Ghosts over Provence E-Book

Karin B. Jankowski

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 464

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

This is an almost true story about love and death: the thin line between good and evil. The author shows us the Provence as we know and like it and where she has lived and worked for 20 years; but also, that even the brilliant sun can hide the opposite of love: hate, dependency and, above all, abuse in all its shapes. The beautiful and mysterious Alice has experienced all of it and when she meets Steven, a former professional soccer player and now owner of a castle in the vineyards, she is afraid of putting her trust, so often misplaced and abused, in him. First, she will have to vanquish the ghosts over her life (and Steven of his) and get rid of the shady lawyer Fuentes with the help of her psychiatrist and the friends she has made in her therapy group. A psychological thriller full of suspense and deep insights into the human mind and into a world many are afraid of - the real world.

Leseprobe

I dedicate this book to all women and men who might find themselves

“…encouraged to confront their own childhood, take it seriously, and talk about it. In doing so, they in turn will provide information to others about what so many human beings have had to undergo at the beginning of life without even knowing about it in later years and without anyone else knowing about it either. Earlier, it simply was not possible to be aware of these matters and there were virtually no published reports by the victims that did not idealize the perpetrators. But now such reports are available and will continue to appear, presumably in growing numbers.”

From Alice Miller, 1984. Thou Shalt Not Be Aware

Table of Contents

Book 1 FAITH

Prologue

Chapter 1.1 Test of Courage

Chapter 1.2 Everything was different…

Chapter 1.3 Debriefing with Surprises

Chapter 1.4 Charm and Power

Chapter 1.5 Dreams are (not) Castles in the Air

Chapter 1.6 Cat and Mouse

Chapter 1.7 Blessing in Disguise

Book 2 HOPE

Chapter 2.1 Just Playing Games?

Chapter 2.2 Garbage

Chapter 2.3 Spirits from the Past

Chapter 2.4 The Path to Truth

Chapter 2.5 To New Shores

Chapter 2.6 Curve Balls

Chapter 2.7 The Animal in Us

Chapter 2.8 Omnipotence or Impotence?

Book 3 LOVE

Chapter 3.1 Just because I Love you…

Chapter 3.2 The Best of Intentions…

Chapter 3.3 Haggis and Truffles

Chapter 3.4 Lizbeth’s Diary

Chapter 3.5 Hoping for Love

Chapter 3.6 On the Edge

Chapter 3.7 Shortly before Sundown

Chapter 3.8 Dangerous Beds

Chapter 3.9 Murder has no Limitation

Chapter 3.10 …but the Greatest of All is Hope!

And So It Continues Sample from the Sequel

List of Characters

About this book

Afterword

About the Author

Speaking out is golden— Silence was yesterday!Goran Mijuk, 2013

Book 1 FAITH

Prologue

When he had seen Henry coming out of his sister’s bedroom on the afternoon of the eleventh of July, 1991, he must have known what was going on.

Cathy cried. And Henry grinned.

Cathy told me about it over and over.

How Steven grabbed him and pressed him up against the wall. Neither one of them said a word. They were the same height. One was sixteen, the other at the end of his eighties. Henry didn’t have a chance. His head hit the wall like a ripe melon. But he only shook himself and laughed. Louder and louder.

When Cathy wanted to separate the two of them, he said, “You’ll never dare, Stevie!”

And then Steven hit him. With the first thing he could grab—a small silver trophy. His first. Over and over and over.

We removed Henry’s body together. Too bad we didn’t have any more pigs.

We had to bury him.

Chapter 1.1

Test of Courage

“Why get out of bed in the morning?”

There were days when Alice just couldn’t. Let alone go to the window, open the shutters, and let in the glittering sunshine of the Provence. The same questions kept running through her mind on those days. And when she couldn’t think of an answer, the avalanche rolled over her very quickly: “Why move? Why breathe?”

Today, though, everything was good. She had a reason to get out of bed. Not like most people around her, who crawl out of bed every morning to earn their daily bread, and maybe even more.

“Not everyone has it as good as you do, and those people can live from their savings,” she heard often.

If they were talking about money, she had to admit those people were right. Thanks to the generous support of her friend Claude Fuentes, she had the opportunity to live a good life. But otherwise—no, otherwise she didn’t have any savings. Not anymore!

“Should I get up first and open the shutter—the first test of courage of the day—or should I try to decide what clothes to put on? Getting dressed is such a challenge. But everything is easier in summer. Then, though, showering, brushing my teeth, breakfast—no, better change that. First breakfast, then brush my teeth, right? Damn it—it really isn’t easy to start a day.”

Alice enjoyed her conversations with herself, and Dr. Noël said that’s okay. He even thinks it’s not a problem if Alice, sometimes, sees herself as a small child or as a teenager in the mirror. And it’s even okay if the mirror images were to speak to Alice—apparently not a problem! But why is starting the day so very difficult for her, then? Why does she get so intimidated by the smallest details? She was going to ask him that today.

Lost in thought, she combed her hand through her chestnut brown curls. It was good that she was wearing her hair so short again. Otherwise she’d have to brush her tangled hair in the morning, too. This is just how she wore her hair as a child. But she didn’t want to think about that at all right now. It was much more important to figure out what she was going to wear today.

