Page 67 of Insidious

I hold his gaze for a second. Instinct tells me he wants to say more. Isaac holds back because he can see that I am not ready, and it loosens a big knot in my chest.

“Okay,” is all I say in the end, not sure where this is all going.

“Well,” he says, voice quieter now, “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of hours. I will have my phone with me at all times.”

I incline my head.

With nothing left to say, he lets himself out.

***

Isaac

The waiting room is still a surprise, even though this is my third visit. With my private insurance covering the sessions, everything was arranged very quickly.

There are no sterile chairs, no harsh lighting to hurt the eyes, and no ticking clock to watch as the minute hand inches closer.

Instead, a deep olive-green wall stretches behind a low, L-shaped sofa layered with cushions in cream, green, and gold. There’s exposed brick along one side, catching the light that filters through a tall, arched window.

There are plants everywhere. Trailing from the wall, clustered in pots on a wooden coffee table, tall, leafy ones in the corners. The air smells faintly of earth and something subtly herbal. A water dispenser stands in the corner.

A woven rug is spread over the wooden floor, not laminate or vinyl wood. A lamp in the corner casts a cozy, amber glow even in daylight.

I should feel calm, but the pressure has been on the rise since I got into the car to drive.

I sit here, elbows on my knees, staring at nothing in particular, and all I can think about is how long it took me to get here. And what she is going to ask me today.

Two sessions already. Two sessions of … more talking than I’ve done in years.

About things I don’t think about anymore.

Sophie, my sister, who died at ten. I was only five back then. She is like a fading photograph. I don’t quite remember her face anymore. I remember being sad that she would no longer play football with me in the backyard.

Over the years, I understood enough to know something had been ripped out of our lives, and no one knew how to fill the gap. Now, I look at Amelie and wonder how Mum and Dad survived it.

Mum changed after that. It was like she needed to be in the driver’s seat all the time.

And Chloe from next door seemed to fill the void Sophie left in Mum.

I have this memory of watching Mum go teary as she fed her icecream in the kitchen. She smiled in a way she hadn’t in months.

I didn’t question it. I followed Dad’s lead.

He gave her space to grieve the way she needed to, let her make the decisions, and didn’t interfere or challenge.

And I followed his lead because it made her smile again.

When I told Dr Ward all this during the last session, she asked if I felt that Chloe stopped being just a neighbour and became something else after Sophie’s accident. And now I realise she did without us noticing.

I rub a hand over my face as the door opens. A young man walks out and waves over his shoulder before he leaves.

“Isaac?”

I look up.

She is in her mid-fifties, around Mum’s age.

“Hi, Isaac,” she says, offering a small smile.