Baited

By Sterling Blake

There's no end-of-tunnel light staring down the barrel of a gun. It's final, like death and taxes. It's that existential moment that made Grace review her life choices.

Dr. Grace Sykes leads a structured life and runs a comfortable psychiatry practice. Everything has a precision and order to it - except her marriage.

Until Sylvia DeSoto slinks in. From the first session, Grace can only guess at Sylvia's true intent. A broken and disturbed girl, Sylvia is a formidable adversary. Not words Grace normally uses for her clients.

As Grace's sessions with Sylvia continue without direction or improvement, Grace's own life begins to spiral. Or is it all in her head?

Grace thinks she's met with a challenging patient. She thinks she knows her husband. Can she figure it out before her life ends with a bang?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sterling Blake
• Release date: Nov 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463082607

Sterling Blake

Sterling Blake lives on a rural ranch in Eastern Colorado with her family. Her stories are often imagined and created with the help of her remote settings.

Book preview

Baited

By Sterling Blake

Copyright © 2019 Sterling Blake Enterprises

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Ebook formatting by ebooklaunch.com

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter One

The silence between them screamed through the receiver. She refused to speak, to ease his discomfort and let him off the hook. She watched a gull dip and dive from the window of her office.

Are you still there? he asked.

Still here, she answered. She pushed a lock of straight blond hair behind her ear. Her reflection in the glass was stoic.

Look, I’m sorry. I just can’t go. I have to work. I know you understand. His intonation sent ripples of defensiveness along her spine.

"What I understand isn’t the issue. It’s what I’d hoped for that’s disappointing me." She let the words cut him as anger gelled in her gut.

Don’t do that, Grace. Don’t twist this into some analysis of yours. Don’t turn your professional eye on me. It’s simple. I have to work. I can’t go with you. She’ll understand. She could hear his voice get hard. It was done, decision made. He wouldn’t go.

I’m not analyzing you, Blake. You should know I don’t work like that. I’ve never been a typical therapist, she bristled. It’s fine. Forget it. She probably won’t even know I’m there anyway, Grace choked out. She bit her lower lip hard to keep the tears at bay.

He sighed into the phone. She could almost see him rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. She didn’t care. Let him stew. Let him feel like a jerk. He was leaving her to deal with her dying mother. He deserved to feel like an ass.

Look, Grace, he started. Condescension slithered through the earpiece. It was too much to take. She watched the red light blinking in the mirror’s reflection. His voice faded in her ear.

No, never mind, Blake, she cut him off. I have to go. I have a patient waiting. She pushed the button that cut off his goodbye and returned the receiver to its cradle.

She glanced at her computer screen. The only thing showing was a small white box with the name Sylvia DeSoto. She clicked the screen off and slid a black notebook from her desk drawer. Sylvia wasn’t an easy patient. The first few appointments they’d had together the girl had barely said three words. Grace was hoping for a breakthrough and Sylvia deserved a therapist with a clear mind. She reached to a button under her keyboard tray and clicked the timer on. Fifty minutes would start in two.

Grace closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. One … two … three … She opened her eyes and took a breath. She concentrated on releasing the tension in her face, her shoulders, and her arms. She smiled as she opened the door to a small waiting room.

Dressed head to toe in black, the young woman was seated in one of the large white chairs. She had wide hazel eyes, the color of caramel, in a milky white complexion. Her flawless skin was punctuated by piercings. There were two on either side of her lower lip, one in her left nostril and a small black ring in an arched eyebrow. She was beautiful, Grace supposed, in a haunting, dark way.

Sylvia slung a magazine back to the side table and stood abruptly. She lowered her gaze to the floor.

Hello, Dr. Sykes, she almost whispered.

Hello Sylvia. It’s good to see you. She offered her hand but lowered it when Sylvia shook her head from side to side.

I don’t touch. She looked up sheepishly. I’m sorry. I don’t touch, remember?

I do. Grace stepped to the side of the office doorway. Why don’t we get started, Sylvia. Would you like to come in?

Sylvia glanced around the waiting room. With a shrug of her narrow shoulders she walked past Grace. The thick, earthy smell of patchouli and a hint of marijuana drifted with her.

As Grace turned to follow, she almost ran into her. Sylvia had stopped just inside the doorway, staring at the expanse of windows overlooking the Puget Sound.

It’s bright. Those hazel eyes squinted under dark, overhanging bangs. She fingered the strap of a messenger bag slung cross-body style.