If she was going to stay at home, she could run around like she did yesterday—with almost nothing on. Since it was over 90□F in the shade, she would like to run around in the old linen nightgown that she bought at the flea market. But today she needed to go into town, to Aix. Today was the group therapy session with Dr. Noël. And she couldn’t show up there just dressed like she wanted to be, but only as she was expected to be.

Already, though, her feelings were rushing over her…but then she realized what she could wear—the red dress. That was close to having “nothing on” and still looked not too “undressed” for the group session. Or did it?

“Do you know that you can see your nipples in that red wrap-around dress?” one of her girlfriends had asked her several years ago. She hadn’t known that, and was terribly shocked. I did something wrong again! And then came the shame. That was back then. Then she had even more fear than today. Why did she have to go and think about that story just now? Because of the bra? She definitely shouldn’t forget to put one on. What a bother!

And then the ride to town—45 minutes on the freeway. Except…the countryside really was pretty: the river, the mountains, the vineyards. But then there was the strenuous chit chat with the others. Except…they did manage to make her laugh sometimes. And if it weren’t for therapy, she’d never get out of the house and wouldn’t have met so many people. Even if they were all pretty weird.

“Except…what do they think about me?”

While she was getting dressed, the memories of her first time at therapy came up. Back then it was still individual therapy sessions. Just she and Dr. Noël. In spite of that, she was always afraid of the sessions. Afraid to do something wrong, to forget something that the doctor had said that was relevant or something important that she discovered during the conversation. After her 45 minutes in the Rue du Temple, she always wanted to leave as soon as possible—even just around the next corner, so she could write down everything before it disappeared again, back into the same fog as the other memories.

At some point, she discovered the café Chez Bruno, and after a year she even had found the courage to sit down at the outermost table on the patio, order an espresso, and then write down everything. That was much more comfortable than halfsitting on a garden wall near the street, and while she was at Bruno, nobody looked at her weirdly.

On good days, she knew that people couldn’t see how insecure she was. She was tall, and seemed at first glance to be more athletic than she actually was. For some she seemed arrogant, for others unapproachable. That was fine with her. The main thing was that people just left her alone.

*

The appointment in Aix was simple to remember: every first Wednesday of the month from 2:00-4:00 p.m.

As she left, she glanced at the huge mirror in the entry hall and would hardly have recognized the woman from the bed earlier.

The dress had a plunging neckline, and it clinged to her figure like a second skin. It shamelessly emphasized her perfect tan. The sensual red colour of her lipstick matched everything, even the nail polish on her fingers and toes. And the white sandals went perfectly with the white straw hat she held in her hand. Even the two red-and-white spiral earrings—everything matched. She pondered her reflection and thought about the little girl with the short hair. She had almost forgotten her. Yet she wanted to tell they others in her group today something about her childhood. If she could find the courage.

Maybe—why she had finally let her hair grow, back then!

The loud ring of the telephone tore Alice out of her thoughts. A quick glance at the old grandfather clock told her that she still had some time. Otherwise the answering machine could have done the job. But as she saw whose number appeared in caller ID, she was happy. Not as much as before, but enough to pick up the phone.

“Claude you’re in luck, I’m actually on my way out the door. Today I have my session. Did you forget?”

“So sorry love. Of course, how could I forget your appointment? This month just flew by. Great. Since you’re already on the way to Aix, we can meet up later there. Come for coffee at the office. Then I can explain everything better in person. You’re surely already on the way out in your thoughts. Kisses.”

Before she could reply, Claude had already hung up. Alice stood in the lovely entryway and felt—dismissed. No, much worse—overruled.

He hadn’t given her a chance to say anything, let alone maybe to even contradict him. He knew perfectly well that she normally wanted to come straight back home after her session. As quickly as possible. For the last few months she hadn’t even been going to Chez Bruno to make her notes.

Dr. Noël had in fact been able to convince her that therapy didn’t work that way.

“Let your inner self simply work on this. When the time is ripe, you will remember everything. It will come. Trust yourself about all this. Stop writing everything down. When you do that, it puts additional pressure on you. Believe me.”

And Alice believed him, and the memories came. Since then, she let her unconscious work, and rested more. That didn’t always work, but it did more and more frequently.

“Damn, why didn’t Claude say why he was calling? Why should I go by his office? What can be better explained in his law office, anyway? He never calls at this time of day. He knows that I just can’t stand this secretive nonsense.”

And suddenly she was there—she climbed out of the mirror like always: the little girl with the short hair in her dirty white shorts and her wrinkled red blouse.

With her usual confidence, she took Alice by the hand and pulled her slowly in the direction of the car.

*

When he heard the ring, he twitched and felt guilty. He was biting his fingernails again. He really should gradually get it together and get used to the ringtone, and so much more. Maybe he could find a different ringtone. And a secretary wouldn’t be bad, either. “Dr. Noël’s practice, Dr. Janus speaking, how can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to Dr. Noël. I’m calling from the juvenile detention center. Please tell Dr. Noël that I’m calling about Patrice Dufee.”

Dr. Janus took a deep breath. Sometime had to be the first time. Why not now? He cleared his throat and spoke into the mouthpiece of the old telephone: “Hello. My name is Dr. Janus. I’m on call for Dr. Noël, most likely for the next six months. Dr. Noël had a stroke.”

For a short moment, the line was silent, and Dr. Janus wanted to hang up. He had anticipated this kind of reaction.

“Hello, are you still there?” asked the voice.

