Silent Key

  Chapter Four: List While I Woo Thee

  I awoke the next day to three pairs of eyes looking down at me. If you want to awake in the worst possible way, open your eyes to people staring at you. It's terrifying.

  "What the ..." I quickly scooted back to my headboard, my aching splinted finger rudely waking with me. I could taste morning breath in my mouth and crust was jammed in the corners of my eyes. "What the hell?"

  Reagan, Grant, and Vicki were all sitting around my bed, eyes on my face. I didn't know what time it was, but they all were fully dressed. Vicki wore her work clothes from the diner, nameplate bulging from where her massive breasts were trying to escape from beneath her beige polyester uniform. I could just imagine it flying off and stabbing me in the eye. 

  Reagan smiled. "Good morning, honey. How are you feeling?"

  I tried to shake the confusion out of my head. "Honestly, I'm feeling scared shitless. What are you guys doing?"

  Reagan's smile remained painted on her face. "We were just worried about you after yesterday. We want to make sure that you know that you can talk to us about anything. Or talk to someone else, that is, if you needed to."

  "What?" I looked at Grant. "What is she talking about? Honestly, this is really creepy."

  Grant sighed, cheeks puffing out. "God, Rea, she's right. You are being creepy."

  "Well, I don't like interventions! I don't do well with approaching people!" She stood up and grabbed my large teddy bear from the bottom of the bed.

  I had owned Teddy since my paternal grandmother had given him to me on my first birthday. With patches and stains and all, he had always lived with me like a stuffing-filled sibling.

  "Intervention?" I asked. "Whose intervention?"

  Grant took my hand. "Intervention isn't a good word. But, since it's out there already, let's just say that this is your intervention." I continued to stare at him, my face blank. "We feel that perhaps you are a bit overwhelmed ..."

  "... stressed out ..." Reagan added.

  "... and it might be a good idea for you to go talk to someone ..."

  "... professionally ..."

  "... only because we love you and we want you to be happy, baby. We don't want you to hurt yourself again or have any more ..."

  "... hallucinations."

  I quickly turned my head to look at Reagan who seemed to be holding Teddy between her and me as protection.

  "Hallucinations?" The room was quiet for a moment. "What are you talking about, hallucinations?"

  Grant squeezed my hand. "Foster, Aaron told Reagan about the boot. How you totally freaked out in front of everyone yesterday." 

  Hot tears started to brim on the edge of my lashes. "I don't know what you mean."

  Seeing my weakness, Reagan came back over the bed, laying Teddy beside me. She didn't make a good punching bag, but she certainly loved to be a shoulder to cry on.

  "You don't have to tell us anything unless you want to. But we all can see that you haven't been yourself lately. You're like a zit waiting to burst." Grant shook his head in disgust but she continued. "There is a good man on campus. Dr. Lane. I know a few students who have gone to see him. He's a good listener. Discreet. Professional."

  "Dr. Lane? Is he a ... a shrink?"

  I couldn't believe this was happening. I had worked so hard holding everything together since June, but after one small incident, my closest friends were ready to lock me away with the doo-doo throwers and public masturbators.

  "I'm not crazy, okay? I don't need to see a shrink."

  "He's a counselor," Grant corrected. "That's all."

  "A good man," Reagan added.

  "So you've said." I glared at both of them for a moment then turned my attention to the third body in the room. "Well, Vicki, do you have anything to say?"

  Vicki shrugged. "My aunt went to a shrink. Last year she went through a phase of thinking she was Glenn Close. She ran around yelling, 'I will not be ignored, Dan, I will not be ignored!' Her husband's name is Archie."

  "Oh dear God," I moaned, putting my head in my hands. "I can't handle this."

  "Dr. Lane is a counselor, Vicki," Reagan corrected. "I can set up an appointment for you." 

  I looked up into the eyes of my two friends and Vicki. They all looked so hopeful, so worried. Perhaps they had reason to be. Though I had never told them what I'd witnessed—or thought I'd witnessed—that night in the ravine, they knew that something was wrong and that it was getting worse. Maybe I was in denial.

  "I'll make the call today," I said.

  They all embraced me, Vicki resting her bosoms on my head as she joined in.  I honestly didn't know how she dealt with those things in day-to-day life.

  "Dr. Lame is his name?"

  "Lane,” Reagan corrected as the three moved toward the door, “Dr. Alden Lane. Now why don't you go back to sleep? Rest that finger. I called your professors for you and told them you wouldn't be in class." She paused. "And I've already made your appointment with Dr. Lane."

  "You did what? Oh, never mind. Thank you, I guess."

  Reagan and Vicki walked out of the room and Grant lingered long enough to lean down and kiss my forehead. "Rest, friend. Your appointment is tomorrow."

