Chapter Three

She rushed in, barely pausing at the receptionist's desk on her way past.

"She ready?"

"Yes, Ms. Stone, she's been waiting."

Jessie knocked lightly on the door, then stuck her head inside, smiling apologetically at her therapist.

"Jessie. Come in." Dr. Davies's smile was brief. "You're late. Again," she added.

"Sorry, Doc. I couldn't break away."

Jessie tossed her purse on the opposite chair before sitting. After all these months, she was still nervous whenever she visited Dr. Davies. Whenever she managed to keep her appointment, that is. It was supposed to get easier, she was told, but there was just something about facing her week after week, knowing the good doctor knew all the intimate details of her life. Well, those she would share, anyway.

"You missed last week. Again." Dr. Davies leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. "I was worried. After our session the last time, you seemed upset."

"I always seem upset." Jessie sat back in her chair, her ankle resting casually on her knee and she absently twirled the string of her black Reeboks. "I'm just trying to wrap up the book. I get so involved, days just pass by. You know how it is."

"So you haven't given thought to what I suggested?"

Jessie swallowed nervously, her eyes moving quickly around the room, bouncing off the now familiar paintings and prints that adorned the walls, lighting everywhere except on her therapist.

"I can see you have," Dr. Davies said quietly.

"No. I just can't see myself going back to Sierra City after all this time. I might very well end up as a character in one of my books."

Dr. Davies laughed lightly. "You already are a character in one of your books. Several times over, I think." She paused before continuing. "You've been coming to me for nearly two years, Jessie. I hate to admit it, but we've made little progress. Perhaps confronting your mother..."

"She's not my mother," Jessie spat.

"I'm sorry. Annie. I think if you would go back, confront her, talk to her, get some sort of closure on that part of your life, then we can go forward from there."

Jessie stared at her, unblinking, then let her eyes slide away. Six therapists in the last five years and all but one had suggested she go back to see .. her. Then Jessie wryly flicked her eyes to the ceiling. Of course, the lone dissenter had suggested Jessie see a psychiatrist, hinting at hospitalization, shortly after she had read Jessie's latest book and its graphic depiction of murder.

"Let's seriously give it some thought, Jessie. I'm not suggesting you go back to reconcile, I'm only suggesting you go see her and talk about what happened, tell her how you feel about her."

"Oh, believe me, she knows how I feel."

Dr. Davies nodded. Jessie could see frustration in the doctor's eyes for the first time and she suddenly understood why they all suggested the same thing. They made progress only to a certain point, then each session consisted of rehashing the old stuff over and over again. Jessie suspected they got just as tired as she did discussing the same thing until they beat it to death, only to see it find life again the next week.

"It's been two weeks since we talked but I know you're finishing up your book. Have you gone out?"

Jessie nodded. "A couple of times."

"And?" she prodded.

"And what?" Jessie stood quickly, rustling the papers on Dr. Davies's desk as she walked past. "Nothing's changed, Doc. I didn't suddenly find a conscience and a set of morals in the last two weeks."

"Tell me what happened."

Jessie paced back and forth in the large office, remembering the two encounters. She shook her head. She hated this part. So she tried the casual approach.

"Just meeting new friends at the bar, you know. No big deal. One was even quite nice," Jessie added.

"And you took her to your place?"

Jessie stared. "Are you kidding? I didn't like her that much."

Dr. Davies leaned back in her chair and watched Jessie pace. "And why do you think you didn't invite her to your apartment?"

Jessie turned on her. "Why do you ask me that every week? I keep telling you, I don't like them that much. I don't want them at my home. It was just sex."

Dr. Davies pointed at the chair in front of her desk. "Sit down, Jessie, you're making me dizzy."

When Jessie finally settled in the chair, she continued. "Do you even remember their names?"

"I don't recall asking," Jessie replied.

Dr. Davies sighed wearily. "I don't need to tell you how destructive this is, not only to yourself but to these women as well."

"Oh, please. These women go willingly. They're not out looking for love, Doc, just a quick release and then it's right back out there."

"Are you sure? None of these women were actually attracted to you? None of them took a liking to you for what's inside?"

"What's to like? I'm not a nice person," Jessie admitted.

Dr. Davies paused, studying her, and Jessie shifted nervously, only barely talking herself out of bolting from the room.

"Let's go back, Jessie," Dr. Davies suggested. "We've discussed your childhood and your adult life. We always seem to skip over your adolescence."

Jessie shrugged, her brain desperately trying to recall memories.

"Tell me about... ninth grade," Dr. Davies suggested.

"I don't remember anything special. Just starting high school."

"Boyfriends?"

"No."

"What about birthday parties?"

"No."

"Were you in any clubs?"

"Not that I recall."

"Well, what did you do in high school?"

"Do? I didn't do anything. I went to school."

"Jessie, you must have had some outside activities. What about at home? What did you do for entertainment?"

Jessie stared hard at her, trying to read behind the questions. "I don't remember doing anything."

"What about your father? You remember him when you were a child. How about later? Did you still go camping with him, fishing?"

Jessie shook her head. "No. He died."

"You were seventeen when he died. What about before?"

Jessie shrugged. "I'm sure he was there," she murmured. "I just don't have any memories of him then."

"What about your mother? Annie?"

"What about her?"

"Was she there when you came home from school?"

"She was there. That was all. She didn't concern herself with me."

"Why do you think she didn't concern herself with you?"

"She didn't care what happened to me," Jessie said loudly. "She just... she just didn't care."

"Did she not ask you about your grades?"

"No."

"What about your father? Was he concerned about you?"

Jessie pulled her eyes away, landing on a familiar painting behind the doctor's head.

"I don't remember. I guess."

Dr. Davies sighed and rested her elbows on her desk, slowly pulling her glasses off.

"Jessie, we can go over and over these questions... and we have. But your answers are always the same. You don't remember. Why don't you remember, Jessie?"

"Don't you think I ask myself that?"

Dr. Davies nodded. "I know you do. Why else would you be seeking my help? I'll suggest it again, Jessie. Go back. See her. Ask her."

"I don't know what I would say to her," Jessie murmured.

"Jessie, if you ever hope to find peace in your life, to find happiness, to find someone to build a life with, then you've got to deal with your past. And you're not dealing with it. You ran from it all those years ago and you're still running. That's why you must go back and face your fears. Then maybe you can start to have a real life here."

Jessie slumped back, her head hung back as she stared at the ceiling. Shit.

"I haven't spoken to her since I was seventeen. Over sixteen years, nearly seventeen. I don't even know if she's still there," she said weakly.