Killing Tink

Ch. 12

John knew Hope was filtering her sharing, it was completely normal. But even in her doing so she was reliving the moments in her head, and forcing her to see it from a safe perspective was part of the healing process.

A part of John wanted to wake the girl, continue the discovery and make progress, but he was aware it was always a process. He waited until he knew she was sleeping, despite the calm breathing, her body continued to twitch and jerk- obviously her dreams were trying to help her process as well. Tomorrow he would wheel her outside. The garden court would be perfect for getting a new experience and distracting her from the desperation.

He drove home the long way, feeling guilt about having to pressure the girl, and aware that doing so could be catastrophic, but he wouldn't let this opportunity pass, if April had taught him anything it was that he couldn't let things stew, eventually it all boiled over and everyone paid the price.

Hope was a lot like April, a true victim, ready to do what had to be done to survive, and currently surviving between the edge of giving it all up and clawing her way back. It was fascinating. The big difference with Hope was her belief in the baby. Her mind had created a perfect scenario to cause her to stay alive. He needed to address it, but he knew it was the thread that was making her continue to work and believe in a future.

Pulling into the driveway he frowned as the headlights illuminated the house dark. Another day of missing the family. Sometimes he wondered if it was time to just run the clinic full of outpatient cases and just be happy with that. He didn't understand what drove him to seek out cases that most people ran from. Hope, Alice, the Clandestine twins, all cases that took hundreds of hours for a slim possibility of any of them having a productive life. But there was always a chance wasn't there?

John entered the house wordlessly, finding the kitchen tidy, just the way he'd left it. His briefcase went directly in the bin by the door, designed to hold it until he grabbed it on the way out. Pausing at the refrigerator he contemplated opening it, just to scan the contents- even though he knew it contained spoiled milk and a jar of unopened olives. Unless.., no. There wasn't going to be more.

He wore his shoes shoes down the hallway relishing the echoes of noises shutting out the silence. Out of habit, he stopped at Sophie's doorway. His hand reached for the knob despite his mind telling him it was late, he needed sleep. The cool smooth metal felt comforting, and he let his hand rest there, just for a moment keeping the connection before he took it off. Tomorrow. He would opened it tomorrow.

When he reached his own bedroom he didn't hesitate. Opening the door and inhaling the scents that awaited. He checked the plastic on the window, still taut. And took a moment to make sure the vent was still covered as well. Things were in order, and he felt his shoulders release the tension of the day.

As he removed his tailored grey Kipling suit he hung it on it's black thick hanger to the left of the closet - the side reserved for dry cleaning. There were two there now, one more and he would take them in- he enjoyed that, the removal of all the bits that cling to a persons clothing. Memories and feelings hanging and clinging like weights.

He closed the door tightly as he made his way to the bathroom, unclothed, ready to wash away the remnants of the day. He turned the water to hot and waited for the steam to fill the room before stepping in. His instinct told him to jump back out, but this was part of discipline. The water reddened his skin instantly as he began to scrub. He wouldn't take any germs or flaking bits of skin to his Anita. Sacrifice was always worth the price. To handle the pain he conjured up images of Hope, her face pulpy and bruised, teeth broken and jagged, she had suffered, this was nothing in the spectrum of suffering.

When the water started to cool he exited. A clean towel scrubbing finished the process and he grabbed a fresh pair of cotton scrubs from their place in the bottom drawer. Finally, the best part of his day could begin.

He looked toward the wall where there used to be a mirror, now crumbling bits of plaster on a barren discomfited wall just reminded him of decay and disorder. It was almost enough to put it back up, and face the consequences. He combed his thinning hair and brushed his teeth making sure to put the toothpaste and brush back in their place and grabbed a fresh set of clear latex gloves from the box on the counter.

Tomorrow he would see about stoping at a hardware store for new plaster, there was always tomorrow and he of all people knew anything was fixable.

For today he'd done enough, it was time for him to meet his own needs of companionship and connection with someone who knew and accepted every part of him.

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I know this chapter is a bit of a "what?" But..... you know, it is a dark psychological thriller. 😱.