The Banishing (7 page)

Melissa ran her hand along the right side of her head. There. She could feel it, now. A lump was beginning to form underneath the hairline. “He was smarter this time,” she said to herself. “Nobody will be able to see this one.” She pressed at the lump and then jerked in pain. It felt like she had been hammered, and yet Mark’s own hands had done the job.

Reaching for the washcloth, Melissa lathered some soap onto it and began wiping down her body, rubbing the soap along her arms, breasts, stomach, and legs. She deliberately avoided in between her legs, as if touching there would somehow make things worse. She dropped the washcloth onto the side, and without knowing it was even on its way, began sobbing heavily.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the sound of her crying out of fear of Mark hearing her and wanting to punish her for doing even that.

Her whole body trembled, sending small waves across the bath water as she sobbed. She realized this had been building up for some time, that from trying so hard to be strong, logical, and hopeful, she had denied herself the chance to mourn the things that had happened, had not allowed herself to lick her wounds, or to let go and feel what she needed to feel.

Behind even that, what upset her most was the love she still felt for Mark. The way she missed him. How she needed him back to being the man he was when they met.

If he couldn’t be who he was—if that person didn’t exist anymore—then, she would have to leave. She couldn’t live like this much longer. Sharon was right—she deserved better than this, was stronger than this.

Melissa took a deep breath, wiped away the tears, and splashed her face with the warm bathwater. She had to get out and get on with things, at least for now. Downstairs, she could still hear the loud blaring of the TV. At least he was occupied with that rather than being up here moaning, cajoling her.

Melissa stepped out of the bath and grabbed the bath towel. She quickly ran it up and down her body, dried herself off, then pulled on a plain sweater and jeans.

Her hair still damp, she wrapped a towel over her head and winced in pain as it tightened against the lump. It was going to hurt for days, she knew.

She quietly opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. She listened for a moment. The TV was still on.

Melissa took a deep breath, and unsteady at first on her feet, she began descending the stairs.
I have to just get through this, somehow
, she thought.
Even just tonight
.
Nothing can be done right now
, she knew.
You could call the police and get the hell out of there.
She imagined Sharon scolding her, and her friend would be right. Maybe that was what she needed to do, but not yet. Not now and not like this. Although she admitted her hope of helping Mark change—or at least get help—somehow seemed distant and barely alive, it still lived on there, somewhere, soaked in memories of how happy they’d been up until recently.

She reached the downstairs hallway and stopped in front of the lounge, peering through the doorway.

Mark was standing by the window, his back to her. He was facing the glass, staring outside. Rain spat against the window like the sound of tiny fists against glass. The TV was blaring the evening news loudly, but behind that, Melissa could hear a voice—Marks voice, mumbling.

She went in, picked up the TV remote and muted the sound. Mark didn’t turn, didn’t move, didn’t say anything.

Melissa turned to him. She felt nervous. Unsure. “Mark?”

He didn’t move, didn’t respond. She could hear his voice, low and barely a whisper, as if he was talking to himself. “Mark?” she said louder this time, taking a step closer.

He was frozen, as if he was made of stone. His back still to her, he continued mumbling, but Melissa couldn’t hear what he was saying. She stepped closer to him, slowly, hesitantly. “Mark?”

She was beside him, now. She looked up at his face. The way he stared at the glass, his eyes seemed dead, flat, and unseeing. His face looked blank, like an empty page. Melissa couldn’t read anything there.

“Mark, are you okay?”
I’m worried about him after what he did tonight?
Disgusted with herself but still unable to walk away, Melissa remained beside him.

He still didn’t respond, but he whispered, his face pressed to the glass.

Inching closer now, despite the nerves in her warning her to back away, she strained her ears to listen.

Standing there, her body close to his, she could hear the words that tumbled out of his mouth. Like broken fragments of glass, they felt sharp as she realized what he was saying.

“Blood, I want more blood. Blood…I want more blood. I want more blood. Give me more blood. Give. Me. Your. Blood. I’ll drain your blood, Melissa.”

Melissa backed away, frightened of the being in front of her and wondering if she knew this monster at all.

Chapter Ten

He was younger that she expected. Melissa expected psychiatrists to be old men with gray hair and glasses. Stuffy men that lived alone with piles of literature, distant from the outside world. The man in front of her was nothing like that.

After what had happened the night before with Mark—the way he had slipped into that trance—she had decided right then and there, during her lunch break on shift, she’d try and catch the hospital’s main psychiatrist, Dr. Josh Howell. She had called him in the morning after tracking down his number, asking if he had a spare ten minutes during his lunch break. He agreed, asking Melissa to come see him in his office at one that afternoon.

His office was on the second floor of the main hospital, the first of a long line of offices she had no reason to visit before. There was a strong smell of bleach along the corridor. It was pungent, almost stinging her eyes. As she passed by, she noted the nameplates on the doors. This was the main area for the psychologists, psychiatrists, and counselors employed by the hospital. Although many of those professionals worked in other wards—such as the mental health unit, the A & E department, and in the community—they were based here, at the rear of the second floor.

Dr. Josh Howell’s office was bright, colorful, and charming, which surprised her. There were no dull rows of books behind him, no gray sofa lining the wall. Instead, there was a huge window bleeding in bright light from the sun outside, two large plants looming in two corners behind the desk—giving the room life—and the walls were painted a light orange color. It all seemed at odds with what she had come to expect in a psychiatrist’s office.

What had shocked her more though, as she knocked, entered, and took a seat opposite the man, was how youthful and energetic he looked. Melissa guessed he must have been newly qualified, but she didn’t say anything as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She placed her handbag on the floor beside her feet and smiled. “Thanks for seeing me.”

