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She felt like she was fading, her heartbeat was getting slower and pounding in her ears, the world around her becoming faint, blurry outlines. Everything around her felt so far away, so foreign, so unintelligible. The sun had gone down hours ago and there was a slight gust of a breeze, the chilly air calming her feverish and aching limbs. It was cold out, was all she could think, despite the knife currently embedded in her lower abdomen.
Her hands clutch weakly around the hilt of the small steak knife as she laid pathetically on the cold sidewalk, slightly perched up against an abandoned building, the hot, sticky blood was spilling from the wound and pooling on the ground beside her like an insult. It was becoming harder and harder to stay conscious, the faint promise of sirens screaming in the distance was a comfort, but as she looked down at her blood soaked hands, her last thought before she fell unconscious was; that in the moonlight, blood really does look black.
Behind her eyelids, a bright light pierced her eyes, clenching them shut disturbed the fine line of sleep snot that had built up underneath. There was a dull ache on the side of her lower abdomen but the piercing pain she felt on her wrist was overwhelming, nearly unbearable. She was confused, where was she? Her eyelids were so heavy, but she was desperate to be able to open them, find out what it was that was causing her wrist to ache so profoundly. The first twitch of her eyelid, exposes her eyes to a eggshell white room before she quickly shuts them again with an audible groan of pain.
Slower this time, she squints her eyes, blinking them open as she took in her surroundings. To her left, a whole lot of medical equipment, clipboards, and screens and blood bags. A hospital, her mind provides, so she was alive. Looking down, she finds the cause of the pain she felt in her wrist. An IV stuck out from her vein and she watches as fluid slowly pumped its way into her. Feeling slightly nauseous at the sight; she quickly looks away. Her eyes found their way to her blanket covered abdomen, and she slowly peeled the blanket off, bandages on bandages covered her stomach and with both her hands, scrubbed free of all the blood, she delicately touched the area, testing the anesthetic. With groping fingers she comes across an area that makes her hiss in pain at the touch, and quickly retracts her hands, laying back with watery eyes.
It was at this moment that a man, dressed in a finely tailored suit walked through the doors, with an air of sophistication surrounding him, an obviously wealthy man, older than forty but younger than fifty. He stands at the opposite side of the small hospital room, watching the woman lying pathetically in her hospital bed. She is barely thirty, average height, slightly below average weight, with curly shoulder length hair, her facial features were delicate, almost youthful. He couldn’t help but to compare her to a wounded animal.
It takes her a while to reopen her eyes, but when she does they immediately lock upon the man’s lithe form, he's lean and uniquely handsome, but the way he holds himself and dresses felt pretentious.
After moments of the woman staring wide eyed towards his general direction of the room, he decides to break the silence, “Evelyn Harris? I’m -”
“Evie.” She interrupts, like it was a habit, voice weak and quieter than a mumble, the man steps forward, so she would not have to speak any louder. “Please, just Evie,” Her eyes look away, back down towards her aching wrist, feeling nervous.
The man seems nonplussed, continuing from where he left off. “I’m Doctor Alexander Elias, I have been sent here by -”
“Ben Clark?” She guesses, already irritated. “How did you even know I was awake?”
The man purses his lips, trying not to seem annoyed by the second interruption. “The nurses tell me you’ve been waking up periodically throughout the day, in their worry, they’ve attached a monitor to you, which lets them know when you wake up.” He explains slowly, she was barely listening, the man had a strange foreign accent that she just could not place, he was wearing a strong cologne that was making her nose itch, and he seemed committed to making eye contact with her, though she is equally committed to making it impossible, when she looks down and away from him.
“Do you remember what happened to you?” He asks, seeming genuinely curious.
Without looking up she nodded lamely, “I was stabbed,” She shrugs, feeling his intense eyes on her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to -,” He moves around the room, towards the chair that was shoved in the corner near her head, “May I sit?” He asks, only doing so when she nods noncommittally. “Speak with you.”
She pushes herself up far as she could in the bed, so she isn't lying flat on her back, “Speak with me?”
The man crosses a leg over the other as he nods, “Ben Clark has sent me as your unofficial psychiatrist,” He explains, “he wants you back in the field and wants to make sure you get there as soon as you’re healed.”
She squints in his direction, annoyed at his words. “Ben Clark can shove his field up his ass, what could he possibly see in me now?” She huffs a breath, regretting it immediately as it sent a jolt of pain through her abdomen.
“He told me you were his star student.”
“Was.” She corrects.
“One mistake does not have to be a make or break in your career, Evie.”
Evie scoffs, “It does when you’re an FBI agent, Doctor.”
Alexander eyes her curiously while she turns away from him, fiddling with the thin blanket that covered her injuries, “Do you enjoy your work?” He asks, “Do you see what has happened to you as a way to quit with just cause?”
“Ben would never let me quit otherwise,” She explains, with a fake smile.
“But you wanted to. Haven’t you?” He questions, watching as she shrugs a reply, “Why did you join the FBI then, Evie?”
