Page 64 of Little Twisted Things

“Okay.” I played with my hands.

“Are you comfortable?”

“As comfortable as one can be in this place,” I said.

“Tell me about the alters. I want to know everything about them.”

“Well, there’s The Librarian. She was in charge, I think. Then there’s Sunny. She’s nineteen, fun, and full of life. Then there’s Dahlia. She protected me. She sent me to my happy place, so I wouldn’t have to remember the awful things that happened to me, Brian, and Oliver.”

“But wasn’t she responsible for your injuries and your two husbands’ deaths?”

“She was. I came to find out that my husbands were cheating on me. She was protecting me from that.”

“Would it be okay if I spoke to Dahlia?” she asked.

“You can’t. She’s asleep and can’t wake up.”

“Interesting. How about the others?”

“Dr. Bondi, I don’t know where they are. My mind is silent. Nobody is saying a word. It almost feels as if they’re gone.”

“The alters don’t just disappear. Maybe they’re hiding right now because they’re frightened to talk to me.” She smiled.

Our session lasted a little over an hour. After I left her office, I was escorted back to my room. I did ask Dr. Bondi if it would be okay to get an easel, paints, brushes, and canvases. She agreed that art therapy would help me and help her to understand me better since the alters weren’t talking.

Later that afternoon, the nice orderly named George brought my art supplies into my room. He smiled, and I smiled back. He looked to be about forty years old. He stood six feet three inches with short dark hair, brown eyes, and a perfectly manicured five o’clock shadow along his jawline. He was very muscular. I supposed you had to be to work in a place like this, for some of the patients tended to get very violent.

“Here you go, Katherine.” He smiled.

“Thank you.” I smiled back.

After he left, I started to become tired. The medication they had me on was strong. Dr. Bondi told me that once my body adjusted to the meds, the fatigue would subside. I climbed into bed and stared at the blank canvas on the easel. I’d try to paint something when I woke up.

My eyes slowly opened, and it took me a moment to remember where I was. I glanced at the canvas on the easel, and my eyes widened when I saw what was on it. My cottage. My garden. Birds flying in the air. The warm sand. The ocean. It was beautiful and peaceful.

But I didn’t paint it.

38

I heard a key go into the lock and the door click. Dr. Bondi stepped inside my room.

“Hi, Katherine.” A warm smile crossed her lips.

“Hello, Dr. Bondi.”

“I was making rounds and thought I’d check on you. I brought you something.” She handed me a small brown bag with handles.

I reached inside the bag and pulled out a small sketchbook and a set of colored pencils.

“You said you wanted some art supplies. I’m still working on getting the easel and canvases,” she said.

“I already got them.” I pointed to the painting on the easel.

She walked over and studied it. “I had no idea you were such a good artist.”

“I didn’t paint that,” I said.

She turned and looked at me. “No?”