CHAPTER FOUR
I thought I would have a tough time trying to sell Isabella on coming back to me for her sessions. However, I was surprised when the time came for her Monday morning session, and she was at my door.
I opened it, believing I would need to try and track her down. Beg her to come back so we could continue, but Isabella was quickly proving how I would never know what was going on in her head.
"You came," I said softly.
Her jaw tightened, and her eyes still remained focused on the floor.
"I didn't want to have to start all over with someone new…or worse yet, deal with Dr. Molina. Figured I could deal with you for…a little longer, at least."
I opened the door and allowed her entrance.
"I appreciate it. As I said before, I really do want to try and help you."
She scoffed. "And as I said before, you're really naive if you think you can help me."
She flopped down in the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.
"What's on the docket today, Doc? More probing questions? Was I touched in private spaces as a child? Did my parents lock me in a closet when I was bad? Was I forced to participate in AYSO? Lay it on me."
I rolled my eyes at her attempt at humor and took my seat, readying my pen and paper.
"Have you ever tried to research your…condition?"
She laughed and finally looked at me. I did notice her slightly cringe before she shook her head and looked back down.
"Research? Join a support group? Where in the hell could I possibly find information on this?" She looked up, cringing again. "Have you researched this? Do you know how many crazy sites there are on death…death omens…psychic abilities? Every single one sounds creepier and crazier than the last. Honestly, half the world should be in one of these facilities. Like I've always said, everyone has a little crazy in them. Some just hide it better."
"We don't like to use the term crazy anymore," I said.
She snorted, "Then you obviously don't know much about your predecessor, Dr. Black. Or Dr. Molina. They seem to not have received the memo on that."
I didn't want to argue, since I had seen proof myself of this, and we were getting off track. I only had an hour, and I didn't want to waste it on frivolous topics.
"Can you tell me about the man who saved you?"
She blanched at the question.
"Why?" she asked, completely caught off guard. It made me wonder if anyone had ever asked her that before.
"I'm curious. Just trying to get the whole picture."
Once again, she took to rubbing her arm. Her whole body had transformed from this person who had been sassing me just a minute ago to this insecure, childlike form.
"Uh…his name was…Sam," she offered.
"Sam. Have you ever seen him again?"
She jumped up from her chair and began to pace.
"No. He's dead. So, you can move on to your next ridiculous line of questioning."
"How did he die?"
She stopped pacing and folded her arms tightly across her chest, almost as if she were attempting to hold herself together.
"He was older…and the water was too cold. He died from pneumonia a few weeks after I awoke from the coma."
"Did you ever meet him?" I quietly asked, praying she would continue.
Her eyes fluttered and then closed, as she relived a memory. I could tell by her posture that she wasn't planning on answering, so instead of pushing, which could scare her away, I found something else to talk about, noting it on my pad to circle back to these questions after she got to know me a little better.
"When you think of your future, outside of these walls, what do you see?"
That helped. She instantly thawed and looked back at me in disbelief.
"You're kidding me, right? How can I possibly see much of a future when all I see is death?"
She sat down and leaned forward.
"Do I picture myself sitting in a nice warm cottage in the forest, my hubby comes home from a long day at the office to find me baking a chicken in the oven, while the kids play on the floor with their blocks?"
"Why not?"
"Did you…graduate? Are you really this stupid?"
"Top of my class," I stated.
"Refrigerator repair school?"
"Dartmouth. Residency at Mass Gen. Do my credentials qualify?"
She smiled a little. "Did your daddy bribe your school to pass you?"
"If you knew my father, you'd know he'd never. If I didn't earn it, he certainly wouldn't pay someone for it. And if I weren't at the top of my class, I doubt he'd ever tell anyone about me. I'm already embarrassing his legacy by going into this field."
"Wow, daddy issues, party of one," she sang.
I sighed and smiled, looking down at my pad, slightly embarrassed.
"You have no idea." I looked at the time and noticed we were getting close, so I needed to wrap this up.
"I know this is going to sound stupid, but I'd like it if you could spend some time till our next session thinking about a future. Imagine the possibilities…"
"There are no possibilities. I don't want to imagine my future. I can't have a husband to cook a chicken for. I'd have to pick someone I saw dying of old age, and I don't know about you, but that seems like a rather odd request when filling out a dating profile. And even if I found a man willing to put up with all of this, I'd never have children. What if this curse passes on to the next generation, or worse yet, what if all I see when I look at them is how they're going to die?"