“Yes, but you don’t seem to be.”

Patience was not one of Dr. Janus’ strengths. And besides that, this substitution gig was already aggravating him. He was, after all, an internationally recognized leader in his field. Just because he was now on a sabbatical in his home country, they didn’t need to put him right to work. But saying “no” had always been difficult for him. He didn’t know to this day who had recommended him. As usual, everything had to happen as quickly as possible. And the French health system didn’t seem to have improved during the last ten years, while he had been practicing in England.

“Excuse me. Maybe we can begin this conversation again. You have to understand…hearing about Dr. Noël’s stroke…that’s just terrible. How is he? Will he survive?”

“My colleague is as well as can be expected. He was lucky in that he got to the hospital right away. The physicians are hopeful, in fact, that the effects of the paralysis can be partially rehabilitated. But perhaps you could tell me now, who you are and what you want?”

“Of course, sorry. My name is Mercier, and I’m the director of the juvenile detention center in Aix. Dr. Noël sees patients here once a week. He sees individuals and leads group therapy sessions. Several of our …” Mercier was apparently looking for the most correct description.

“Clients, we call them clients.”

“Yes, thanks. Several of your clients …”

Dr. Janus couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I don’t mean to offend you, Mr. Mercier, but we are still speaking about your clients, aren’t we?”

Janus loved to draw people out of their protective shells. And he wanted Mercier to understand right away, that he, Dr. Felix Janus, was of a different caliber than old man Noël.

But the guy from Juvie kept talking, apparently unimpressed: “After their release, quite a few of our people continued with their therapy. With Dr. Noël. He has a special way with the young people. He is really good, and he knows his profession.”

Janus decided not to respond and to wait to see how Mercier was going to behave. But Mercier didn’t seem to notice.

“Now we have the situation with Patrice Dufee. He was supposed to go today at 2:00 p.m. for the first time…to your group session.”

Janus was glad to let Mercier keep struggling. Now he had him where he wanted him, because Mercier asked carefully, “Hello? Are you still there? I think we were cut off….”

What kind of an amateur was this guy! It was time to put an end to this conversation. So, Janus nearly shouted, “No way. What are you thinking? I don’t even know if this client would fit into the group. If it works out, then he can join us in four weeks. You know what, we’ll cut this off now, and you tell Mr. Dufee, he should get in touch with me—by telephone—and make an appointment for getting acquainted. After that I will decide how we will proceed. And if I’m seeing this correctly, Mr. Dufee is no longer your problem, as soon as he is released today.”

*

Mercier would have really just liked to hang up. His initial suspicion had steadily gotten stronger. This substitute who was on call for Dr. Noël seemed to have a big problem himself—or two. In any case, Mercier had one with him. He tried to calm down and start one more attempt to convince this Janus that Dufee definitely needed an appointment today, and how important that was for him. Maybe Dufee would even bail by next month’s session and he wouldn’t want to have an individual session with this new Doc at all.

But Dr. Janus didn’t give him a chance for further explanations. The last thing that Mercier heard from him was a dismissive “Excuse me, I have a call on my other line. Just give Mr. Dufee my number. I’ll expect his call. Goodbye.”

Mercier wasn’t sure that the “goodbye” wasn’t meant literally. And since no one else was in his office, he ended the conversation in polite form with the empty chair in front of his desk: “I would have liked to tell you more about your future client. But I understand that a good therapist would prefer to form his own impression. I wish you all the best. And please, do not stay in touch.”

*

So it came to pass that Dr. Janus did not learn the facts, namely that Patrice Dufee was incarcerated for assault and battery and attempted rape. Nor did he learn that Dufee was subject to dissociation and multiple personalities, so that he certainly wouldn’t be coming alone to therapy!

*

Dr. Janus actually knew that the conversation with this guy from Juvie hadn’t gone well. He didn’t have a grip on himself. Once again, he didn’t manage the balance that was so difficult for him between enough distance and a bit of empathy. Sometimes he asked himself whether he had chosen the right profession. He had for himself, for sure, but not necessarily for his clients. Many times, he just couldn’t find the right connection with them. Many of them were even physically disgusting. Just the thought of one or the other of them—it gave him the shivers. He could see them now— the 350-pound guy in London, or the old woman who looked and smelled like she came out of a dumpster.

How cleverly he always managed not to look at them directly during a therapy session. That was easy to arrange. He was good at it. And not only at that. He even knew where his own phobias came from.

“Don’t stuff yourself like that, Felix. Two eclairs are really enough. Or do want to get fat like papa?”

He loved the sound of his mother’s voice—it didn’t matter what she said.

The loudest curses from her were more delicious that the biggest kisses from papa. And how good she smelled. From top to bottom she smelled like…That changed in Dr. Janus’ fantasies according to his mood. Sometimes she looked and smelled to him as if she were surrounded by a thousand small white jasmine blossoms. Or white lilies. Or the heavy scent of over-ripe orchids. He very often found himself looking for her scent, and sometimes he found it. Not always in the best places.

Why had she left him alone? Then he wouldn’t have to go to such establishments. But life is full of injustices, and little Felix had learned that early on. His mother would have been so proud of him. He had completed his demanding studies. He was a recognized psychologist, wrote a dissertation and multiple publications. And he always took good care of his physique. Just don’t be like papa!