“I thought if I could help people….” She huffs, again, in annoyance, cutting herself off, “You know what? I don’t know. It was a mistake, clearly.” The same fake smile returns.
He seems to understand, “Did you....” He chooses his words carefully, like anything he says could send this wounded animal running. “Let this happen to you so you could have a way to quit without the pestering of Ben Clark.”
Evie looks at him like she’s been struck, incredulous as to how this man, whom she’s just met can see straight through her so easily. She sucks in a breath, uncomfortable at the idea that this total stranger can read her like an open book. She doesn’t reply for a few moments, to keep herself from becoming angry. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” She begins through clenched teeth, “I think you should leave.” It’s said as a finality, she will not be speaking to him any longer, she slumps down into the bed again, her head back against the pillow, though her eyes remain open.
Alexander stands up, and her eyes follow him as he walks in a circle around her bed to the small night stand night next to her, he places a business card down on the surface, “If you change your mind.” He lingers for a moment, then is out of the room like a gust of wind, leaving the smell of his cologne behind.
It’s eight days before Evie is released from the hospital, with stern demands of being sure to take her medicine periodically, not to over exert herself, to sleep more than 5 hours a night (yeah right), to eat blah blah blah… She takes it all with a grain of salt, verbally, she agrees to every direction, but only intends on staying true to one or maybe two. Though she’ll definitely take her medicine (it makes her sleepy).
It’s four more days before she finds the business card that had been left for her crumpled up in the pocket of her sweatpants. She stares at the crumpled small piece of paper for what feels like hours before shaking her head and walking away from it, leaving it crumpled on her kitchen counter.
It’s six more days before she finally calls the number. She connects immediately to whom she assumes is the secretary who asks forcefully, “Name?” She gives it and is immediately transferred to a different number.
The call is picked up after two rings, “Hello, this is Doctor Alexander Elias speaking.”
She has no idea what to say, “Your secretary always that bitter?” she asks, as a way of greeting. She hears a faint chuckle on the other end, and she know he recognizes her voice.
“Hello, Evie, it’s nice to hear from you.” He says, plainly, though it sounds genuine, “What Betsy lacks in common courtesy, she makes up with good efficient work.” He explains, then a beat,“...but I agree, she could work on her manners.”
Evie hums, “I’m calling because..” It take a lot out of her pride to be able to continue, “You were right.” she huffs.
“Yes?”
“Yeah, I hate being FBI,” She explains, “I let what happen to me… happen… because I saw it as a way out.” She’s nearly shaking with anxiety by what she’s confessing. “No one’s ever been right before.” she mumbles.
“I see.” Says the Doctor. “Perhaps, we could make you an appointment.” He suggests. “Considering the fact that, currently, you are still FBI, it’ll come at no cost to you.” He explains, “I was hired by Ben Clark to give you therapy.”
Evie sighs, “When?”
“You could come….” There’s a shuffling of papers faintly heard through the phone, “...Now.”
“What.”
“Yes. Unless you have other arrangements.”
Evie laughs, “No one I know wants anything to do with me,” She explains, trying not to sound annoyed, “Too afraid they’ll break me.”
“Hmm, well you live close by, yes?” He asks, though it sounds like he already knows.
She does and the drive from her house to the prestigious doctor’s office takes no less than ten minutes to reach. She’s dressed in sweatpants and a loose fitting shirt, the only clothes she owns that don’t irritate the bandages on her stomach. Immediately, after entering the building she feels completely out of place, unwelcome by the snooty noses that turn up at her as she walks past them towards the secretary she assumes is ‘Betsy’, who points her in the direction of Doctor Alexander Elias’ office. She’s told to wait outside the doors in one of the chairs, but when she gets there she knocks twice on the door, impatient.
The door opens, followed by that same air of cologne and she scrunches up her nose in distaste of the smell. Alexander is stood in the archway of the door, with a small smile on his face, “Hello, Evie,” He greets, standing aside to allow her entry into the large room. “Are you feeling well?”
She nods silently, though she still feels aching pain in her side as she walks, forcing her to a slow saunter, taking in the room around her. It’s a pretentiously decorated office, with nonsense accent chairs in the corners and prints of artwork hung in expensive and intricate frames. The two chairs which sit in the center of the room look comfortable and when Alexander comes around to lead her delicately into one of them, with a hand on her arm, she looks up at him with a pained smile as he sits across from her.
“Quite the place,” She says, still gazing around, her hand fiddling with the arm of the chair.
“Thank you,” He says graciously, “I decorated it myself.”
She grins, and it’s a real smile, “Of course you did,” She muffles a laugh, removing her eyes from the room and into the general direction of the man in front of her.
“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” He asks, folding one leg over the other.
“Eyes are distracting.” She explains with a shrug, “See too much, don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking..,” She makes direct eye contact with him now for the first time and he makes sure to maintain it, “Oh, those whites are really white or he must have hepatitis or is that a burst vein?” Alexander chuckles and she once again averts her gaze.“So yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”
“A symptom of autism.” He muses.