I sat forward and spoke with a controlled tone, "I want you to try…"
She jumped back up from the chair. "It's not going to happen, Doc. Why think about what I'll never have. Times up!"
I sighed, as she fled from my office. Unfortunately, this was to be expected. You couldn't go into this field without having a great deal of patience.
I placed my notes into Isabella's file and looked down at the portion regarding the man who had saved her. There was something there. I could feel it.
I prepared my office for my next session, while questions kept forming in my head. I found myself running up and back to my desk and scribbling them down while I walked about my office, making sure it was ready for Mrs. Newton…Jessica.
Jessica arrived right on time. Never late. Never early. I found her to come in with a smile…usually. When she would speak of her past, she had a soft, fond expression on her face, until it came time to speak on the reason she was here.
To be honest with you, I wasn't sure if Jessica's actions had been accidental or on purpose. Mainly because I was not sure if she knew herself. She went back and forth. In one session, she would claim responsibility. Next session, she would give me a laundry list of reasons for why it had been an accident.
Either way, Jessica would leave my office a mess and not a dry surface around from her laden tears and mucus.
It did not escape my attention just how much time I would spend thinking of my first patient with her supernatural abilities. It was rather unhealthy, the amount of energy I spent thinking of Isabella. So much so, I began to wonder if my curiosity was turning into an obsession.
I craved information. Not so much to finally read her file, but more so, I found myself walking about on my breaks between patients in hopes I would cross her path.
It was a rare sunny Tuesday, and like most of the inhabitants of Cedar Pine, I would find Isabella outside standing at an easel, as I stared down through the thick, high windows onto the gardens. Before I had a chance to berate myself for seeking out her company, my feet were moving me out the door and marching down the steps to get to her.
Her back was to me, and yet I still could pick her out of a crowd. I nodded my head to some of my other patients as they passed, and I came to stand a few feet behind Isabella before taking in her painting.
She was good. I mean, really good. I was impressed with her attention to detail. She had painted a family portrait. It reminded me of those family photo sessions amateur photographers would set up, where a family would pose in some forest or beautiful outdoor setting. The family she had drawn had great detail, except for one thing. There were no faces. The only face that showed was that of hers. A husband. Two children. And her.
"It's really good."
I saw her body go rigid upon realizing for the first time I was standing behind her.
"It's cheesy," she said pointedly. She placed her brush down and turned back to look at me. "This is what you wanted. This is my interpretation of the future."
"No faces," I pointed out.
"Can you picture the face of your future wife? Your future children?"
I tried to think about it, and she was right, I couldn't.
"It looks lovely," I replied.
Isabella scoffed and looked back at her painting.
"I never had one of these cheesy photo sessions. I'd sometimes see them grace the walls of the foster homes I went to. I always wondered why they all looked the same. Outdoors. Matching outfits. Fake smiles."
"Most amateur photographers take the photos outdoors, so they can spare themselves the expense of the lighting and paying for studio rentals."
She finally smirked, allowing herself to relax. "Did you consider it as a career at one point? You seem to know a lot on the subject."
I shrugged and said, "My sister-in-law is an amateur photographer. She didn't want to just be a stay-at-home mom, so she bought a camera and slowly built up her clientele. Unfortunately, it's nearly all she can talk about when I see her."
I crossed my arms over my chest and then added, "I'm happy to see you take my homework seriously. At least…you're beginning to think of a future."
Bella picked up a jar of paint and her brush once again.
"I was planning to give this to you tomorrow when you asked. However, it's not quite finished."
She took her brush and dipped it into the black paint. She then started painting over her perfect portrait in big dramatic circles until the picture was gone and the only thing left was a small circle where her face peeked through.
Isabella stepped back and placed her brush down.
"All I see is death. I may not be able to see my own, but honestly, Doc, how do you think this story ends? A cheesy, forced picture taken in a field, or a fade to black?"
She brushed past me and left her once beautiful painting behind.
Not exactly what I was hoping for.
My tray of uneaten food was laid out before me, while I tapped my pen on my scribbled notepad and stared off into space. A book of death omens was open next to it.