As soon as he gained a little around his middle, he was disgusted with himself and went on a very strict diet. All this with the result that he was still good looking for his age of 45. He had longish, almost black hair in which the first few threads of gray were showing. But mother would have definitely not liked the bangs that he like to let hang over his eyes. That didn’t matter—he had what he called de la classe in others, and he took great care of himself.

The telephone rang again, but this time he didn’t twitch. The ring tone was one he knew very well. It was his personal ringtone: Frank Sinatra’s Strangers in the Night.

Felix loved the USA—in fact he loved everything that was part of the Anglophone world. He had studied for several semesters in Oxford, and after that he had a practicum year in the U.S. Since then he had dreamed of living in New York, and to have a practice there. He could hardly pay for his own clothes from the few Euros that he was getting for substituting for Dr. Noël. He certainly couldn’t go to his favorite restaurants as regularly as he wished. But from the couple of hundred dollars, that one therapy session cost in New York—someday for sure!

Obviously in a better mood, he answered the phone and asked with all the charm that he had inherited from mama:

“Hello, this is Janus—who’s speaking?”

“Hey, Felix, you old codger. I just heard from a curmudgeonly colleague that you aren’t in Oxford any more. What kind of colourful mischief are you making?”

Dr. Janus didn’t need long to recognize the voice. A good friend from England. At the beginning their relationship hadn’t been entirely without problems, because Steven was his patient. But Janus had never been very impressed with the old school idea that therapists should never begin any kind of relationship with clients. Why should he respect the rules that even Freud or Jung hadn’t followed? In any case not always.

“Hi, Steven, how great to hear from you. It must be a year, if not longer. You sound like you’re pretty damn close. Where are you calling from?”

“You won’t believe this. I just landed in Marseille, and I ran into this guy, who you shared a practice with. I can’t remember his name. You know, the guy with the bald head and the moustache.”

“Oh God, Steven, you don’t mean Sir James? Was he just arriving, or was he leaving for England?”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. He was just going back to good old England. He seemed to really have had enough of the frogs after two weeks’ vacation in France. He’s still the same old chauvinist. Right—now I remember his nickname. Sir James. Forget him. The main thing was that he told me about your sabbatical, and that you’re back in the Provence. A fact that seemed to evade him. What did he say,

“You must have to be born in France to be able to ignore the filth. The toilets! The sidewalks!”

Steven was such a good mimic of that voice that Janus choked with laughter.

“Steven, stop it. I can’t do this anymore. And I mean that in both ways. I have my first group therapy session for the week at 2:00 pm today, and I haven’t yet prepared a thing. How long are you staying around here for? We have to see each other!”

“I have to leave again the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have an appointment with a notary in Aix. How about this evening?

“Oh, I’m really sorry. But at seven I have Tango, and you know that I never skip that. How about an early drink at about five? There’s a little café around the corner from my place, Chez Bruno, it’s an okay place.”

“Then you’ll have to explain where around the corner from my place is.”

“My practice is on a small side street behind the railroad station. Not the best address in Aix, but I’m just substituting here for a while. The bar is on the corner of Rue de la Masse, directly on the Cours Mirabeau. Easy to find. If you have trouble finding it, just call.”

“Okie dokie! Stay clean, Felix, and remember: no touching the clients!”

*

Alice parked, as she always liked to when she drove to see Dr. Noël, at the university. That gave her a sense of security. Not like at the railroad station—she had been hassled there a couple of times. And that’s what made her hurry like crazy. The parking lot at the university was perfect for her. It was directly behind the main entrance, almost next to the small entry security office for the building, and there was even a security officer there on Wednesday afternoons.

Marie was the one who got her the parking place. She was a woman in her therapy group and also taught at the university in the Law College. Usually Marie was already waiting at the parking lot for her, and then they walked together to the Rue du Temple. Today they did the same.

“Hi Alice. Are you feeling as well today as you look, or is that an especially clever kind of disguise?” called Marie to her with her shrill voice. After all these years, Alice still hadn’t gotten used to that voice. She very much valued the direct and open way that Marie had, though.

“Someday I’m going to manage to be as cool and together as Marie is, and not so adaptable and obedient, like everybody expects me to be.”

She often said that to herself. And if Alice was triggered by someone or something now and again, her voice could get just as shrill as Marie’s. But otherwise there weren’t very many similarities between the two.

“And you, Marie. You’re looking great. Green is the best colour for redheads, isn’t it? That dress is really perfect for your hair. But don’t you think that we are being too good to poor Dr. Noël with our plunging necklines? At his age—we don’t want him to have a heart attack. Someone could think we wanted to seduce him. I hope that at least Isa put on something a little more decent today.”

“Isa and decent? Summer is the only season when she can finally show off all her tattoos.”

Alice rolled her eyes, and Marie made a face at her. “Okay—almost all of them!”

The two of them walked laughing toward the railroad station. A fun-loving and unburdened pair to an outside observer. Two women, in whom people could see a pure joy in living—a perfect façade.

They met Isa at the door of the clinic. Marie was right. Isa’s short shorts showed off her legs and made them look even longer, and there was enough space between the top of her shorts and her short blouse to show off the little glittering work of art around her navel. She had a boyish figure and almost no breasts. Anybody could see that very clearly. And a lot more!

“Hi you two. What a day! It’s really too good to have to spend two hours locked up inside. Maybe we can convince Noël to go with us to the park. There must be some quiet corner there somewhere, don’t you think?”