“Yeah.” Says Evie, with a nod, “Diagnosed when I was four.”
“I had guessed when we met, but did not want to assume.”
“It’s fine,” She says, “People like to assume a lot about me.”
“I see.” Alexander nods, “Ben Clark for example?”
“Yes, especially him.” She shakes her head, “Christ, I wanted to be forensics, y’know? Not the shit he has me doing now. I was a science student, top of my class in high school and university.” Her fingernails dig into the arm of the chair, “Then I met Ben Clark.” She practically spits his name, “Told me I had some sort of gift.” She growls, “I hate him, I swear if I see him I’ll slit his throat.” She sucks in a breath, uncurling her fingers from where they’ve dug into the chair, realizes what she’s said, “I don’t mean that.”
Alexander looks doubtful, “You don’t?” He asks.
“I- What? Yes.” She’s panicking now, and he has to remind himself, she’s still that wounded animal he met those weeks ago. “I don’t want to hurt him I just…” She shakes her head, not sure what she wants.
He decides to defuse the situation, asking things to pass the time and by the time the hour is up, he has a good idea on what sort of person Ben Clark is and what is to be done with him.
It’s the next morning when Evie comes barging into his office, he and a patient are stood on the other side, Alexander with a hand raised to reach for the handle. He puts on a look of surprise and drops his hand, “Evie, hello.”
She’s feverish and panicking, “Uh-huh. Hello.” she steps aside so the patient can leave, they say goodbye to Alexander before Evie has them both in the office, the door slammed shut behind them.
“Evie, what-?”
“Ben.” She sucks in a shuddering breath. “He’s dead. Oh, my God.” She rushes past him and collapses in the chair. Alexander slowly comes to sit across from her. “He was murdered in his own home while he slept.” She wheezes, then clutches her injured side. “I didn’t like the man but he didn’t deserve this.” She puts her head in her hands. “Oh, my God.” She whispers. “I need to go the bureau,” She's practically trembling. “find out how he died.”
Alexander sits forward in his chair, and reaches out to touch her hand, she flinches back violently, sitting up now, chest heaving. “You’ve got to relax.” He says and she stares at him like he’s got two heads.
“How am I meant to relax?” She hisses, between anxious breaths.
“Evie, you’re having a panic attack,” He explains, standing from his chair, watching her intently. He kneels down next to her, and takes her hands in his, “Evie.” He says, she doesn’t look at him. “Evie.” He repeats, louder. He’s startled her and she looks at him dead in the eye. She's attentive now, listening to every word. “I need you to take a deep breath.” He says and waits until she does, “Good, now breath when I do,” She nods, this has happened before, he muses. He inhales deeply, holds it for a count of five then exhales, this repeats until she relaxes.
“Thank you,” She mumbles, voice rough, like she’s holding back tears.
He inclines his head in acknowledgment and goes to sit back down. She sits with her head thrown back against the back of the chair, eyes closed, he waits for her to speak.
“I - uh,” She starts slowly, slouching slightly in the chair, she looks ashamed to look anywhere near him. “We were close - Ben and me… uh… I was never his biggest fan, but I know he looked out for me… uh cared about me.” She explains, “After his wife passed away… I don’t know… it was like his only will to live was kept alive by making sure I was safe?” She sighs, “and I’m not being narcissistic… he… uh…” she squeezes her eyes shut, sitting back in her chair.
“Was it romantic? His involvement with you?”
Evie shakes her head, “God, no.” She laughs, “He felt more like a father to me than my own father did. I’ve never had anyone look out for me as much as Ben did.”
“And yet… you hated him.” Says Alexander.
“I was angry… I got stabbed and I felt like it was because of him, y’know? And in a way it was. If I had never met him I would never of been in a position where that was even possible.” She stops, restarts, “Where I’d never put myself in that position.” her breathing shudders.
Alexander stays silent and Evie timidly makes eye contact. Their silent conversation goes like this; Alexander raises his eyebrow, a small smirk on his face. Evie furrows her brows in confusion. Alexander inclines his head towards her, knowing she has it in her to connect the dots. Evie shakes her head in confusion, her mouth opening and closing, the eye contact breaking. He knows she’s getting there and he feels proud. Her wide eyes meet his again. He grins,
“You…” She gasps for a breath, then settles. “... What.”
“Evelyn,” He begins, and watches as she cringes, she doesn’t look frightened and he’s glad, she doesn’t have to be frightened of him. He stands and without breaking eye contact, she watches him as he walks over to his desk.
She stands as well, holding her injured side, the wounded animal alive in his very office. “I want to understand.” She says thickly.
“Here,” He explains, retrieving a folder hidden in his desk drawer, he offers it to her and she walks to retrieve it.
She opens it and when she doesn’t recoil away from the pictures of the broken body, he relishes in the way her pupils dilate at the sight of her dead friend. “... You slit his throat.” She whispers. He comes to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder.
“They do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”