Dedicated to my great proof-reader with thanks.
*
The sound reverberated through his mind, the cold sweat breaking out almost immediately and Gray cried out involuntarily as he shot up in his bed.
"Oh, God." He ran his hands through his dirty blond hair, his breath coming in gasps as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get himself back under control. It didn't matter that it had been almost four years, that he knew he was safe in his own home, or that lightening wasn't supposed to strike twice. All that did matter was he was alone, always alone with his demons, and he knew that would never change.
"Morning, Mr. Watson, how's it goin'?" The voice of the doorman broke into his dark early morning thoughts and Grayling Watson looked up.
"Like usual, Jim, how 'bout you?"
"Yeah, me too. Still, school's out Friday isn't it? You get what, six weeks off?"
The older man understood the rueful smile he got in reply. What good were six weeks holiday when the young man would spend them by himself? At least if he was in school he would be surrounded by people; still alone, but there would be others to interact with, chat to, pretend to be interested in. Jim watched Grayling pass through the ornate double exterior doors. He wished there was something he could do. He'd tried, so had others, he wasn't sure what, if anything, could improve Grayling Watson's quality of life. He would keep an eye on him; it seemed like the only thing left.
The walk to the large, unimposing, building took him just over ten minutes; if he drove it took twenty-five. Car horns honked, drivers swore, bikers weaved in and out of the early morning traffic and mums looked harassed as they took part in yet another school run.
Grayling pulled himself together mentally as he walked through the gates. He put a smile on his face, ran his hand through his hair hoping it would, just for once, lie flat and look like he combed it now and then and pushed his glasses up his nose. The early morning sun had darkened the lenses and so hid his deep brown eyes and the pain they contained, for that, if nothing else, he was glad.
"Mornin', Sir." A boy, probably about fourteen, ran past him in the schoolyard, tossing the welcome over his shoulder as he did so. Grayling didn't bother to return it, knowing it wasn't expected of him. Instead he thought about the fact that he had five days left before he could sleep in, try and get his life going again, even consider a vacation or a move to a new city, five days, that was only about thirty science lessons and then he'd be done.
The letter was waiting in his mailbox the first day of the holidays. He'd been expecting it, but still, he'd hoped it wouldn't come.
"Dear Mr. Watson,
he read out loud, even though there was no one to listen to him.
It has been over six months since your last meeting with Mr. Bailey and we are concerned that you did not finish your allotted appointments. We would welcome the opportunity to rectify this at your earliest convenience.
In the time since your last visit Mr. Bailey has retired and Marcia Mulholland is now seeing his clients. Ms Mulholland has read your file and will be contacting you shortly to discuss the above with you.
Gray screwed up the letter and tossed it in the general direction of the waste paper basket. So, Bailey, Cross and Danby was missing the Bailey bit; Gray shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't sure talking to a woman would be something he wanted to do, but he had a feeling the dreams and cold sweats wouldn't go until he faced things. He could always move to another practice, see another shrink; money wasn't a problem; he could afford the best, which was why he had a flat with great views and a doorman. Not that it made much difference; the struggles were the same, whether he was rich or poor.
"Mr. Watson, thank you for coming in to see me. I realize changing your therapist is a big step, and I hope you will give me the chance to get to know you and help you." Marcia Mulholland had probably said the same thing twenty times in the last month, but most of her new clients had at least appeared to listen, Grayling Watson didn't seem to even be in the same room with her.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Gray had been lost in the memories of his last visit; he'd lambasted Arthur Bailey, telling him in no uncertain terms how he didn't feel he was doing him any good. Now he knew the old man had retired on health grounds he felt a little guilty.
"Nothing much, just the official spiel about seeing a new shrink. I'm guessing you aren't interested in that."
Gray shook his head, his thoughts would remain hidden, but he'd make sure he listened from now on. He wasn't aware of the scrutiny he was under, didn't know the woman across the desk from him was already making mental notes about her new client, if he had he might have been surprised at what she saw.
Marcia was forty-six years old; she had been married to another psychotherapist for twenty years and had finally got the Harley Street partnership she had been searching for. Grayling Watson had interested her since she'd begun reading his file a little over a month earlier. Now, looking at the young man before her, she was sure if she could pick up his pain in her hands it would burn her. Arthur Bailey had written that Grayling hid everything from sight, never let his guard down and thought no one could see the agony he was in. Marcia had a feeling most people probably couldn't, but if they looked closely they would see the emptiness in his eyes, the tenseness in his fingers, and the slight, but constant, movement of his foot against the floor. The man was holding on to himself so tightly that sooner or later everything would give way and he would be unable to function unless he'd begun to unburden himself before then. The responsibility was now hers to ensure that happened.
