Sin of the Saints (Between Delusion and Sobriety Duet #2)

Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

Bartimaeus

S unrise approaches, but I risk being late to my meeting with Belle so I can head out on my own quest for revenge. I get ready and dress in my modest room at the staff’s residential wing, and make my way to the art room that also serves as a club for the rest of the work. It’s time for Mr. Fleming to face judgment for the consequences of his actions.

My footsteps echo as I walk the empty corridors of the central building. All the patients are still asleep, but I know Belle will be waking up very soon and preparing for our morning session. If I’m late, she might end up watching the sunrise alone again, which I must prevent at all costs.

The dawn gives birth to a new day, but it kills her every time. She confessed to me that it gives her hope, but as the day goes by, hope is taken from her as she can’t face her demons, until finally sunset extinguishes her hope.

I don’t bother knocking, and meet Mr. Fleming’s surprised expression as he’s arranging the easels for his class in a circle. I know his usual routine. He comes in early, before everyone wakes up, to prepare the room for the weekly class he teaches – art therapy – and then he enjoys the last moments of silence and paints a bit himself.

“Dr. Abano, you startled me,” he places a hand on his chest. “Is something wrong?”

I skip the morning pleasantries and unnecessary small talk, and get to the point: “What do you think of Gustav Courbet?”

His eyebrows immediately rise, but he tries to hide it and assumes an innocent expression. “Realist painter. What’s it to you?”

“Because I know you showed Belle his paintings, and they’ve been haunting her ever since.” I try to keep my face expressionless. “Is the administrator aware that you’ve strayed from the meticulous lesson plan he authorized?”

His gaze flashes behind me, as though checking whether anyone can hear us, but it’s too late because he’s already been caught, and it’s not the administrator he should fear but the one standing before him.

“The administrator gave me free reign regarding the program I teach in my classes, so who are you to criticize me?”

I chuckle, “We both know that’s not true, so spare me your empty excuses.”

“There’s no reason for me to give you excuses of any kind.” He folds his arms over his chest.

“If you’re being defensive, that means you’re well aware of who’s responsible for her regression. I demand you confess to the administrator and prevent what he’s planning for her.”

He stares at me in disbelief for a long moment, then bursts into laughter. He surprises me, but I don’t give it away. “You know the administrator better than anyone, Dr. Abano. If he’s got something planned for her, you’re well aware he can’t be dissuaded once the decision has been made.”

“And that’s why you’re laughing at her expense? Aren’t you ashamed?” I force myself to breathe because the mask on my face is starting to crack.

“I thought you were supposed to be perceptive, Doctor,” he narrows his eyes and sarcasm drips from his voice. “The deaf could hear the bitterness in my laugh, but you’re too deep into this shit, and if I’m noticing that, you know the administrator himself is already aware of it as well. There’s nothing you can do now if you’re saying he’s got his eye on her. He’ll excuse any decision he makes as God’s plan.”

I ignore his nonsense. If I accept that, I’ll know it’s time for me to give up. But I just can’t. “I’m her therapist, damn it. You know I can’t let him get his claws in her. The paintings you showed her, and God knows what else, they led to a regression in her condition. They’re inducing delusions in her. You have to fix this. The administrator will listen to you.”

Mr. Fleming nods and takes a deep breath before responding. “I’ve given you my answer, and you refuse to accept it. You’ve gone astray, Dr. Abano, and the administrator won’t be pleased to hear it.”

“Is that a threat?” I want to show him that I’m not intimidated, but my body instinctively cringes before I can stop myself.

“No, it’s advice. You’re committing the same sin as your patients. You’re placing responsibility on me while the truth is far from it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She came to me with questions that came up after your little bit of research, Doctor.” He takes another step towards me, and I pull back, bumping into one of his easels. “Yes, she told me. Questioning religion, in a place ruled by it? Giving free reign to her demons while the administrator himself is determined to banish them? Just what game are you playing here?”

“I-I…” I stutter, unable to say another word, which causes him to burst out laughing again.

