“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Peter mumbles. “I mean, won’t he just tell you to go away?”
Becca shrugs. “Maybe he will. But that doesn’t mean I have to listen.”
They’re sitting in the waiting room at the therapist’s office, side by side on matching chairs. Though their postures don’t match, Peter thinks, looking at his friend. He’s right on the edge of his seat, back straight, hands resting on his knees – as if he’s waiting for his own execution. Becca, meanwhile, is slouching in her chair, one thumb scrolling rapidly down her phone screen. She somehow managed to find time to change out of her school uniform before coming here, replacing the uptight shirt and sweater vest with one of her usual T-shirts. Everything about her gives the impression that none of this is a big deal.
But then she shoves her phone into her bag, twisting the end of her long ponytail around the fingers of her free hand, and he realises that she’s as nervous as he is.
“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s my appointment. I can have you there for emotional support if I want to.”
She gives him a sidelong look. “Like a dog.”
“Huh?”
“You know. Those emotional support dogs that help people with their mental health. Nice to know what you really think of me, Pete.”
“I don’t – I mean – ” Belatedly, he realises that she’s teasing him. She’s a lot like Alyssia in that respect: wielding the kind of deadpan humour that’s sharp enough to cut the unwary. Grimacing at her, he says, “We have to talk his language, right? Can I bring my friend so we can question you about a patient of yours – hard no. But I need someone with me for emotional support – that gets you through the door.”
“It’s fine.” She grins at him. “I’m happy to be your emotional support animal.”
At that point, Peter’s name is called, and he and Becca traipse down the corridor to the room with Dr T. Whyte on the door. He has a sudden vivid memory of Alyssia: Not Dr Whyte. Theo. That’s what he told me to call him when we first met, as if it would somehow make him my friend instead of my therapist. He isn’t completely useless, but he tries too hard.
The room on the other side of the door is familiar, too, from Alyssia’s description. Two leather chairs, with a man sitting and making notes in one of them. A slightly chaotic bookcase, which is promising; Peter has never trusted people whose bookshelves look too neat, on the grounds that it probably means they don’t read any of the books. The lamp is on, but there’s also a window to let in the fading daylight. Catching a glimpse of his own reflection, Peter finds himself wondering if there’s a world on the other side of the glass.
“Ah, Peter. Welcome.” Theo stands up, dropping his notebook on top of a thick file on the table beside his chair. Gaze moving to Becca, he says mildly, “I wasn’t expecting two of you.”
Peter can’t be certain, but he’s pretty sure the front of that file was labelled Gale. It makes sense that the therapist would be reviewing her case, given the reason he’s here. His fingers itch to snatch the file and see what it says, but he forces himself to focus.
“This is Becca. She came with me for – ” Suddenly he doesn’t dare to use the words emotional support in case he bursts out laughing. Not looking in her direction, he says, “She’s here to help.”
“I’m sorry,” Theo says. “This session was arranged for you alone, Peter, and I can’t – ”
“Look,” Becca interrupts. “I get it, but I was there with him when Alyssia disappeared. And we both need to talk to you.”
“That’s right,” Peter agrees, with a quick thankful glance at her. “Because the thing is, Dr Whyte, everything she told you was true. I know you didn’t believe it, but it was. And that means she’s in far more danger than anything you think could possibly happen to her in this world.”
“You were referred to me because you were the last person to see Alyssia before she ran away again,” the therapist says. “Sometimes, when our friends ask us to keep secrets for us – ”
“I’m not keeping a secret,” Peter insists. The same kind of sudden anger is welling up in him that he felt when he visited Alyssia’s home. When he fought Colin. An anger that wants to tear the world apart for being so obtuse. “I keep telling everyone exactly what happened. They just don’t believe me.”
“Peter – ”
“You told Alyssia to care about something real. But that’s the problem. Endarion is real, and she cares about it more than us. The only way she’s going to stay is if we can convince her not to.”
“She told you about her sessions with me?”
“She told me you didn’t believe her.” Agitated, Peter paces across the floor to the window. Perhaps if he keeps moving, keeps talking, he’ll be able to convince Theo to help. “Maybe if you’d listened, she’d still be here.”
“Peter …” The therapist follows him away from the armchairs, leaving Becca hesitating by the door. “You’re here for your own wellbeing. Not Alyssia’s. I can’t discuss her treatment with you.”
Peter rounds on him. “I’m perfectly fine! I’m only here because I thought there was a chance you might be better than the rest of them. You know what happened to her. She told you herself. But if no one ever believes what she says then of course she has no reason to stay! You say she’s run away, and in a way that’s true, but the place she’s run to is exactly what she says it is. And she’ll keep running, all her life, unless we convince her it’s worth being here. With us.”
There’s a long silence. Then Theo says, “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m happy to talk to you about how Alyssia leaving has affected you. But you can’t ask me to pretend to believe the impossible.”
“Then I’m not interested in talking to you at all,” Peter snaps. He storms out of the door, and Becca follows.
By the time they’re on the street outside, his anger has already faded. He sighs. “Sorry. That was a waste of time.”
“I mean, sure … apart from this.” From her bag, Becca pulls out a black notebook and several folded sheets of paper. He frowns at them.
“What exactly am I looking at?”
“Dr Whyte’s notes on Alyssia. Or rather, Alyssia’s notes on Alyssia. They were in her file. I recognised her handwriting on the papers, and the book has the same writing in it, so while you were giving your little speech – ”
“You stole them.”
“I wouldn’t call it stealing,” Becca says. “They belong to Alyssia. And ol’ beardyface made it clear he wasn’t going to believe what she wrote, didn’t he?”
“You mean …”
Becca nods. “She recorded everything that happened to her. Forget Theo Whyte. If we want to help her, we start by understanding this.”