Becoming Sarah

chapter SEVENTEEN


The next morning, I took my problems one at a time.

First I made an appointment with a psychiatrist. Not the same one Sarah had seen -- too hard to fool -- but a new one. Last night I'd scared myself. This thing that was happening to me was too big to handle alone. I needed someone who could prescribe something to keep me balanced, to keep me from falling over the edge again.

I found a recommendation for a nearby psychiatrist, Dr. Riley, on a website. When I called her office, I said it was urgent. The receptionist said the doctor had had a last-minute cancellation and could see me that same afternoon.

Next, I rounded up all my bills, the ones Sarah had let build up as well as the ones I was responsible for. In the past two weeks I'd let the finances go. I'd shopped to feel better, to forget my worries, and I'd managed to eat up a huge chunk of Sarah's monthly check. If I was careful for the next couple of weeks, I figured, I could get things under control.

After that, I went back online. I wanted to know what was happening in my murder case, and I could hardly call up Detective Todd to ask.

As soon as I sat down at Sarah’s computer again, I had another idea. Sarah must have had a email account. I tried Yahoo, then Gmail. If I was lucky – yes, her computer logged her on to Gmail automatically, no password needed. Her inbox was full of junk mail, ads for Viagra and dating services, but when. I opened Sarah's "Sent Mail" folder there was one message, a quick note to Liza: "Hey girl, can you believe I lost your new cell #? Call me."

Not very revealing.

I checked one last folder, called "Drafts". Bingo! A letter to a guy whose name I didn't recognize, dated three weeks ago. It thrilled me to read Sarah's actual words, to finally get a peek into her mind.

Dear Aaron,

Sorry if I freaked you out the other night. I have some crazy things going on in my life right now. I can totally understand if you don't ever want to cross my path again, but I hope you'll let me explain.

Do you ever feel like your life is spinning so badly out of control that things can never be right again? I feel like that every day. I feel like the whole world's closing in on me. I'm this person I don't even want to be. I do things and then I can't believe that was me.

I guess that doesn't really explain why I acted the way I did with you. I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

She'd signed the email "Yours, Sarah", but never sent it. I figured I would never know who Aaron was, or what she'd done to him. Still, her words gave me goose bumps up and down my arms. I did know the feelings she'd described. I was still feeling them. It seemed almost as though this e-mail was a message to me, a letter from beyond death.

So Sarah’s life hadn't been so perfect. Apparently being rich and beautiful wasn't enough. If I’d doubted that before, I didn’t now.

Next, I went to Google and searched for my own name. The Chronicle had another article on my case, just a few paragraphs. The police had cleared Otto and had no other suspects. In some ways, that was a relief. At least Otto's life could get back to normal. But it also meant that Ricky was still out there, still free after what he'd done. What he could do again. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Terrible as it was, I couldn't do anything about it. I wasn't ready to confront Ricky, not yet.

Next, I spent much too long skimming through the wall posts on the Facebook tribute page someone had set up for me. Lots of comments, some from friends and more from strangers pretending to know me. It was addictive, though. Strangely flattering.

The next task I'd set for myself wasn't going to be easy. I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt -- the day was warm and bright -- and walked down one flight of stairs. I steeled myself and knocked on Matt's door.

He took his time answering, and when he did he wore boxer shorts and a t-shirt with a hole in it. He rubbed sleep from his eyes. I thought he looked adorable, but he blushed. “S-sarah, hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sorry, did I wake you? I mean, I guess I did. Obviously.” Now it was my turn to feel flustered. “I just – just wanted to find out if you wanted to get some dinner tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me out? On a date?”

“Uh, kind of. Well, I’m feeling bad about how I acted the other night, I guess, and I wanted to make it up to you. I’d like for us to really be friends. That is, if you even want to speak to me now.”

“Sure I do. I was only teasing.” He grinned at me. “I’d love to go to dinner. Italian okay?”

I let out a sigh of relief. “Great. About eight?”

“I’ll pick you up. Not that I’ll have far to go or anything.”

I left Matt’s apartment feeling better than I had in a long while.

As I walked into Dr. Riley’s office, I surreptitiously wiped my palms on my jeans. I was sweating like crazy, more than the warm day called for. I’d never been to any kind of counseling. I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell her. Not the truth; she’d have me locked up in a padded cell. But some version of it, perhaps. Something that would make her help me.

I sat on the couch in the waiting room until it was my turn. A plump, comfortable woman in wrinkled slacks came out and glanced around; I figured she was a patient until she called my – Sarah’s – name.

“Sarah Winslow? I’m Dr. Riley.” We shook hands. She actually reminded me a little of my mother, my mother with a salon haircut and an expensive skin care regimen, but with the same warmth and slightly scatter-brained air. When we sat down together in her office, though, she was all business.

“I had Dr. Shin fax over your records, Sarah. Want to tell me why you stopped seeing him?”

I shrugged. “Things kind of. . .changed for me. My life totally fell apart, actually.”

“I see. In what way?”

“Well, I – I haven’t been feeling like myself.”

“Did something happen, Sarah?” She looked at me so intently. Her eyes were very blue. I almost felt like she could see right into me. I shifted in my seat. “Right before you started feeling this way, what happened?”

I swallowed hard. A scene flashed before my eyes: night, in the alley. Ricky pushing me down. The smell of urine, the beer on his breath. I opened my mouth to speak, but found I couldn’t.

“Go ahead, Sarah,” Dr. Riley said gently.

It all came pouring out then, all of it. Or almost. I told her how he’d raped me. How he’d wrapped his hands around my neck until I couldn’t breathe. How he’d left me for dead. “I feel like he did kill me,” I said, through tears. “I feel like I’ll never be safe again.”

I didn’t tell her I knew my attacker. I didn’t tell her how I’d woken up the next day as Sarah. But the truth of it, the core of what had happened to me, that I did tell. It was the first time I’d put it into words.

When the hour was up, I felt raw, miserable, weepy – and better. It wasn’t anything Dr. Riley said, though she said a few things that made sense, like how none of it was my fault. It was the talking that did it. I felt like I’d been carrying around this huge weight, and what Dr. Riley did was get underneath with me and help me carry it. It was going to take me a long time to put it down and walk away. I knew that. But this was a start.

I left Dr. Riley’s with a second appointment and a prescription to fill. She told me the pills wouldn’t start working right off, that it would take some time, but that in a few weeks I should start feeling better.

I believed her. What choice did I have?