Alice hesitated. She hardly trusted herself to speak in a closed room. She knew that she wouldn’t get a word out at all if they were outdoors. But she didn’t want to ruin Isa’s good mood.

“Is Michel here already? If he is, we’re all here and we could take a vote. Noël surely won’t have anything against the idea.”

Isa was very excited about her idea and hurried as the first one into the meeting room.

Dr. Noël wasn’t waiting there, as usual, in his chair, but instead a very unhappy looking Michel and a new man.

In his white Lacoste bermuda shorts and the matching shirt, he seemed at first glance to be quite attractive—fairly tall and quite slender. He wore his straight dark hair longish and with a good-looking cut. It fell into his eyes, so he nervously brushed it away every few minutes. There was something feminine about him. She tried to figure out what it was. Certainly not the eyebrows that grew together in the middle. They didn’t fit with his otherwise tidy appearance. It was more his way of moving. Smooth. Flowing. As if he were dancing and trying to touch the floor as little as possible.

Well this is something different, thought Isa. We all have some problem or another, after all, otherwise we wouldn’t need therapy.

Chapter 1.2

Everything was different…

…and still the same. That couldn’t actually be the case. The same high, somewhat grimy walls that went up about 12 feet to the cracked ceiling. In the middle of the ceiling the round plaster relief with the little angels, just like in a baroque style church. Even the colour was the same—the warm yellow so common in this part of France. There were also the heavy drapes with the fading sunflowers. From that point on, though, everything was wrong. The room didn’t offer any protection any more. The bright sunshine flooded the room with light and heat. Even the wooden floor creaked differently—not on the same spots.

Why were the chairs against the wall and not in a circle? Two big palms in large pots blocked the usually open space to the window. And left of that, the little coffee serving table, that was new, wasn’t it? The whole atmosphere was different. Alice was more and more restless, and didn’t share the curiosity of Isa and Marie about the new man in their group at all.

If Michel hadn’t let his opinion loose in just that moment, she would have run out of the room. This was no longer her room. Something really bad must have happened, she was sure of it now.

“What were you thinking? Just letting us all show up here as if nothing had happened? We aren’t just here somewhere…”

Michel was trying to find the words, squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly pressed his index finger to his left temple.

“Now I’m getting a migraine. Can’t somebody please close the drapes. This is really too much for me to stand!” Michel looked around the room in despair, seeking help, but everyone seemed frozen in place—in spite of the oppressive heat.

The new person didn’t seem to be affected by the situation. At least he certainly didn’t seem to feel he was being addressed by the guy with the odd accent. Just the opposite—with his eyes down and both hands in his pockets, he wandered over to the white caned chairs. He stopped for a second as if he wanted to count them, or to decide whether to sit down or not. Then he turned around slowly and plopped down on the chair in the middle. Only then did he look around at everyone and smiled at each in turn.

No one said a word—not even Michel. Marie was the first to free herself from her frozen state. She walked slowly to the windows and closed one set of drapes after another. Isa was the next one to move. She started to go over to Michel, who was standing in the middle of the room, but then she changed her mind. With great concentration, she glided to the floor, folded her small body into a perfect lotus position, and disappeared into herself.

For Alice, who had observed this scene as if it were a ballet that didn’t please her a bit, it was now time to make a decision. She took a deep breath, turned on her heel toward the door, and just in that moment the new person stood up again and explained, in a soft, almost feminine voice, “My name is Felix. Dr. Felix Janus. Please stay.” With these words, he walked over to Alice and touched her lightly on the arm. “I have been asked to bring you all greetings from Dr. Noël.”

At first Alice twitched away. How could he dare touch her? “Take your dirty paw off me or I ….”

But Alice didn’t let the little girl finish. No one else could hear the voice. And that was just fine. She could feel how the others were observing her, holding their breath and certainly asking themselves how she was going to react. Don’t worry. Today was still a good day.

So, she didn’t only let the touching happen, but she also followed Dr. Janus back into the room like a good little girl who seemed to have lost her courage. The only one who didn’t notice the danger that he had been in, even just for a couple of seconds, was Dr. Janus himself.

“Won’t you all have a seat? I’ll be glad to explain the new situation. Sit down wherever you’d like. As you know, the chairs are moveable. If you’d like something to eat or drink, please help yourselves.”

He waited until everyone had found a place to sit. Marie thought for a minute, went up to Dr. Janus without letting him out of her sight, took the chair that was directly next to his, and pulled it under one of the palms. Michel put down his chair with a clatter and with its back to the wall of windows. Isa stayed where she was, and Alice pulled her chair back, closer to the door.

Now Dr. Janus had the attention of all four of them. Everything was working out as he had planned. Curiosity is a hungry animal in every human being—he knew this well. But he also knew that it was important to win their trust. If he didn’t manage that now, then it would never happen again—not in this group.

“I appreciate your patience. This isn’t a simple situation for any of us. I just heard yesterday that I would be the substitute for Dr. Noël. My colleague had a stroke over the weekend.”

From the door he heard a short-squelched outcry, and a kind of squeak from the woman by the window. The man with the migraine started nodding his head and didn’t stop, like a bobblehead figure.

No one from the group looked at him or said anything. All of them analysed the information on their own. Silence is part of a therapy session, they all knew that, and Dr. Janus gave them the time they needed.