"Signs, Omens, and Superstitions. Death and Bereavement Across Cultures. The Art of Dying Well? My, my, what fun you must be on a first date," Dr. Gallo said, breaking me from my daydreams.
"Oh…uh…" I mumbled unintelligibly before gathering up my books. "Sorry. I was just doing some research."
"Mind if I sit?"
Suddenly, I wished I had paid more attention to my meal. I had no reason to leave the table this time. I would be forced to endure a meal with this woman when all I wanted was to be left in peace, so I could try and make sense of the mysteries that plagued me.
I gestured for her to take a seat and turned the spines of my books away from her, hoping to cease further questions.
"So, what are you researching?" she asked.
I cracked open my fruit cup and took to eating my food at a quickened pace, hoping to have a reason to leave sooner than later.
"A patient of mine has been questioning her dreams. I thought I could shed some light."
A lie, but not too much. I wasn't planning on sharing Isabella's special abilities with anyone. I knew how skeptical people could be. And even though I believed her, I knew telling another person would have them questioning my sanity.
"Is this the same patient you inquired on before?"
I shook my head. I didn't want her to believe I spent all my time on the one patient, even if it was an accurate assessment. Plus, I worried she would eventually put two and two together. I needed Dr. Gallo to remain aloof.
"Well, I hope Dr. Molina gave you one or two interesting cases. I swear, if I had to sit through one more sad, pathetic man sobbing about some girl who wouldn't notice him, I might commit myself," she laughed.
"Oh, they're interesting. Not at all boring. I guess that's what's great about what we do, every person is different. Every person has a story to tell. It's like picking up a good book, you never know what twists and turns you're in for."
Dr. Gallo squinted her eyes ever so slightly. "I miss that."
"What?" I questioned.
"Your innocence. Still believing you can make a difference, that you can save them…when the sad truth is, you can't save everyone."
I would admit, I was a little put off by her brutal honesty. Her pessimism. I wasn't sure if she was the kind of woman who was looking for more, but her statement completely turned me off.
"I don't need to save them all. Just one. I'd be content with my life's work if I knew I'd made a difference in even one person's life." I stood up, gathering my books and discarded trash. "If you'll excuse me."
I probably was a tad ruder than I should have been, but I wasn't about to waste my energy worrying about it. I hurried out of the staff lounge, and in my quest to rush back to my office, I knocked into someone, causing two of my books to fall.
"I'm sorry. I didn't see you," I apologized to the small girl with short, dark hair.
"That's okay, Dr. Cullen. My fault. I shouldn't have been standing so close to the door."
I looked at the young girl, a tad confused. She was a patient, but she wasn't one of mine. How did she know who I was? I hadn't been there long enough to gain a reputation yet, had I?
I mumbled something unintelligible and nodded before leaving. This time, I slowed my pace in order to ensure no further accidents occurred.
I dropped my books down in a chair and slid over to my computer to check my email. My stomach dropped when I saw in bold black letters, "Memorial Service Details."
I hesitated to click on it, but the perverse side of me won, and I opened the attachment, which included a picture of the young nurse I had failed to save. I suddenly wished I hadn't eaten my lunch. The attachment showed two photos of her with her family. She held her new baby in one, and the guilt that overwhelmed me was nearly too much.
The rest of the day, I was a mess. On the outside, I appeared professional and focused, but on the inside, it felt as if my stomach acid was climbing up into my chest to punish me. I went through the motions of living, but I honestly couldn't tell you a damn thing about how I got home that night or if I showered before heading to work the next day.
For once, my mind wasn't concentrated on Isabella Swan, but instead, the young boy who would never know his mother, and it was all thanks to me.
A gentle knock broke me from my contemplation.
"Come in," I said without thinking.
The door opened, and to my surprise, it was Isabella.
She must have sensed my confusion, because she said, "I'm here for our session."
I shook my head and told myself to rid my mind of the haunting pictures that plagued it.
"Of course, come in."
She walked in, and instead of sitting on the chair by the door, she ventured to the couch.
"You seem a little out of it. Usually, as soon as I get here, you make me feel as if you can't wait to start grilling me," Isabella said.
For a second, I thought it best to not mention what had me troubled, but then I decided to say something, wondering how she must have been feeling.