I can close the blinds if it makes you more comfortable, Grace offered. She stepped to the rod that worked the long bank of shades.

Sylvia clutched the worn black canvas bag to her chest. The shoulders shrugged again. It’s your office. Do what you want. Her tone was sullen, but Grace was happy she was talking. It was an improvement, no matter the tone.

I want you to be comfortable, Sylvia. This is your time. If you would like the blinds shut, I am happy to do it. Your choice. Grace waited and watched.

Sylvia chewed her lower lip and gripped the bag tighter to her chest. She turned, and with what seemed like great effort, raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. Yes, please. Close them.

Alright. Grace twisted the rod and the room plunged into a cool dusk. Soft yellow globes of light from lamps around the room gave off enough illumination. She made her way to her familiar chair.

Sylvia, do you mind if I sit down? She watched her still standing near the doorway, blinds shielding her from the view. The slender shoulders shrugged again.

Grace lowered herself into the seat and positioned herself to watch the young woman. What brings you here today? She let the question hang in the air. Silence was a familiar tool to her. It was always powerful—more powerful than speech.

She watched as Sylvia bristled under the long black sweater. Her shoulders crept up until Grace thought they would touch her earlobes. The quiet stretched between them. Grace waited. Slowly Sylvia shuffled to the couch. She crouched at the edge, perched there on thin birdlike legs. She seemed to stare at something on the floor.

Still, Grace waited. She opened the cover of the notebook and leaned to retrieve a pen from a cup on the low table between them. She scratched the date along the top line of the crisp white page. The sound of the pen on paper brought Sylvia’s head up sharply.

What are you writing? She demanded, her eyes snapping under the dark fringe of her bangs. It was an abrupt departure from the shyness she’d displayed so far. Grace welcomed the exchange.

The date, Grace replied, unruffled. She turned the page so Sylvia could see what she’d written.

Sylvia huffed, blowing her bangs skyward. She looked back at the blinds and chewed her lower lip again. Silenced yawned between them.

I don’t like that, Sylvia spat. She kept her head turned from Grace, still watching the blinds as if she expected them to creep open on their own.

You don’t like what?

That. She jabbed a long elegant finger clad in black polish at Grace’s notebook. Scribbling while I talk. It’s rude.

Grace nodded and closed the volume, setting it on the table, the pen on top. All right. I won’t take notes now. She opened her hands and smiled when Sylvia looked at her in disbelief. Better?

Shrug. Sylvia pushed back into the couch, her shoulders slumped against the back cushions. She still clutched the bag at her midsection.

Would you like something to drink? Grace offered steadily. Water, coffee, tea?

No.

Grace crossed her legs and laid her hands in her lap. She watched as Sylvia took breath after breath, her knee jiggling up and down in a quick rhythm. Her eyes closed and Grace marveled at the length of dark lashes laid on porcelain skin.

Women pay good money for lashes like that, she thought to herself.

Sylvia sat bolt upright and opened her eyes. She stared at Grace as if seeing her for the first time.

I have social anxiety disorder, she blurted. I hate being in new places, hate meeting new people, and don’t much like the people I already know.

Grace smiled. Okay.

Sylvia gazed at her in silence, the storm of words ebbing like a tide between them.

I don’t know if I want to fix it, either, she said. Her arms began to relax around the bag.

Were you diagnosed with social anxiety disorder? Grace queried.

Among other things.

As in …? Grace watched.

Schizotypal personality disorder, schizophrenia, whatever else they could throw at me.

Do you think they are right? Grace probed.

On which one?

Any of them.

Sylvia leaned back on the couch again and scanned the ceiling. I know I’m not normal.

What’s normal?

Not me, she snorted. She tilted her head to look at Grace. Look, I know I’m different. I don’t trust people. I don’t connect. I get things all … mixed up. I confuse happy for sad. I think people are talking about me when they aren’t. I don’t like human touch. I’m not normal.

Grace leaned forward and asked, Okay. So?

Don’t you think I should try to fix it? Sylvia watched the blinds again.

Do you?

She smiled a wry little smile. There it is. Psych-speak. I knew you had it in you.

Grace smiled back. It’s kinda my thing.

When Sylvia looked at her, surprised at her candor, Grace gestured to the immediate surroundings. I mean, you came to me, right?

Sylvia chuckled and looked sidelong at her. I might like you. She shrugged. As much as I might like anyone, I guess. Which isn’t much.