The woman sitting on the floor was the first one to break the silence. He didn’t expect that, since she looked so focused on herself. At first glance, she seemed sure of herself and not unstable at all, as it was described in her file. And very sexy. Even though she had clearly worked hard to disfigure her body—tattoos in every colour and size were spread over more than half of the naked skin that she generously showed off. She had several piercings in her nose, chin, and navel. They gave the impression that there were more in the few covered areas of her small figure. The crowning effort she made to be revolting was her Mohawk haircut. Too bad about that lovely hair, thought Felix, but hair grows. Skin doesn’t regenerate. The women disgusted him and fascinated him at the same time. He only heard her voice. The words didn’t seem to fit to the sound. How could that be? The melancholy sound of his mother’s voice in this disfigured body. Surreal!

“…you should have informed us. You have our phone numbers in the files. We are here voluntarily and can leave at any time. Did you hear that, Alice? He can’t force you to stay here.”

To enforce her casual stance, she blew a bubble with her gum and let it pop loudly. Marie clapped her hands and Alice couldn’t help but smile.

“So, can we go now?” asked Michel, who was still nodding. But he stayed in his seat.

“Of course, every one of you is free to decide about the continuation of your therapy under my guidance. But you see, that is exactly why I didn’t call you. You would have all formed your opinion without meeting me or getting to know the kind of therapy session I am glad to offer you. We’re talking about the next six months, at least. If not more. In any case it would be too long a time if you were to take a break in your therapy. I don’t know what comparisons Dr. Noël made. I like to compare therapy to a small garden that grows weeds in the time without therapy sessions. The more time between sessions, the more weeds need pulling.

Decide for yourselves, but decide carefully and preferably after today’s session.”

He took a little break, as if he was expecting a response right away. But no one even looked in his direction.

“Do you know what I wonder about? If you all are so attached to Dr. Noël and to his methods, why hasn’t anyone asked me how he is?”

“What kind of shitty therapist are you, that you’re trying to give us a guilt trip? Bullshit. You lured us here and you’ve been trying to manipulate us left and right,” spoke up the punk again. And this time, without chewing gum, she wasn’t nearly so relaxed. He knew he hadn’t been mistaken about her. Everything was just a mask, a façade

“I don’t know how everyone else is doing, but I’m gradually feeling like I’ve been had. And do you want to know why I’m still here? My step- father always said that a person should leave just when things are at their best. And I have the suspicion that isn’t yet the case for today.”

“Let it be, Isa, he isn’t really wrong. Why don’t you just finally tell us what happened and how Dr. Noël is doing? Will he recover?”

“Come on, Alice, don’t let yourself get pulled into this. Don’t you see what he’s trying to do?”

Now Michel knew what he was thinking about this whole thing, and said bitterly,

“Everything was better before!”

And again Dr. Janus was the only one who didn’t understand that for Michel, the whole world was contained in these four words. And today they were a perfect fit.

“If you would give me a little more time to speak, ladies, I could explain much more. We should just get to know each other better. I’ll tell you who I am and perhaps you can tell who you are and what has brought you here. You’ll notice quickly that I work differently from my predecessor, but not worse.”

Again, he heard this strange squeaking from the corner by the window, and the woman there yelled at him,

“So, you are the replacement, not a temporary substitute. Dr. Noël really won’t be here anymore. Is he still even alive?”

Dr. Janus noticed that his patience was getting dangerously close to his limits. He definitely needed to move, even if it was just to the middle of the room. There he began to turn slowly in a full circle, a Tibetan healing method. It was a practical method, too, since he didn’t turn his back on anyone in the room any longer than necessary. And he could speak directly and intensely to each person.

“Dr. Noël is doing as well as can be expected. The physicians are assuming that he’ll be back on his feet in six months. I’m not allowed any more information, as I’m sure you all understand. Okay?

He tried to keep eye contact with all four of them, and this time it worked.

“What if I told you a little more about myself?”

So far, he wasn’t unhappy with his approach for the session today. He had fully assumed that one or the other of the patients would give up and leave. If he could manage to keep the minimum number in the group together, these four could be a good group for his project. He had been doing research for over 10 years on a new approach to authentic identity. What has made us what we are, and more importantly, what we do? Is it possible to encourage this recognition in a group, eventually by making one participant act as a catalyst or a trigger for another? According to the files, there were a few interesting cases gathered here. All this was a good reason for him not to lose his patience too quickly.

“You already know my name. I was born here in Aix on March 15, 1970. My father was French, my mother, English. Because of that I had my education in both countries. I also spent a couple of years in the U.S. and got acquainted with the newest approaches to therapy there. What else can I add? Oh yes, I’m single. I like to cook and I’m a good cook. I like to play golf now and then, and I dance the tango. My favourite colour is white. There we are!”

“Are your parents still alive?” Marie wanted to know.

“Why white?” asked Isa.

Michel commented that his introduction was more like an advertisement than a therapy session.

Only Alice didn’t comment at all, but asked herself, silently, whether she shouldn’t just leave. The open door next to her was enticing.

Just in that moment Dr. Janus spoke to her. “Wouldn’t you like to be the next and introduce yourself, Ms. Weiss? Or may I call you Alice?”

