Page 93 of The Girl in the Woods

Ana glanced over at the clock on the clinical white wall.

‘It’s the client’s right to spend their hour here as they wish. The client then made it clear she wouldn’t be returning,’ Ray explained.

‘How did she make it clear?’ asked Ana.

Ray closed his laptop. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t share that. It was personal reasons.’

Ana clenched her fists. ‘But she’s dead. We’re investigating that death.’

‘Nothing she said in our session would be connected to her death. She gave her reasons for not attending again, and I respected them. I asked her if she would prefer another psychiatrist and referred her to Dr Rust.’

Ana felt her body slightly relax as the Valium travelled through her bloodstream, and she looked cautiously around the consulting room as though expecting a monster to jump out of a corner of the room. Her eyes took in the bare white walls, the couch, the cabinet full of…

‘Do you ever need to sedate any of your patients before you begin therapy?’ she asked.

Ray cocked his head. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sedate them?’ she repeated.

‘Sedate them?’ he asked, surprised. ‘What for? They’re not having an operation. If they’re a bit anxious, I’ll do deep breathing with them.’ He looked at Matt and then back to Ana. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand your question.’

‘There was a high level of Rohypnol in Elaine Lees’ blood,’ said Ana.

He didn’t look surprised. ‘Was she perhaps using it recreationally? After all she was at a fair with lots of young people,’ he said.

Matt met his eyes. ‘It was a fatal dose.’

‘A therapist wouldn’t give that to a patient,’ he insisted. Ray checked his watch and then stood up.

Ana could see from the glint in his eyes and the sudden tightness of his mouth that he was angry but trying not to show it.

‘I’ve told you everything I know about Leanne Lees and–’

‘Elaine Lees,’ corrected Ana.

‘I apologise. I have a patient in a few minutes, and I can assure you we do not use sedating drugs such as Rohypnol during our sessions. It would leave the patient powerless to talk; therapy is about sharing feelings, not preventing the patient from doing so.’

Ana glanced over at the couch, and her stomach turned over. Not here, she pleaded, not here. ‘Thanks for your time,’ she said.

She didn’t bother waiting for Matt but hurried straight to the loo directly opposite reception. The paintings on the wall now looked fuzzy and distorted. Her stomach lurched and gurgled. The cubicle door locked safely behind her; she fell to her knees and threw up into the toilet bowl. It seemed like the retching would never end. Her phone pinged several times. Probably Matt, she thought. Her head thumped with every beat of her heart.

‘Ana?’ It was Matt.

Ana grabbed some toilet roll and wiped the sweat from her forehead. ‘I’ll be out in a sec. Sorry, must have been something I ate.’ She rinsed her mouth with cold water and then splashed her face. Finally, she took several deep breaths before walking out of the toilets.

‘Christ, Ana, you had me worried.’

She walked quickly to the doors. ‘I need some air, that’s all.’

The door was pushed open, and Ana stepped back to prevent it from colliding with her. The air she so needed was still out of her reach.

‘I’m so sorry.’

Ana found herself forced back into the clinically white reception area, and a man was stepping on her toe. Ana shivered, pulled her foot away and started shaking again.

‘Are you okay?’ the man asked, concerned. He touched her arm reassuringly, but she recoiled like she’d received an electric shock.

‘Dr Rust, I have a call for you,’ said the receptionist.

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