I can accept that. Grace leaned her elbow on the arm of her chair and casually planted her temple in her palm. What’s in the bag? She inclined her head, shifting her gaze to the tote in Sylvia’s lap.

Sylvia clutched the bag back to her stomach. My stuff. Junk mostly.

Hmmmm. Grace nodded.

She watched Sylvia take a mental inventory of what was in the bag. The minute movements, the flutter of eyes as she counted off the contents to herself, it was something Grace noted in silence.

She surmised that Sylvia was exacting. The girl was a perfectionist who struggled to maintain an air of nonchalance. Grace inventoried her clothing again.

Not one hair, spec of dirt or particle of fuzz was evident in the sea of black. It was as if she was trying to create a void of time and space. Sylvia was disappearing against herself in the blackness of her clothes. Even the badges on the Chucks she wore disappeared, blacked out with Sharpie marker. The only thing on the woman of any color was the white rubber bumper around the sole of her sneakers.

Are you trying to disappear?

Sometimes. Sylvia shifted in her seat. Something in the question had made her more uncomfortable than before.

Why?

Does it matter?

What do you mean by that? Grace shifted in her seat.

Does. It. Matter? You know what I mean, don’t pretend you don’t. I’ll probably end up one of those people on the side of the road with a cardboard sign. Bat-crap crazy and ignored by almost everyone that drives by. Her tone turned acid. You’d probably give me a Happy Meal or some shit.

I’d spring for the full combo meal. Unless you want the toy? Grace raised her eyebrows when Sylvia snapped her head around.

Are you making fun of me? She sat forward. The move was meant to be menacing, but Grace couldn’t help feeling protective instead. The girl was just so tiny.

Do you think I am making fun of you?

I don’t know. My brain isn’t good at figuring that shit out. I told you that.

No. I am not making fun of you, Sylvia. I have actually bought homeless people food and given it to them. And not once did I buy a Happy Meal. Grace returned her stare with poise. I was, however, using a hefty amount of tone in my response that you may not have recognized. It wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.

Hmmph. That’s never happened before.

What? Grace tilted her head in question.

A shrink apologizing to me. First time ever.

I apologize when I’m wrong. I’m okay with admitting it. She opened her hands in supplication.

It’s weird. She went back to staring at the shades.

What is?

Being all real and shit. It’s weird. Doctors aren’t like you.

Maybe I’m not the kind of doctor you’re used to. I’m not interested in being a typical ‘shrink’.

So you’re not normal either? Her voice held a hint of hope.

I don’t think normal is a word we even need to use here, Sylvia. I think we just need to decide what it is we want and work toward making that happen. Deal?

Do you think my thing is fixable? She turned to Grace and leaned forward. The desire in her eyes, the quiver of her chin pulled at Grace’s heart. Can you fix me?

I don’t know that you need to be fixed, Sylvia, Grace offered. Sometimes we just learn to work around our issues until they become less invasive.

Do you mean I should ignore my problems? Her face was a mask of measured disbelief.

No. I mean that sometimes we ‘fix’ things and sometimes we learn that they are a part of us. Like long eyelashes or skin color. Sometimes we learn that despite our brains, we can become successful. Even with our disabilities.

I’m not disabled, she spat. Just pathetic.

Pathetic we can work with. Grace smiled at Sylvia. At least ‘pathetic’ we can try to change.

Sylvia stood from her perch and slung the canvas bag over her head, crossing the strap over her body. I’ll make another appointment next week.

Grace stood, startled and confused by the sudden departure.

Sylvia grinned slyly and pointed to the reflection in the mirror behind her desk. Your timer light is blinking. Fifty minutes, right?

Grace mapped the tiny yellow light blinking in a far corner of the room to the reflection in the mirror. I guess you’re right. I’ll see you next week. She started to offer her hand but returned it to her side.

Sylvia chuckled as she stepped around her to the door. Yeah, next week.

Chapter Two

One, two, three … Grace clenched her jaw hard, counting the floors remaining as they dinged off. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She relaxed her face, her shoulders, her arms and smiled as the elevator doors slid open to the marble foyer.

She hung her coat in the closet and called out, Hello? Anyone home?

In here. She could hear Blake’s voice call out from the family room.

He walked around the bar, a glass of single malt on the rocks held in offering. He was a tall man, lean and dark. His college years had found him playing pick-up games on the basketball court, yet he was never quite good enough to make the team. As a middle aged man he took care to stay in shape, still playing at the gym twice a week.