Alice twitched and wanted only one thing—to get back to her bed and pull the covers over her head. So, she did the next best thing to actually fleeing—she simply closed her eyes and acted as if she couldn’t hear.

It was then Marie who came to her rescue. “Alice has a special status here. Didn’t you notice that in the files, or haven’t you read them yet? Alice is not yet able to speak about everything, but she can write things down. Then she reads those things out loud, and we speak about them. That’s always been just fine with us, and with Dr. Noël too.”

With these words, a pair of dark green eyes pierced Dr. Janus so a shiver ran down his spine. The woman with the chestnut coloured hair reminded him of a wildcat, and it wasn’t just because of the squeaking noises she made. Instead of claws she had a very sharp way with words.

It didn’t matter. He had to be sure from now on that the surface details didn’t distract him. The people in this group seemed to know each other well, and they had interesting connections among themselves. Like a regular small family. This wasn’t a surprise, since they had been working together for quite a long time. All this could be good for him. And yes, this Marie had really gotten to him, more than the tattooed punk girl had before. He had in fact not yet read all the files in detail but just skimmed them.

He looked directly at Marie. “Yes, how nice, then you can tell a little more about yourself. Marie Ricks, if I’m not mistaken. And if we have some time toward the end, maybe Alice can read us something she’s written.”

The agreement he expected didn’t come from the group, and once again he felt his insecurity creep in. He would have loved to bite his fingernails, but he couldn’t afford to do that here and now. He stuck his hands into his pockets and concentrated on the woman with the squeaks.

She seemed to be fully aware of her own attractive charisma. She stood up very slowly and walked to the centre of the room, as he had just done. And now she was standing there, extremely close to him. He could smell her perfume, her hair, her whole body. And suddenly, as if by a secret signal, she began to turn in circles, first slowly, and then closer and faster, around and around him. After a few minutes she suddenly stopped, and he knew that he wouldn’t have held out much longer.

“Born 1977. 5’7” tall. Weight between 135 and 140 lbs. C cup bra. Favourite colours are gray and green, but why not greengray or gray-green? Ha ha ha! By the way, my hair colour is natural, reddish brown and not dyed. Hobby is cleaning. I love it when everything around me is clean! Inside and out. What else? Oh yeah, very important. My parents are dead, thank God.”

Marie was applauded by everyone in the group.

“Thank you for your performance. There is a lot in there, but…” The others didn’t let him finish. They were laughing themselves into a state.

“That’s really good, can you say that again? … “There is a lot in there.” What a great phrase. And something really new. You know, Dr. Janus, you have to be careful about Marie. Marie doesn’t just have eyes like a cat, but she likes to play like a cat. Mainly by teasing the mice.”

“Isa, you spoil sport! You shouldn’t do that with friends. And especially not in the family. I hate you!”

Dr. Janus wasn’t sure whether the group was playing their roles for his benefit, or whether the reactions from Marie and Isa were authentic. He simply reacted to them.

“Hate is a natural and important reaction. And laughter helps us relax. I’m glad to see that you’re all feeling a little better than at the beginning of the session. Tell me a little more about yourself, though. For example, what do you expect from your life? You do all sorts of interesting things outside of the group, as I read. Trust yourselves to get as close to the truth as possible. Would you like to give it a try, Mr. Voss, or may I call you Michel?”

“I don’t care what you call me. And what I have to say to you I am only going to say once, and not, as is typical for therapy, over and over and over. I came to this group exactly three years ago. Then there were others here who have already left. I’m the senior here, so to speak. I suffered from deep depression after my wife’s death, and from severe migraines—two or three a week. Dr. Noël managed to help me reduce my migraines to two or three a month. And you? You have managed to trigger a migraine within five minutes, when I haven’t had one for a long time.”

This time no one laughed and there wasn’t any applause. Everyone could see that Michel was in crisis. He was as white as Dr. Janus’ bermudas. Even Dr. Janus seemed to be struck by Michel’s comments. He took his hands out of his pockets and walked over to Michel.

“What do you take when it gets really bad? I take Triptane. You can get that as an injection, too. Have you ever tried that? I can give you the injection, if you’d like.”

Michel, who hadn’t expected any reaction from this new doctor, said, “It’s all right. I just took something and I have to wait until it starts working. If it doesn’t, then I’d like the shot. Thanks for offering.”

Now that really wasn’t very professional. He didn’t want to let on so much about himself. He knew that most of his colleagues didn’t believe in this kind of open, personal approach with clients. It really wasn’t unproblematic, and sometimes actually dangerous. But he had taken on this replacement position for one reason, to experiment. Because of that, he had to be ready to bring himself into it. He needed to be involved and integrated into the group. Very simple.

He was somewhat happier with himself, and with the whole situation. He looked at the clock and said, “I can see that in spite of our uneven start, we still have twenty minutes to go. Alice, would you like to read us something? I’m sure you had prepared something for the session with Dr. Noël.”

With a sideways glance at Marie, he got more precise. “As I read in the notes from the last session, you were discussing love. What have you been thinking about that, Alice?”

Dr. Janus had hardly finished speaking to her when the woman in the red dress with her eyes still closed transformed into a little girl, the one her teacher Mr. Herrmann had sarcastically quoted and made fun of in front of the whole class. “Did you forget everything again? Can’t you recite at least the first stanza? Then at least the first line? Oh Alice, you are as dumb as a post.”

Alice waited for the laughter.

