a quick note here: only the prologue and the epilogue will be written in the first person. The rest of the story is written in third person and from different perspectives from time to time.
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"Sir Clarke will be down shortly," the (probably) French butler informed me for the third time and I nodded at him.
Fancy.
I had been sitting on the teal, Blanca petrol velvet sofa, observing the room.
It was softly-lit. The silky, olive curtains on the wall behind me were drawn. And the air was stale, smelling ancient and slightly addictive at the hint of pipe tobacco. Across from me was a velvet couch and behind that a console table bearing Victorian antiques. A mahogany staircase swept up behind the couch.
I stared at the rose-gold watch on my wrist. It wasn't until another ten minutes when a voice reached me, "Miss Eden."
Dr. Quinn made his way down the stairs with easy grace, same as I had last seen him in the seminar last week. But he looked a little disheveled, with his greying hair matted on a side. He looked like he had been drinking.
"Dr. Quinn, thank you for having me here." I stood, the air chilly against my bare knees. "I realize my timing isn't quite right."
"I didn't plan to take a kip this afternoon, Julianne. Can I call you Julianne?" He extended a pale, wrinkled hand out to me and I shook it, saying yes.
"Have a seat. I believe you've completed your assessment," he smiled, his blue eyes crinkling as he sat on the blue, velvet armchair to my right. His skin had wrinkled, his movements had slowed but the blue of his eyes seemed so much younger.
"Yes, I have." I managed to take the paper out from my backpack and handed it to him while he reached for his black-framed glasses that dangled from the V of his sweater. As he put them on, I noticed how much he resembled my father. Even his drawing room had a large amount of pretentious antiques that my father would surely approve of.
"So, you are suffering from Insomnia?" He was direct, taking me back to reality.
"I think so. Yes."
"For how long approximately?"
"Since I was twelve years old."
"Have you had treatments for it before?" He set the paper on the coffee table beside his chair. It occurred to me that he might have a flashy taste in decoration, but he dressed casually. Even now, he wore a simple, navy, cashmere sweater, black pants and well, a not-so-casual silk robe.
"Pills, yes. I thought I grew out of it. It, I mean the sleeping problem, started again a few months ago." I eyed him when he stood on his shiny, black shoes and went towards the window on the wall behind me, sliding the curtains to each sides, letting the sunlight flood inside. I squinted.
"Are you stressed for any reason?" He returned to his seat.
"I don't think so."
"You've just moved from London. Any problems settling here?"
"No. It's fine. It's a beautiful university." I flashed a guilty smile at him. "I didn't really have many problems settling here."
"Well, is it about leaving Hampstead? Leaving your parents' house?" He crossed his legs.
"No." I responded, my eyes flickering towards the shiny, pointed, toe of his shoes. I had been happy to abandon the dollhouse. He remained silent after that, scrolling his eyes down the assessment. I took the liberty of looking around, wondering how this would work; how therapy even worked.
"Julianne, is there any chance you are suffering from depression?"
My head whipped towards him almost immediately, my ponytail moving with it, making a swatting sound against my back.
I wasn't depressed. Of course, I wasn't. Was I?
"It's just the sleeping problems."
Quinn's voice was gentle now. "Not admitting one is depressed is a classic example of depression. Do you know that, Julia? There is no shame in having depression. It doesn't necessarily mean you've lost the plot, or you're a failure, or a bad person."
"Dr. Quinn, I don't think I'm depressed. People have problems in their lives. I have mine, but they are nothing serious enough for me to suffer from depression." I kept it as formal as I could.
He scrutinized me and then nodded ever so slowly as if my response actually seemed valid to him. Then, he was scribbling away on a notepad for a while. When done, he returned his attention towards me, discarding the notepad on the coffee table.
"Julianne, have you ever seen a German Shepherd?"
His question threw me off a little but I replied anyway, "Yes."
"What do you think of them?"
"They are friendly."
"Yes and protective. I had a German Shepherd when I was about ten or twelve. His name was Hades," he smiled. Even though, it was irrelevant, I listened quietly, smiling at the name myself. "Hades was the liveliest dog I have ever seen. My sister Beatrice and I used to spend every waking moment with Hades in holidays. But when holidays were over, he didn't react well to the long daily separations."
"I know what you're talking about. The same thing happened with my horse when I went to boarding school," I blurted out before I could realize. In a way, I related to him. "What happened to Hades after that?"
"Well, he got used to it," Quinn shrugged with a tiny curve of his thin lips. "I probably didn't mention that Hades didn't have a leg. He fetched like a champ though. But only for a few years. He slowed down drastically."
"Was that because of his leg?"
"Yes. But that wasn't the end of it." He shook his head, leaning forward. "Beatrice and I had a tree house behind our parents' house. There was a small creek that we had to cross to get there. It had one of those hanging bridges. The tree house was our secret hideout. Beatrice was a little younger than me. She would hide her collection of sparkly things while I hid my collection of adult magazines there."
A silly smile appeared on his face and I realized I was smiling as well.
"It was after the Summer in 1967. I came home from school that day and fell asleep. Beatrice and Hades were out playing. It was after seven o'clock and raining outside when Hades woke me up," he paused to inhale, his voice slightly wet yet casual. "Hades was barking at me. Our parents wanted to help but he wouldn't stop. Finally, he gave up and led us towards the creek. The ropes of the hanging bridge had broken. Beatrice had hit the back of her skull. We ... found her. In the creek."
I bit the insides of my cheek, not knowing what to say. Usually in situations like these, I would suggest people getting their own shrinks. But, Quinn was supposed to be my shrink.
"We could've been able to save Beatrice, you know. Can you tell me how?" His stare was intent. I opened my mouth and closed it again, not knowing how to say this without hurting him.
"If Hades was fast enough to take you there. As you said, he was just barking. If he could have made you understand what the problem was, you might've been able to save her."
"Exactly," he interjected, his eyes crinkling, his smile a picture of triumph. "So, you see where the issue is? Lack of communication. If we knew that Beatrice fell into the water, we could've pulled her up before she drowned."
Like, Robert, I thought randomly. Like my brother.
"Like you, Julianne." His words stunned me but I didn't display it.
"How?" I gave him a curious smile.
"You need my help but I don't know which hole to help you out of," he answered, confident his point was finally proven.
And I had to laugh. He was brilliant. Well, if he really wanted to help.
"Can I trust you, Dr. Quinn?"
He leaned back in his chair and rose his eyebrows. "Call me Quinn. Well, there's doctor-patient confidentiality to answer your question."
How could I not smile?
Setting my white leather backpack on the velvet beside me, I splayed my palms over my knees and sighed, "I'll start from last September. The last day of Summer."
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Facts: kip is the British term of nap.