedroom shouldn’t feel like much, each footfall brings with it the idea that Mister McKnight will analyze me and everything I am worth.

 My past trauma.

 My present circumstance.

 My impending future.

 I settle atop the bed with a sigh and turn my head to regard the man as he seats himself in the chair that rests against the wall dividing the bedroom from the kitchenette. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

 “Now then,” Mister McKnight says. “What would you like to talk about?”

 “What would I like to talk about?” I ask. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to talk?”

 “I’m here to counsel you, Miss Brown.”

 “Call me Scarlet,” I say. “It… it feels more natural.”

 “All right, Scarlet.” The man leans forward and laces his hands together. “If you’re unsure where to begin… we can always start at the beginning.”

 “You mean… with her death?”

 “With your father’s accident,” he says.

 I blink.

 Mister McKnight sighs as he leans back in his seat, offering me the distance I feel I need, given the personal turn the conversation has taken. “I read your file,” the man says, “and am aware that your father was taken from this world by a car accident that happened almost fifteen years ago.”

 “I was just three,” I confess. “I… I didn’t really know much of anything about it, because I never wanted to ask for fear of upsetting my mom. But yesterday… in the isolation chamber…”

 “Go on.”

 “I saw what happened. Everything that happened. Everything. From his accident, to my mother’s murder, to me fuh… finding her.”

 “I imagine all of this was a lot to take in.”

 “It was more than a lot,” I reply. “It was horrible.”

 “Are you upset with the process?”

 “In a way, I’m mad as hell. On the other hand… I feel like I was supposed to see what I did.”

 “The accident? The murder?”

 “Both.”

 Mister McKnight nods and says, “You have likely been compartmentalizing your grief in order to survive the traumas you have endured. I’ve worked with many patients over the years, and many Hunters, and know that, when we see something so horrible, so tragic, our brains force themselves to do things to protect you. It’s a natural state we enter to keep us safe.”

 “Are you saying I’m blocking stuff out?”

 “I don’t think you’re blocking anything out,” Mister McKnight says. “What I do sense, however, is a great distrust for the world around you—which, again, is not uncommon, considering what happened.”

 “I just find it hard to believe that all of this”—I wave my hand—“exists without most of the population knowing it does.”

 “Tell me something, Scarlet.”

 “What?”

 “Do you think the real world, as some might call it, could function if it held knowledge of the Supernatural?”

 “I honestly don’t know,” I say.

 “The Agency has worked tirelessly for hundreds of years to ensure that the public’s perception of reality is as mundane as it can possibly be. Even before we became a coalition, there were people before us who strived to ensure that the ordinary mundane world remained as peaceful as it could possibly be.

 “But like all things,” the man continues, “there are cracks in the system—places where monsters can slip in, where tragedies can occur. What happened to you is no exception.”

 I can’t help but sniffle.

 “What I want you to understand is that you are not alone in this,” Mister McKnight says, “and that, with the right amount of counseling, you can overcome the grief that you feel.”

 “Grief never ends,” I say. “It just gets easier to deal with.”

 “Those are wise words indeed.” Mister McKnight lowers his hand to consider a watch at his wrist. “Now… I’d like to ask how you’re feeling.”

 “Right now?” I ask. “Or… in general?”

 “Both,” he says.

 I reach up to brush the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes, then let out a long exhale—much like I’d imagine a dragon would exhale fire from its insides—before turning my gaze away from Mister McKnight. “I’m scared,” I say.

 “Of what?”

 “Everything. Of what has happened. Of what is happening. Of what will.”

 “It’s natural to be afraid of change, and definitely natural to be afraid of the unknown.”

 “It’s just—” I pause. “A part of me is afraid that I’ll fail.”

 “I imagine all Hunters feel that,” Mister McKnight says.

 “But on another,” I then go on to say, “a part of me is so determined that I feel I can’t fail. I’m trying to figure out if that’s confidence, or arrogance, or maybe a bit of both?”

 Mister McKnight watches me in silence.

 “I just… I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how it’s going to happen, or when. Emily’s kicking my ass in training. Amelia has made me see the unthinkable. And I’m… I’m…”

 “What?” the psychiatrist asks.

 “I’m just worried. That all of this will be for nothing.”

 “Do you feel that all of this will be for nothing, Scarlet?”

 “No,” I say and shake my head. “I don’t.”

 “Why do you feel that way?”

 “Because I’ve been working too damn hard to fail. Besides—it’s not just me I’m failing if I can’t do this. It’s everyone around me. My old friends. My neighbors. My… my mother.”

 The thought of her lying there, in that pool of blood, hand outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream, is an impression I know I will never be able to shake—a scar upon my mind that I understand will always remain.

 But that’s the way the mind works, I tell myself. It makes you remember. Forces you to remember. All so you can survive.

 I let out another long exhale and lift my eyes to face Mister McKnight once more. “Am I doing anything wrong?”

 “What do you mean, Scarlet?”

 “Is there anything I can do to make sure I’m at my best?”

 “I heard from Doctor Mitchell that you refused his offer of medication,” he says. “It could—”

 “No.” I shake my head. “I want to stay level-headed.”

 “It could,” Mister McKnight continues, “allow you some room to breathe.”

 “I can’t breathe,” I tell him. “I need to drown in these feelings.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I feel like, if I don’t, I’ll get tired. Sloppy. That I won’t be able to do what I need to do.”

 “We all have our ways of going through the world,” the psychiatrist offers. “However… I feel that it’s important to note that taking medication does not make you weak or inept in any way. A good treatment plan is meant to offer you relief. So you can live.”

 Live, I think.

 “Live,” I then whisper.

 Mister McKnight nods and lowers his eyes to look at his watch. “Our time here is almost over,” he says. “However, I want you to be aware that I can be at your service at any time. You need simply reach out to the appropriate authority to find me.”

 “Mister McKnight,” I say as he rises from his seat.

 “Yes, Scarlet?”

 “Have any other Hunters ever truly acclimated to this world?”

 “There is no way to acclimate to everything within the Supernatural landscape,” Mister McKnight then says. “What I like to tell my patients is that we need only consider what we must face in the present, and work to expose ourselves to other potential fears and realities in the meantime.”

 So, I think. It doesn’t get any easier.

 I should have known that. I really should have. Yet, the more I think about it, the more Mister McKnight’s words make a cruel, honest sense.

 “I will clear your file and approve you for further training sessions,” the man says. “But Scarlet—”

 I lift my eyes to face him.

 “This is a hard world we live in. If at any point you feel lost, or hopeless, or want things to simply end, please, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. The last thing I want you to do is believe that there is no hope.”

 “Thank you,” I say.

 The truth is that hope, for me, is like a glimmering beacon on the horizon—a lighthouse in the darkest of night—and that the Agency is merely the vessel I will use to get what I want, in the end.

 Revenge for my mother.

AliNovel

Chapter 11: The Doctors Orders