“Fine. I’ll wait in there,” I say, nodding toward the door to the reception area.
I grab my backpack and coffee and go into the hallway, closing the door behind me. But instead of going into the reception area, I open a door on the left and slip quickly into a small observation room. It’s dark inside, but I leave the light off so that I can see through the two-way mirror into the office.
Using the observation room was Kelsey’s idea. Let’s just say I have control issues. It’s my life. I have a right to know what they’re saying.
And it’s not a lie. Neither of us actually said that I was going into the reception area.
Is too a lie. You know that’s what he thinks.
So now I’m responsible for his assumptions?
I twist the small knob on the speaker in front of me to hear what they’re saying. Then I move the chair back and tilt it against the wall, so that I can prop my feet up.
Porter is talking. “. . . already know the basics, Dr. Kelsey. She’s been in psychiatric hospitals, what, four different times?”
“I believe it’s five, actually,” Kelsey answers. “The last hospitalization was in 2012, however. Nearly seven years ago. Anna is stable now. She attends school, works fifteen to twenty hours a week, and manages most of her affairs on her own.”
“Do her normal affairs include harassing people?” he asks. “I did her a favor by not reporting this harassment to the authorities. She seems to be under the delusion not only that she’s in contact with my dead granddaughter but also that I hired a hit man or something . . .”
“Well, to be fair, Mr. Porter, she has some support concerning the van. I’m not saying you had anything to do with it, but she wasn’t alone—”
“Yeah, but the other person she says was there is the same kid who was taggin’ along behind her last week when she was stalking me.”
“And,” Kelsey continues, ignoring the interruption, “someone did call her and warn her to stay away from you. I’m sure she played you the message?”
Porter huffs and rearranges himself in the chair. “Yeah, I heard it. She doesn’t file a report after this so-called hit-and-run attempt, and then she gets a friend of hers to leave a message on her phone. I’m supposed to buy that as some sort of evidence?”
“She also received this,” Kelsey says, pushing a folded sheet of paper toward him. “Someone left it in the mailbox at Bartholomew House on Friday evening.”
He unfolds the paper and reads the two short sentences—Mind your own business. Do not contact Porter again—and shakes his head. “Again, isn’t the most likely scenario that Anna or a friend wrote this? The only reason I’m taking time out of my day to be here, Dr. Kelsey, is because I’d like to see the girl get some help. At best, she’s desperate for attention and, at worst, she’s involved in some sort of scam.”
Kelsey takes a deep breath and leans back in her desk chair, her hands crossed in front of her. Her two pointer fingers make a little tent that she rests against her lower lip. She always does this when she’s thinking about what to say next.
“I don’t agree, Mr. Porter,” she says after several seconds have passed. “Anna debated whether or not to contact you for the past few months. She finally decided that it was the right thing to do.”
“Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that this wasn’t an attempt to con me. My point still stands. If she’s sincere, then she’s lost her grip on reality. Either way, somethin’s gotta be done before she hurts herself or someone else.”
Dr. Kelsey takes a deep breath and walks over to the counter to refill her cup. “You want more?” she asks.
He shakes his head, looking impatient as Kelsey takes her time adding the milk and sugar.
“Mr. Porter,” she begins, once back at her desk, “I’ve worked with Anna since she was five years old. She was in the child welfare system for about two years prior to that. Someone dropped her off in a shopping mall food court just before her third birthday. Pinned to her dress was a note with the name Anna, a date of birth, and the words, This child is possessed.”
My chest tightens and my pulse speeds up a bit. None of this is new. I don’t really remember being abandoned, but Kelsey and I have spent hours unearthing my early childhood and staking every psychological demon we could dredge up. I’ve dealt with all of this before. I just don’t like Porter hearing it.