Not taking her eyes off the patient, Doctor Shepherd picked up the red folder on her desk and put the back of the fountain pen in her mouth, highlighting a set of yellow, crooked teeth. Holding the pen there, as if in deep thought, the clinician’s eyes darted back and forth between the words scribbled in black on the front cover.

‘Janine Wilkinson,’ Doctor Shepherd said, making the name sound like the scientific name for some newly-discovered bacteria. She opened the desk drawer, and stared into it for a moment (her frown gave the impression that the drawer had the ability to take away reason—and all thought thereof). She placed the pen onto the purple velvet, which lined the inside of the mahogany desk drawer, and slammed it shut; making it clear that she had no intention of taking any notes.

Janine was still sob-wheezing between breaths, now and again letting out a sound one would associate with screeching tires on molten tar. She used her upper body weight to press down on the armrests, instinctively trying to push herself back—away from the danger that did the dance of death in the glare of Doctor Shepherd’s eyes, magnified behind the tinted lenses of the black-rimmed spectacles.

The veins in Janine’s neck and forearms were bulging, and the leather straps over her wrists were eating away at her skin, turning it into blood-custard.
Doctor Shepherd gave Danny the go-ahead by lifting her eyebrows; he locked the door, and, even though the glass panels were frosted, drew the blinds. In the corridor, Nurse Tomoko’s footsteps faded away towards the reception area. The air-con compressor, fitted outside directly behind Doctor Shepherd’s red leather chair, started making a noise that sounded like a monkey wrench being forced between the wheel spokes of a racing bike.

Danny sneaked up behind Janine, grabbed the handles, and pushed her forward with such force that her neck snapped back with a crack! Again Janine felt not a sliver of pain; instead the headache that pulsated between her eyes like a time bomb stuffed into a rotten lump of meat at an Iraqi day-market was fading, and the stuffiness in her nose was rushing away in a stream of fresh blood that trickled down the sewer that was her throat.

The wheelchair footrests slammed into the back of the desk pedestal, sending a rather kitsch ceramic vase in the shape of a goldfish (and its little pink plastic tulips) crashing to the floor. Doctor Shepherd raised an eyebrow, and Danny stood back. Then, as if nothing had happened, the clinician opened the folder and flipped through its contents. ‘You remember Doctor Black, don’t you, Janine?’
With one eyebrow still raised, the clinician flashed the patient a look over the rim of her glasses. Then, realizing that Janine wasn’t going to answer: ‘She’s your psychiatrist—was—and all the information contained in this folder is the reason why you are here; this is your complete psychopathological history. Do you know why you’re here? Any idea?’

Janine closed her eyes, and sighed.

In their magic that was its afternoon web, the sun caught a few drops of water the air-con had spat out behind Doctor Shepherd, and formed a rainbow over the clinician’s head. Somewhere in the corridor someone dropped a hospital tray.

Danny stepped forward, but stopped dead in his tracks when the clinician held up her hand. The orderly ended up on the balls of his feet, weight slightly forward, and it looked like he was about to attempt breaking the world pole vault record without holding a pole.

‘You are here because you suffer from acute psychosis, Janine. Can you tell me for how long you had been seeing Doctor Black? I know it’s difficult but I would like for you to try.’

Janine shook her head.

‘You can’t remember, or you don’t want to remember? If it’s the former—’ Doctor Shepherd opened her desk drawer and took out her fountain pen, ‘—then I’ll just have to tick off the little box beside Memory Loss on your MSE report. Let me assure you, Janine Wilkinson, that doesn’t count in your favour.’

‘And if I don’t want to remember?’ Janine said in a raspy voice.

‘Well, then I’ll just have to tick the box anyway. See? All you have to do is try. Think of it as a reward system; you put in a bit of effort, and you get to hold Amy for an hour or two every night.’ Doctor Shepherd’s lips went white as she forced a pencil-smile.

Janine couldn’t get herself to look into the clinician’s eyes because tears were welling up in her own. Be strong, Janine. Be strong. Don’t give her the pleasure of seeing you cry. Janine focused on the spot where the rainbow had been, and said, ‘What have you done to her?’

‘I don’t think I understand the question, Janine. What have I done to her?’ Doctor Shepherd let out a wounded animal snort. ‘What have I done to her? You have no recollection, have you?’ Doctor Shepherd shook her head, and ticked the Memory Loss box. ‘Danny, go and get Amy.’