But it didn’t come. Everyone wanted to hear a new story. So, she didn’t run away. She carefully opened her eyes and reached into her pocket for her manuscript.

*

I loved you so much. And I still love you. Just differently. But even back then, I didn’t know exactly how I should show you my great love. And you didn’t know, either, how to handle it. So often, we make mistakes because we are simply too small to handle big feelings. I just wanted to get you to notice me, and since you didn’t turn around to look at me, I picked up the pebble and threw it in your direction. The first pebble was too little. You didn’t notice it any more than my glances. So, I picked up larger pebbles and tried to aim better.

That is all so many years ago now, but it is never too late to apologize. Yes, I’m really very sorry that I hit you in the head, and that you bled like a pig. Did I even help you? Give you a bandage for your wound? Comfort you? I can’t remember.

But then the fact that you first cut off the toe and then a curl from the hair of my favourite doll, that wasn’t exactly good playroom etiquette, either. Shortly after that, I attacked your bass violin, the one that you dragged home in that giant case after your lessons at the music school. Was it one string or two? More? But I was simply jealous of that thing. It looked almost like a person when the big case was propped up in the corner. Small head, long neck, fat belly…one could have put a dress on the case and mistaken it for a girl. And that’s what I did, too. After all, you spent more time with your bass than with me.

And I cried so much when we thought that you’d died in an accident. You had that cute little fur coat on, and that’s what cushioned your fall off the wall. I can still hear your buddy Stefan calling, “Erich is dead! Erich is dead!” And he didn’t sound at all sad. More like he was excited. More like someone who can be the first to spread important news. It was such a relief, then, when you bravely opened your eyes, even though you were coughing and deathly pale. No, you didn’t die then. And you didn’t, either, when you were 30 and had pneumonia. Back then, during our time at the university, we didn’t realize what a wonderful time we were having. For a few months, we were in a student apartment together. Studying together, laughing, cooking, going out and meeting friends. We discussed so much, and I helped you study for your exams in French literary history, with an emphasis on existentialism. We lived “the absurd” and were proud of it. The last time we met, I had our copy of Camus with me. And today I live only 4 miles away from the cemetery where Camus’ remains were buried after his absurd death.

In a little village in south Luberon. I had always hoped that you would come and visit me some time. We would go together to the grave, like people make a pilgrimage to a shrine. And before and after that we would drink wine and pastis. Now I don’t wait for you anymore. Now I know that you won’t come here anymore in this life.

It was good that, in the end, we could make our peace—although unlike the typical ends of other great love stories. It wasn’t under the sun in the south of France, but in the clear sunshine of our alma mater back then. We held each other. I stroked your face and your hands. And I had to think about the story that you always told. “You know, Alice, when mom had to have her appendix out a couple of years after your birth, and I stopped at the door of the hospital room and was afraid to go in? Do you remember, what I asked her?”

“Yes, Erich, I remember. You asked, ‘Is it really not another little sister?’

And only then were you brave enough to step into the room to see her. Still, our history was a wonderful and great love story in its own magical way.”

Chapter 1.3

Debriefing with Surprises

Many things were different from the usual today. Even the end of the session. No one wanted to stay any longer in Dr. Noël’s office after Alice’s story. And, quite unusually, no one wanted to talk about it. Without Alice, who grabbed her bag and ran out of the room right after the last sentence, it wouldn’t have made sense anyway.

The biggest change was in the people themselves, though. Alice had left without saying goodbye, leaving everybody wondering whether she would ever come back.

Isa, who was usually rather shy and reserved, needed to defend herself against the new doc and did it for everyone else, too. Otherwise it was usually Marie who was the helpful, open heart of the family. Not the seductive vamp who had unsheathed her claws and smelled blood, like today. And then there was their language. If anyone had a loose tongue, it was Marie, and not Isa.

And last but not least, there was Michel’s outburst. He astonished the group even more than the new guy. Dr. Janus didn’t know him at all, and he especially didn’t know that Michel was never actually vehement. That’s why they sometimes teased him with the nickname Ted—for teddy bear. Kind, cuddly, harmless. He actually never said whether it was okay with him, but he also never said it wasn’t. That was Michel—a Ted. In the last many months of group therapy, he had let them know a few times how much he had suffered in his teen years by being nothing but average—average height, average weight, average looks. Even his hair was mousey blond and average length. Six months ago, he suddenly appeared with a new haircut. Isa cut it for him. And since then, he had changed his image. Or maybe even himself?

“Hey, you poor guy, are you feeling any better? Can you come along to Bruno’s at all?”

Marie put her hand gently on his arm.

“You have to come. Just take another one of your tablets. We need to talk. I have this odd feeling, Michel, that you’re hatching something, right? Are you planning to quit, or what?” Isa wouldn’t stop.

Marie was actually always quicker to give her opinion than Isa and didn’t hold her feelings back very long. Today everything was different.

*

At least in the bistro, Chez Bruno, everything was like always. Their table was reserved, and the chef himself expected them. He especially looked forward to seeing Isa, whom he particularly liked. He had a special attraction for difficult characters, and Isa was definitely one of them. The provocative way she dressed, the tattoos and piercings were in the eyes of Bruno nothing more than distractions from the true core of a wonderful woman. He was certain that he had finally found someone with depth. Not like all his ex-girlfriends, who were shallow, butterfly types.