“If anyone should bear responsibility for her regression, it should be you. Of all demons, you allowed her to investigate the most malicious, and now it’s too late.” I want to respond but a heavy lump blocks my throat. I stand there open-mouthed for far too long, an accusing finger raised towards him, but no sound emerges from my throat. Mr. Fleming nods. “That’s what I thought.” He turns his back to me and continues getting the class ready for the lesson to be held after breakfast.

In my role as therapist, I require my patients to speak even when they hit a wall. And if they can’t, I ask them to write – just as I asked Belle. But suddenly I understand my own words, what I recently said to Belle: some things can only be expressed through silence. And my silence is thunderous and clear as day.

My nerves overpower me and I open the door to my office with a slam. Belle leaps up in her usual spot on the chair across from my desk, and lets out a cry of shock, “Holy shit!”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry, Belle,” I blurt out an unprofessional curse that’s atypical of me, and she looks at me with wide eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry.” I hit my forehead as I slip up and curse again.

“You already said that.” She looks at me and I still can’t meet her gaze, praying she won’t notice I’m troubled, and not just by the conversation with Mr. Fleming.

“I mean it, I’m sorry for being late and for startling you. I had some things to do.” I hurry to take a seat behind my desk.

“Like what?” I can’t blame her for her curiosity, but I can’t admit what happened behind the scenes either.

“Things that don’t concern you.” I evade her eyes and arrange the objects on my desk, as is my habit, but this time I’m not satisfied even when everything’s in its place.

“I thought as much.”

I take a deep breath and keep arranging the objects on my desk. Why the hell aren’t they lining up where they belong?

I decide to leave them be. It’s not them, it’s my head full of a whirlwind of thoughts , I remind myself. Now I have to focus on Belle. My fucked-up problems can wait.

“I’m glad you waited for me,” I say, bringing the notebook and my pen closer to me.

“I’d have kept waiting. It’s raining today.”

“Ah, yes.” I need to focus; I should know Belle doesn’t like rain.

“Yes,” she repeats after me, and I’m sure now that she knows my mind is elsewhere. She can see right through me, and knows I’m too meticulous with small details.

We examine our patients, but sometimes we forget they’re scrutinizing us even more. We demand trust from the most broken people, and that’s not a trivial matter.

I raise my gaze to her and am horrified to find an ugly wound on her lips. “What the hell happened to you?” She opens her mouth to say something, but at the last moment falls silent. “Talk to me, Belle. Who did this to you?”

She lowers her face, her long black hair plummeting down and covering her face like a curtain. I’m sure she’s staring at her thighs even though she’s wearing long pants today. I know she’s seeing through the fabric to her scars.

“It’s a long story,” she whispers.

“I’d like you to tell me.” I lean forward so she understands my focus is now entirely on her.

She plays with her fingers and says nothing. I wait patiently for her to be willing to let out what I feel is stuck on the tip of her tongue. She lets out a fairly long breath, she wants to let it out.

When she opens her mouth again, I’m already reviewing punishments for the person responsible in my mind. It must be Valentina; her recent instability worries me. If the administrator had any sense he’d target her rather than Belle, but I believe he’s a pawn in the twisted game she’s playing as well. Which proves again that the administrator’s focus is not on healing, but fulfilling his own devilish urges.

It seems she has a change of heart at the last moment and shuts her mouth, and I feel the twinge of disappointment in my heart. Despite all our time together, and the journey we’ve taken, she still doesn’t trust me.

“Would you prefer to write it down?” I ask hopefully, but she shakes her head. The line I’d usually give her is that we have time to find out, to go in-depth and dive into what’s blocking her, but unfortunately her treatment is scheduled for tomorrow. Belle’s out of time and she doesn’t even know it.

I struggle with myself whether to tell her. I don’t know what the repercussions would be. Will she go berserk and stir up chaos? Or worse, will she completely submit? Both options are equally terrible.

Belle runs her tongue over the wound on her lip, and my eyes focus on the slow motion. She releases her fingers and runs them up her thighs. I hold my breath and my eyes focus between her legs. I should curse myself for looking, but I can’t help myself.

