The first bedroom on the landing was a small double. I walked in and led her round as I checked inside the wardrobe and under the bed.
“You seemed kind of…obsessed with me.”
Her jaw dropped. “We should talk about your inflated self-esteem.”
I led her out of the bedroom and into the room next to it, which she seemed to use as an office. There was nothing but a desk and an armchair.
“You kept giving me compliments and being rude about my wife!” I snapped.
I headed back onto the landing. The bathroom. The last place to look. I opened the door and went to the bath, flinging back the shower curtain. Empty.
Sally shook her head. “You weren’t prepared to talk about whatever had really happened to you. Fobbing me off with this whole fake-mugging story. I thought if you weren’t going to be honest, I might as well use you to get this grant I’ve been angling for.”
“What grant?” Was she bullshitting me? Had she still got Bibi, but just stashed her somewhere else?
“I’m doing a thesis on coercive relationships, and you were a good candidate for a case study.”
“But I’m notina coercive relationship.”
“I don’t think you realize you are.”
“So, you were encouraging me to think my wife was evil and controlling to get a grant?”
“Look, the stuff you were saying was close enough that I could fudge the data a little, but I had to have proof of you attending sessions—so you totally screwed me by quitting.”
I took this in.
Sally shrugged. “I’ve had a few problems in the last couple of years. Patients who got the wrong idea. Complaining about silly stuff. I needed this grant to get back on track.”
I could see how that could make her desperate enough to try and claw back her professional reputation. What caliber of therapist had I expected to find via junk mail? Why hadn’t I checked her out before I started offloading my problems to her?
“If you’re not obsessed with me, how do you know I go by Fox?”
Sally frowned. “Jesus, your ego! You were only useful to me for my career. And please—whenever you do an impression of Haze and put on an English accent, you’re all, ‘You need to get over it, Fox.’ ”
That did sound like me.
“And the pills you gave me? I know there was something bad in them!”
Sally chewed her inside cheek. “I gave you a perfectly harmless SSRI. It has been reported it may cause increased anxiety before they take full effect.”
“I had blackouts! Waking up and not knowing how I got there.”
Sally held her hands up. “I couldn’t have known that would happen!” She paused. “Okay, so with those particular pills occasional blackouts have been reported. But it’s very rare!”
She’d never mentioned the pills’ potential side effects, as shewanted me to think it was all me and my PTSD. She needed me to feel like I was really suffering to make sure I kept seeing her.
I didn’t have any more time to waste on her. Not when my daughter was missing.
“You’ve been completely unethical. Criminal, actually! And if you don’t mention all this”—I motioned toward myself, being in her house, uninvited—“I won’t report you to your board.”
Sally folded her arms. “Fine.”
As I rushed down the stairs, she called after me.
“You do clearly need help, though!”
I texted Jenny and Haze.