  Teddy lay beside me on the bed, face down. I grabbed his leg and pulled him to me, clutching him tightly. What was I going to say to this counselor? I couldn't possibly tell him the truth, could I? I wasn't even sure what the truth was. What if everyone found out I was seeing a counselor? What if Aaron found out? Did Reagan already tell him?

  "Well, Teddy," I whispered. "Dr. Alden Lane is going to have his work cut out for him. This should be interesting." 

  I stared at the water stains on the ceiling a few more minutes before my eyelids began to flutter.

  ____________

  "Foster Farraday?"

  I stood up. "That's me." 

  A kind-looking man in his 60's smiled and motioned for me to come with him. He had a full beard, the stereotypical picture I had in my mind of what a shrink should look like. The beard was peppered with brown, grey, and red. Narrow glasses sat on the bridge of his large nose.

  "Come on back, Miss Farraday. Welcome."

  I followed Dr. Lane into the back room, doing my best to hold in a fit of nervous giggles. If Reagan had asked me to construct a set design for a play that took place in a shrink's office, this would have been it. A big wooden desk sat in the back corner. A few comfortable chairs sat in a semi-circle in the center. They were covered in pillows of all shapes and sizes. Soft glowing lamps lit the room and the smell of cinnamon buzzed around my nostrils. Yep. No surprises here.

  "Where should I sit?" I asked.

  "Anywhere you feel comfortable," he said, standing calmly, waiting for me to make the first move. 

  "Okay. Sure," I said and flopped into the biggest chair with the most pillows. Dr. Lane sat in a chair that directly faced me but didn't invade my personal space. 

  Yes, very professional.

  "So, Miss Farraday, tell me a little about yourself."

  "Well, for one, you can call me Foster." 

  "If you like." He crossed his legs, displaying clean black and white Chuck Taylors. 

  "I'm a freshman. I study music performance. Piano. I've played since I was five years old. I was always told that I had talent. One day I actually started believing it. So here I am."

  "That sounds very interesting. Do you enjoy what you do?" His pencil gently tapped on the yellow notepad on his lap. 

  "I do," I said. Then, without thinking, I added, "Do you?"

  Dr. Lane smiled. "Do I like what I do? Is that what you're asking?" 

  I nodded, slightly embarrassed.

  "Indeed. I do enjoy what I do."

  "How long have you been at it?"

  "Thirty years, give or take a few months."

  "Wow. Cool." 

  A pause. 

  "Tell me about your family," Dr. Lane said. 

  "My family is great. No proble
ms there. Mom, Dad, grandparents, cousins, all that jazz. They have always supported and encouraged me. I'm an only child, but I have a best friend who feels like a sister. Reagan. She's the one who called to set up my appointment with you. I have a lot of friends. I mean, I have a handful of really good friends. But the ones I have are wonderful."

  “Sounds like you have a good base to start from."

  "Yes. Yes I do." 

  Another pause. 

  “Do you have a family?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Lane said, smiling. “My wife and my daughter.” His smile faltered. “Unfortunately, Lucy, my daughter, passed away a few years ago.”

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I said, leaning forward.

  Dr. Lane pushed his smile to the surface again. “Thank you for saying so.”

  The silence was thick. It went on for an eternity until I could no longer sit in it anymore.

  "I sprained my finger because I was playing too hard on my piano," I said.

  "I was wondering what had happened. Will you be able to play your music again soon?" 

  "Yes. In a two weeks." 

  Another pause. 

  "This summer I saw someone get raped in the ravine here on campus. I think they are dead." 

  Dr. Lane's expression did not change, but his pencil stopped its gentle tapping. So much for taking it slow. 

  A heat rose from my neck to my ears and it was suddenly difficult to swallow.  "Can I get something to drink?" 

  Dr. Lane stood up and walked over to a small counter top that held a few glasses, a carafe of water, and a silver bucket of ice. 

  "Tell me what you saw," he said. 

  I took a deep breath. "I'm not exactly sure, Dr. Lane. It was late. There was this man, these sounds. There were these pink boots. I was getting Reagan a soda. See, she had been out late drinking—she always used to drink too much—and I had gotten her a soda and then I dropped the quarters ..."

  Dr. Lane handed me a glass of ice water, which began to shake as soon as I took it from him.

  "Let's take it slow, Foster. I want you to take a few sips and then slowly start again. We have time."

  Adjusting my position in the pillow-covered chair, I began my story from the beginning. I didn't stop talking until two minutes before my session ended.

  ____________

  Thanksgiving came and went as quickly as my grandmother's homemade biscuits. Everyone went home to visit family, including me. It was a nice break away from the world of higher education. 