“I don’t think my words have the power needed to properly get my story across.”

“Try, Belle, that’s all I ask of you.”

She sighs and looks away to the window. The rain has only intensified, and the skies grow bleaker.

I look over her profile. A round nose, long lashes framing her dark eyes, full and inviting lips, despite – and perhaps because of – the wound. Fuck.

I lower my eyes and see Belle’s notebook on my desk. God help me, that makes it worse. I know what her words have given birth to.

My ruin.

Transference isn’t unusual in therapy, but I’ve sinned in encouraging her to give free reign to her passionate urges rather than suppress them. But how could I not? She captured me with the first words she wrote, and the more she continued handing in chapters, the more often I’d forget that I was entrusted with her recovery, and was drawn into the plot she’d created. Maybe I fell in love with the Bartimaeus she created, his determination, the strength he’d displayed. On the one hand I was curious at the way she saw me, until she incorporated hints that she wanted him, that she wanted me. On the other hand, all the warning lights lit up like a Christmas tree, but the greedy son of a bitch in me only wanted to taste more of everything she was bringing me. Until the moment I became blind in her story, until the warning lights went out around me, until I fell into her abyss, her sharp eyes never spared me until she also gave the demon within me a name. And once he had his name, he existed for me in reality as well.

I wonder if that was her plan all along.

Belle’s aware of her sexuality, and uses it to get what she wants, though she’s declared more than once that she has no control over it. But Belle is a manipulative liar. She dances between the innocence and seduction in her. The apple of lust revealed to be the trick of a devious, venomous snake. If she only knew the fantasy wasn’t just in her head and might lead to fateful consequences. Because her poison is so sweet, so intoxicating, and it’s hard to resist its temptation.

Although there is someone who knows. Someone watching me, aware of every filthy thought that runs through my head, even in the small hours of the night, when I give in to my urges and my hand reaches out to my erection, pulsing with her name. It’s always just Lilith. Because I’ll never be able to pronounce the name of the girl sitting across from me, not even in the forbidden thoughts that take me over when I let Hillel come to life in my imagination.

“Libretto,” Belle says, pulling me out of the chaos raging in my mind.

“What did you say?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat. She’s never spoken of him outside her writing. This is unprecedented.

She slowly looks away from the window and her black eyes meet mine.

“Libretto,” she repeats his name again.

“I don’t understand,” I reply, confused.

She lowers her gaze and stares at her thighs as though they hold the answers to the questions running through my mind, but there’s no truth to that because it’s far from reach in the mystery named Belle.

“Can I go now?” Her voice is almost inaudible.

I clear my throat to break the shock that’s taken hold of me. “I’d like us to talk about Libretto. Why bring him up now?” This might be my last chance to crack his character.

She doesn’t raise her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Who’s Libretto, Belle?” I ask with as much gentleness as I can muster. It’s dangerous to push her, but I have to risk it.

Her eyes turn to the door as footsteps come from outside, and fear stirs in me as I suspect Libretto is someone within the institution. “Is he here now?” I ask, my voice betraying me as it trembles.

Belle’s eyes are fixed on me and welling up with tears, and that sight turns something in me, so deep I can’t move a muscle. She opens her mouth to answer, but heavy thunder strikes and she jumps, her gaze locked on the window of my office.

“Belle, are you alright?” I ask.

“Can I go now?” Her gaze is still locked on the window.

I sigh with disappointment as I realize I’ve lost her. She shut down before I managed to reach the place containing the truth about Libretto. “Yes, that’ll be all. See you tonight,” I answer helplessly.

She rises without saying anything and I bury my head in my hands. I know tonight’s session might be our last. If the miracle I’m praying for won’t happen during mass today, and the administrator won’t gain control of the devil inside him, I won’t be able to continue doing my job here. I can’t keep shutting my eyes as the best of our patients isn’t a top priority, and I can no longer deny the tainting of my necessary objectivity for Belle’s continuing treatment.

Though my faith is flagging, I pray with all my might that God won’t turn His back on me.

Light the way for me before the accursed darkness covers me as well.