Page 67 of Taunting Tarran
I hate it when people do that.
Her fingers pulling at the frayed hem of her cardigan, as her voice wavers.
Oh she’s good.
Her story should have been gripping,ifI believed anything she said.
At first, I did; trauma, paranoia, kidnapping – it was worth looking into. But by the third session, the cracks started to show. Still, she wasgood.Convincing even - certainly enough to fool most people.
But I’m not most people.
I’ve been a therapist for nearly thirty years, I can tell when people aren’t being entirely truthful. And something about Emma’s story stinks.
My eyes flick to the clock. Three more minutes left.
I nod, mechanically as her voice trembles. With my pen in hand, I force a neutral expression, feigning engagement with my thoughts plotting my escape.
Shall I ask another question? Shit. I have to; she’s stopped talking, finally, but then she starts again.
‘I’m so sorry, Gillian, Icancall you Gillian, right?’
I nod. ‘How are you coping?’
‘I’m OK. My daughter helps, you know, distract me.’ Her voice wavers, as if she’s trying to sound casual but can’t quite pull it off.
I nod again. ‘You’ve been through a traumatic experience. It’s going to take time. By the sound of it, you’re lucky to bealive.’
She nods in agreement, her fingers twisting in her lap.
‘I j-just keep waking up, and seeing them dead, like I had that night,’ her voice cracks, the words barely above a whisper. Something in her delivery still feels off.
Rehearsed, almost.
I mask my scepticism. ‘That sounds incredibly difficult,’ I say, and Emma’s eyes glisten with tears.
‘I remember Anna telling me about you,’ her voice catching on the word “Anna” like it physically pained her, ‘how you helped her cope with work related stress,’ she sobs. ‘A part of me feels if I speak to you, then we can share the memory of both knowing her.’
What the fuck.
I shift in my chair.Clever.Invoking Anna’s name.
For a moment, I wonder if she had planned that line in advance too.
The story Emma had told me so far didn’t add up. She and her friends in a secluded house in the middle of nowhere, kidnappers vanishing into thin air – leaving her all alone in a house with three dead girls. Then wandering for hours before finding a road, only to stumble across the kindest and most efficient police officers in all of Spain? Sure it sounded plausible, but it strained credulity.
Yet here she sits, tears streaking down her cheeks, looking every inch the picture of someone traumatised. I lean forward and hand hera tissue.
‘Thank you,’ she sobs, blowing her nose into the tissue.
‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to end our session here for today,’ I say, standing up and guiding her to the door.
This time last week, Emma was my last client, and her story gnawed at me – not because I believed it, but because I found myself genuinely concerned when she mentioned the name Tarran – a former client. The name isn’t exactly common, and her story remains vivid in my mind.
Like a thread, I couldn’t help but tug at it, so after I locked up, I sat in my car idling in the parking lot, waiting for Emma. I saw her, her cardigan trailing behind her, and my fingers drummed the steering wheel wondering what I should do.
This wasn’t normal.
But curiosity has a way of morphing into an obsession. I followed her. At first, I told myself it was just to see where she went, to understand if her story had any ground. But when she turned down a quiet street, I couldn’t decide whether to carry on, or worth risking my career over. She disappeared into an old, industrial apartment building, so I parked up a safe distance away. I should have turned back. I should have put this whole thing behind me, but instead, I pulled out my camera, adjusted the focus, and had the lens trained on the soft glow emanatingfrom the window. There, silhouetted against the pale light, I saw her – Emma. At first, she was alone, her cardigan slipping off her shoulder as she moved. But then, a man came into view; a tall man, broad-shouldered. I froze, my breath catching in my throat as I witnessed her turning towards him, allowing herself be pulled into his embrace.