  Because my finger had been healing nicely, the doctor deemed it safe for me to begin playing again. Not touching a piano for two weeks had been torturous, as if I had lost a piece of my soul. But during that time I did a lot of reading. I also met with Dr. Lane once a week. 

  One particularly windy and bitterly cold day I was walking across campus to his office. Attempting to keep my scarf pulled over my nose, lost in my own thoughts, I ran into someone. Literally.

  Before I could tumble backwards, a pair of hands grabbed my shoulders. I smelled his cologne before I saw his face. 

  "Whoa there! What's your hurry, Foster Farraday?"

  "Can I just talk to you another time, Aaron? I'm freezing cold and I have an appointment."

  His hands remained on my shoulders. 

  "Okay. Sure. How about tonight? I'll pick you up at five-thirty."

  "What? Pick me up for what?" 

  "I'm taking you to a University of Kentucky basketball game. You denied me last time and I ended up giving the tickets away. Well, just so happens, there’s a game tonight. So, I'll pick you up at five-thirty. That will give us enough time to get to Lexington. Wear blue and white."

  Before I could protest, he released my shoulders and hurried away. It was obvious Aaron was never going to give up. But I liked basketball. And maybe I liked him. Besides, he had taken care of me in the ER the night of the finger incident. He seemed pretty trustworthy. No, I wasn't going to win this time. He had learned how to avoid my excuses by just walking away. Genius.

  As I entered Dr. Lane's office he leaned out of the back room. "Come on back, Foster. I'm ready for you." 

  It's not that his greeting was odd. I never had to wait that long to be called back into his office. But the expression on his face was different. I suddenly felt uneasy.

  It wasn't until I had reached my favorite chair in his office that I noticed another person standing just inside the doorway. He was a stout man and wore a police uniform two sizes too small. 

  Oh, my God, I thought. I'm being committed.

  Dr. Lane must have seen the expression on my face because the lines around his eyes bunched up as his familiar smile returned. 

  "Everything is alright, Foster. You're not in trouble. Sit down and I'll explain."

  The police officer nodded at me and I noticed something white on the front of his navy blue shirt. 

  Is that cocaine? I thought, then almost burst into laughter when I realized that it was a different kind of addictive substance: powered sugar from a donut. 

  Oh God, could this be any funnier?

  "Foster, this is Officer John Long," Dr. Lane said. 

  Long John?

  A rogue giggle escaped my throat. Officer Long raised an eyebrow but Dr. Lane continued. 

  "At one of our last sessions, you gave me permission to gather some information for you about that night in the ravine. I have been working with Officer Long the past few weeks on finding some answers. Please understand that this is all very confidential. I've worked with the good officer here before, and it's my hope that the information we provide will put your mind at ease and help you move toward the future with less anxiety."

  I looked from Dr. Lane to Officer Long, but did not speak. They now had my complete attention. Officer Long cleared his throat. 

  "I have looked into missing persons reports as well as police records in the area. There are no records to match your description of the alleged incident in the ravine from the time around the night of June 8, 1988."

  I did not speak, but looked to Dr. Lane. He put his hand on the officer's shoulder. 

  "Thank you, sir. That's all I need for today." 

  Officer Long adjusted his waistband and nodded as if this accentuated his report. In a few moments, Dr. Lane and I were alone again.  

       

  "I don't understand," I said. "What did he just say? I don't understand." 

  "It's okay, Foster. With your permission, I asked him to check into your story. I wanted to make sure there were no missing persons reports, no rapes or homicides reported around the time of your observation."

  "My ‘observation’?"

  “What you witnessed that night may not have actually been as violent as you originally thought. But that's good news, you see. With this information we can now move forward."

  "Are you saying I imagined it?" I stood up, aware that the volume of my voice was rising. Dr. Lane remained as calm as always. 

  "No. Not at all. These facts were presented to you to help ease your mind. With this new information, we can begin the next phase: the road to acceptance and healing."

  "Acceptance? Acceptance of what?" I was in full yelling mode. 

  "The acceptance that a young woman wearing pink boots did not die that night. The acceptance that you did not witness anything illegal and therefore do not need to feel the guilt of not reporting it to anyone." 

  "I don't feel guilty, Dr. Lane. I know what I saw."

  "Does this new information not put your mind at ease?"

  "I don't know," I said, suddenly quiet again. "Maybe."

  "Maybe is a start," he said, smiling and sitting in his chair. 

  I was lying. I knew it and he knew it. It was going to take much longer than five minutes for me to accept anything that Officer Long John had said. 

  I sat down as well and attempted to mirror his smile. 

  "So. What is the next step?" I asked.

&nbs
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