"I received the service information for the nurse who died. There were pictures…it kind of has me…"
"Disturbed," she offered.
"Yes. I don't know how to stop thinking about it."
Isabella shrugged and replied, "It'll get easier. You may think of it a lot at first, but then one day, you'll wake up and realize how little you've thought about it, and that may make you feel guilty, but it'll go away again."
I was kind of surprised that she wasn't more upset.
"And you're…okay?"
I saw a wall go up, but she once again shrugged and put on a face.
"It was her destiny. As shitty as that sounds, it's what the universe planned. For her to get into a car and get T-boned by a semi. The universe didn't care that she was a new mom. It didn't give a shit if she was a good person, while it let some murderer live till he's eighty because that seems fair. And no, you don't have to give me the life isn't fair speech. I see it all the time. On every person's face who passes.
"This person, kind and good, just wants to help, so destiny says, let's slit his throat. That person there is a waste of space…a stroke and he goes gently in the night, with more peace than he ever provided his victims. I can't think about them. All the injustice. It'd make me want to scratch out my eyeballs to spare myself from having to see it."
"I wonder if that's true…" I began to contemplate. "Say for a moment you were onto something. The majority of good people die tragically, while some of the unsavory characters get an easy pass. Maybe that's why you should use this ability. Even the playing field. Maybe that's what destiny had planned."
She scoffed, and I already knew what she planned on arguing.
"It didn't seem to spare my friend from getting a bullet to the brain."
I placed my hands out to ask for calm.
"Okay…but that was one person. Why not try again? I think you need to have more than one or two experiments before making an honest conclusion. Don't you think?"
Isabella sat, back staring at the floor. When she finally chose to look at me, I saw the grimace on her face. It finally hit me why she always seemed to have that same look on her face when she looked up at me.
"I'm dying soon, aren't I?"
She looked down immediately, not wanting to confirm, but her actions had said it all.
"You said the details become more prominent the closer to death one is. That's why you didn't want me to treat you. You didn't want to work with someone who wouldn't be around long enough to help you. And then…your condition. You instructed me not to ask how I was going to die."
She wouldn't look at me, but I could see the tears as they fell down her face and stained her light-colored pants.
"I don't know when…exactly. Sorry, Doc. You have less than two months." She looked up, daring to tell me straight to my face. "You're good…and kind. And you do not go gently in the night."
She stiffly rose from the couch and wiped her nose with the palm of her hand, attempting to catch all the tears that streamed down her face. I wanted to say something to her, but I was overwhelmed with news of my fate.
I didn't even realize she had left. My mind filled with questions, and then sadly, I became a victim to the Kubler-Ross model.
Denial. This wasn't happening. Maybe Isabella was messing with me. She had only predicted one death. Maybe she didn't have a gift. I was so caught up in wanting to believe her, but what if she was lying? Or maybe, she wasn't lying, but she honestly believed she could predict death. She was just crazy. She was crazy. I was not going to die soon. She was just crazy.
A hard knock on my door woke me from my thoughts. I grabbed my doorknob, and before I could think, I snapped at the person on the other side.
"WHAT?"
Jessica was startled by my outburst. She recoiled, and I instantly felt bad for my complete unprofessionalism.
"Uh…our session?" she said in a near whisper.
I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sorry. I need to reschedule."
I didn't wait to hear a response before I turned and closed the door. I looked around my office and wanted to throw something. My hands reached out to find the first object, but I immediately stopped myself. My hands, shaped as tense claws, shook from the anger boiling within.
Less than two months.
My chest ached from sharp pain because I knew the truth. Isabella wasn't lying. She wasn't delusional. She knew the truth, and I knew it, too. It was written all over her face. Every time she looked at me, she saw it. She saw it so clearly because it was imminent. Every cringe. Every shudder. They were for me. Which meant not only did she see me dying, but she saw me dying painfully.
AN: I need a little pick me so I decided to post early hoping the reviews may bring a smile to my face. Thank you for taking the time to read and review. Although it may seem like a small thing, every kind word you send my way is a light in my world.
Thank you to DOLLYBIGMOMMA on editing this and always keeping a watchful eye on my works :-)
STORY IS MINE. CHARACTERS BELONG TO STEPHANIE MEYER.