Dr. Howell smiled, too, and it seemed to be sincere to her, warm. His eyes were bright blue, a stark contrast to his thick, black hair. A light carpet of stubble ran the length of his cheeks down to his chin, and he leaned forward on the desk, seeming eager to hear what she had to say. “No problem at all. I usually stay here on my lunch break, anyway,” he said. “I’m like a sad school kid, locking myself away with a packed lunch and avoiding the big kids.”

Melissa laughed. “The big kids? Who are they?”

He laughed breezily. “The
more
senior of the psych department,” he said. “They are a bloody bore to eat with at lunch. I prefer to stay here.”

“I don’t blame you,” Melissa said. She felt nervous being there. More than that, she felt like she was betraying Mark, somehow. She was there to talk about him, about his change in behavior, and the things he was doing. If he knew, he’d never forgive her. If he knew, she would be hurt, badly.

Melissa fiddled nervously with her wedding band, which was something she did went she felt on edge. The psychiatrist narrowed his eyes on her, then said, “You look like you are worried.”

Melissa forced a smile, but she knew it was a weakened effort, anything but real. She felt conscious of herself, of every move and smile, of every word. These mental health professionals were trained to read something into everything. She wasn’t sure she liked that. “I
am
worried,” she said at last. “That’s why I need to talk to you. I appreciate this, Doctor.”

He waved his arm, “No, call me Josh. Please.”

Melissa met his eyes and nodded. “Josh, I need to get your opinion on something, but it’s…delicate. What I mean is, I work here, and if what I said got out, then I…basically, it would not only be embarrassing, but people could potentially get hurt.”
I could get hurt.

Josh smiled. “Listen. I wouldn’t tell a soul. What you tell me in this office, it’s private. I’m a professional, Melissa, but on top of that, I’m a decent person, and this will go no further than these four walls, unless you request differently.”

Melissa sighed. She still felt nervous, but better now than when she first arrived. She stared at the window, watching as the sun sent shadows scattering across the lawn outside, feeling the warm rays penetrate the office, sending heat across her skin. Lately, there had been nothing but rain, but today was turning into a beautiful day.

“It’s my husband,” she said at last, desperate to say what she needed to say, wanting to get it out of the way. “He has changed a lot over the past year, but it’s becoming more extreme as time goes on. I’m worried about him.”

Josh nodded. Sitting back in his chair, he folded his hands in his lap. He looked relaxed, open, even interested. “How so?”

“We moved into our house about a year ago. It was then that things changed, but it was nothing major at first. Initially, he just started becoming stressed, agitated, and frustrated at silly things.”

“And now?”

“Now, he has more of a temper. Small things set him off. He gets angry really quickly. It’s not like him at all. He used to be so laid back, placid, a gentle soul.”

“How long have you known him?”

Melissa paused, thinking back. “Just under six years, now.”

“No sign of a temper before?” Josh asked.

Melissa shook her head no. “Not at all. He was the most easy-going person you could imagine. Now, he’s on edge
all
of the time.”

Josh leaned forward again, nodding. “Nothing in particular seems to get his temper going?”

“No. It could be anything.”
Actually, it seems to be me. Anything I do.

Josh fell silent, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “There’s more?”

It felt like an accusation. Melissa felt her heart thud. It felt heavy in her chest, like a trapped bird in a cage, beating to get out. She knew then that she couldn’t mention the violence. It just didn’t feel right to tell a stranger this. Despite his promise to keep everything confidential, she wondered if he would abide by that if he knew her husband had beat her, raped her. Didn’t Josh, as a professional, have a duty of care? Maybe he did, but right now she wasn’t his patient. Confused, Melissa decided she would not venture in that direction.

“The thing that has bothered me the most,” Melissa said, still fiddling with her silver wedding band, “is that he has been sort of…talking to himself.”

Josh raised his eyebrows. “I assume this is something new?”

Melissa nodded. “Yeah, and it’s not normal. I mean, I have gone into a room before, and he’ll be talking to himself, but lately he seems mentally far away, like I couldn’t get his attention even if I hit him. He seems distant.”

“What sorts of things does he talk about, to himself?”

Melissa swallowed hard. Didn’t know what to say. “Weird things. It kind of freaks me out. Weird things like he can actually hear a voice, like he is responding. The other day, he said ‘yes’ in agreement to something, then said he would do as he was told, and it really just spooked me.”

Josh nodded, smiling that warm, reassuring smile. “Can I ask, Melissa, if there is any history of mental illness in your husband’s family?”

Melissa shook her head “no”. “He has no siblings, but his parents are healthy, together people. They’ve never had that kind of illness. Not sure about his grandparents, but his parents are definitely the full ticket.”

Josh laughed. “Not many of us are the full ticket. Sometimes, I wonder about my own sanity.” He was trying to lighten the mood. Despite the warm sun pouring in through the large, double windows, a dark cloud seemed to have shifted across the room, darkening the atmosphere.

Melissa inched forward on the chair. “Josh, what can it be? Can you tell me that? I’m worried about him. It’s just not him, not like him at all. Do you have any idea what it could be or how I could help him? I’m scared of losing him.”

Josh walked around to the front of his desk, leaned against it, and placed his hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “I want to help you, okay? I have to be totally honest with you. I need to see a patient myself, treat a patient, get to know him or her, see what they say, examine them, and do some tests. With just your say-so, I can hardly give a proper diagnosis. It would be unprofessional of me to do so. What I
can
do is this: meet up with you, because I think
you
could do with some support. As a friend, not as a psychiatrist.”