Page 26 of Happenstance
I cocked my hip and eyed Mr. Kessler’s black suit. He was a psychiatrist, and a well respected one at that. Still…
“Do you want to ask me something, Lana?”
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
“I don’t know.” Could I trust him? Of course I couldn’t trust him.
“Why don’t you come with me to my office,” he placed his hand on my back and steered me down the hall, “Where we can speak in private.”
What I should’ve done was leave. Thank him for his time and just go. Instead, I found myself following him. Apparently my fear of possible insanity outweighed my desire for self preservation. I needed to know if I had blamed a man I considered a brother for something truly horrific, when he had, in fact, done nothing.
Louis Kessler’s office was about what I expected, and not at all something one would find in a hospital. I could smell the luxury when I entered the room. Dark bookshelves, filled with more books than one person should have, lined the walls. On either side of the door sat a black leather wingback chair, that matched two in front of a desk made of the same wood as the bookshelves. Even the beige carpet in this room was luxurious. My feet sunk into the plush flooring like they would sand on a beach.
Mr. Kessler headed across the room and walked around the desk to the chair behind it. His seat didn’t look like the other four. It was black, but taller, with big arms and a cushy back. A throne fit for a king. I listened to the leather creak as he sat down, and ran my hand over the back of one of the chairs by the door.
What are you doing here, Lana?
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”
What was on my mind. The question itself was comical. Was I raped? Did the man I trusted most in this world betray me in the worst possible way, or had I lost what was left of my sanity? All answers I wasn’t going to just freely give. And certainly not to Louis Kessler.
“What makes you think there’s something on my mind?”
“I’m a psychiatrist, my dear,” he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “My job is the mind.”
Fair enough. Didn’t mean I was going to say anything to him. Even if I really wanted to.
I guessed he sensed my reluctance, because the next words he spoke were, “I am a professional, Lana. Whatever you say to me in confidence, will remain in confidence. I take my oath very seriously.”
The question was, which oath was he referring to? I might not have any proof that secret society existed, but I also didn’t have any proof that it didn’t either. Sure, there was doctor-patient confidentiality, but did that really matter to a man like Louis Kessler? Even if he did break his so called code, what was I going to do? Sue him? No one in this town went against the Kesslers.
“I should go.”
Mr. Kessler nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
Why wasn’t he trying to stop me? My eyes narrowed on his calm expression. Maybe he really did just want to help? Would it really hurt to ask?
Deciding that it couldn’t hurt if he didn’t know exactly what happened, or who it pertained to, I asked, “Is it possible for someone to think something happened, when it really didn’t?”
“I suppose,” he tipped his head in a questioning way. “It would depend on what, exactly, they think happened, and the circumstances under which said incident occurred.”
Touché, Mr. Kessler.But I was too smart to fall for that.
“There may have been alcohol involved.”
He nodded as if he understood. Given Mason’s recent stint in rehab, I suppose he did. “Alcohol can fog the mind.”
“But it was only one drink,” I pointed out.
“Was there anything else in the drink?”
I shook my head.
He retaliated with, “How sure are you?”
