Doctor Harrow has been waiting for approximately twenty minutes for Rebecca to show up; he has two more patients after her before lunch.
In mid-thought, an elderly woman in a tight fitting pink dress shuffles into the room.
“Is it a special occasion?” Doctor Harrow inquires with a wry smile.
Rebecca’s face is tight. “It’s September 22nd,” she whispers.
Confusion writes its way across Doctor Harrow’s face. He rises and goes to his desk to look through the case file to see if he should already know what’s important about the date.
He finds a small post script at the bottom of an evaluation from Rebecca’s previous psychologist, the one she’d had before the “discovery.” All too soon, he realizes why Rebecca has dressed so formally, and why she seems to be so distant.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. Secretly he wonders to himself that he hadn’t noticed the post script before; and why of all reasons had he decided to schedule a session today?
Rebecca remains impassive, much as she had in their first session.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she states bitterly, “It was mine.”
“Rebecca…” the Doctor begins, “You can’t blame yourself like this anymore.”
No words are uttered, and for but the slightest moment the room is filled with terrible, agonic emptiness.
Doctor Harrow hesitates, unsure of how to respond.“There is a question I’m afraid I must ask,” he finally ventures forth.
Rebecca’s face remains an empathetic shroud.
“I hate to ask this, Rebecca – I really do. You knew a woman named Victoria Andrews, if I am correct.”
A wave of unidentifiable emotion crashes across Rebecca’s face.
“Anyways,” the Doctor goes on, “This woman, Victoria Andrews. Can you tell me what happened to her?”
Her back slumps and she transforms into the same woman that had been there the first day, but in a different dress. Her lips part, unwilling, perhaps, as a faint whisper ghosts from her mouth, “I can try…” Rebecca shifts her eyes towards the floor with an air of humility that Doctor Harrow has never seen before.
They sit in quiet musing, she over the date and the woman named Victoria Andrews, and he over the enigmatic creature unraveling before him. With every passing second, more and more of Rebecca’s tightly-wound composure is falling apart, and Doctor Harrow begins to realize the unidentified emotion that seems to be controlling her.
It is shame.
The preceding writing is the last of Season One of The Last Attempt. Special thanks go out to the following people:
The readers, as always, for their faith and patience, Seaweedy for her continued support of my writing, and TSS for being such a wonderful group of people. Thank you to everyone who has ever read or commented! 🙂