He brushed a kiss on her cheek and reached for the remote to send the television below a hidden hutch. A basketball game clicked into silence as the screen disappeared from view.

You can watch the game, Grace conceded as she sipped her Scotch. I don’t mind.

No, just highlights anyway. Let’s sit on the terrace. Blake opened the door to a seating area overlooking the golf course that bordered their condo.

Grace took her customary lounger and kicked off her heels. She propped her bare legs on the teal cushion and leaned back to soak in the evening sun. She sipped again at her glass before closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh.

I think we should talk about your trip, Grace.

She shook her head. Not yet, B. Give me a minute. I just want to let this day slide off me and not think about anything.

Tough one?

"Not particularly. I just need to be."

Fair enough.

They sat together, both taking their time to enjoy their beverage and the view. The Puget Sound shimmered in the distance through the crush of downtown skyscrapers. Somewhere in that noisy mélange was Grace’s office and Blake’s building. Here was a contrast in quiet. Here the main sound was wild. There were birds, frogs, crickets and even a fox or two to keep them entertained.

They had paid a pretty penny for the exclusive condo digs. Each had agreed it was worth every cent. They needed an oasis from their hectic careers. With Grace’s patients and Blake’s constant traveling, it was a welcome sanctuary.

It’s so beautiful in spring, after the rains. Grace finished her drink and set the empty glass on the table between them.

It is. April is what keeps me here when winter won’t seem to quit.

Not that you’re here much in winter, Mr. Revelle. Grace tried to keep the edge from creeping into her tone but was unsuccessful.

No, not much, Blake started. He stole a sidelong glance at her before continuing. Look, Grace—

Don’t do that, Blake. That thing where you start with ‘Look.’ It’s condescending and sets me off from the start. Like I’m some child you have to explain things to over and over.

He chuckled and downed the last of his drink, turning to face her in his seat. "Isn’t that exactly what I’m doing, though?"

She snapped her head around to look at him, eyebrows raised. Be careful, darling. You’re sounding arrogant.

"Loo—ahem. Sweetheart, I have to work on the proposal for Morocco this week. We have a deadline to meet, and the pipeline isn’t going to fix itself." He tried on his best grin to diffuse her building resentment, and enveloped her hand in his as he leaned close.

Oh, but I can? I can fix my dying mother and all the things that come with dementia and futility and failing synapses? Is that it? I’m strong enough to do this on my own without you? Her voice had taken on a wheedling tone and she could see him tuning her out. She hated that she'd succumbed to that. Nagging was beyond pedestrian.

That’s not it at all. I just don’t see what the point is. I mean, she doesn’t know you’re there ninety percent of the time, and the other ten she’s cruel to you. Why you feel like you need to subject yourself to it is beyond me. Not to mention the simple fact that I have to work.

Your working is a choice, she started. Don’t shake your head at me, B. You know it is. You could choose to say, ‘Guys, I have a wife who needs me this weekend. I need three days.’ No one would begrudge you that. You choose to say no. This is not something you value, so your answer stands.

That’s not fair.

What isn’t fair about it, Blake? It’s the truth. I don’t think it’s fair either. I move my schedule around for events that matter to you.

That’s different. Mine are fun. He was trying to make light of it.

Grace stared at him. She turned her face back to the view and removed her hand from his.

Grace…

Not everything in life is fun. Some things take work. Living, marriage, careers … And dying. Dying takes work, Blake. Especially for those you leave behind. I owe her that much.

That’s where we differ, Grace. I don’t think you owe her anything. Blake stood and gathered both glasses. Want another?

Grace shook her head. Better not.

Suit yourself. He walked past her into the apartment. She heard the television click back into life.

His arrogance, the way he shrugged off her anger, and his self-serving declarations made her want to scream. His lack of compassion was infuriating. How did he expect her to react?

It was as if he was marble and she silk. They both were strong in their own ways. They could both display beauty and grace. Yet the difference remained between them. She would drape herself around him to fit like a tailored garment, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

That angered her most. He wouldn’t bend for her, wouldn’t suffer inconvenience or hold back. If Blake Revelle didn’t feel something suited him, he refused to be bothered with it. It made him a shrewd business man, a successful entrepreneur. And a terrible husband.

And yet … There was a part of her that was envious. His devil-may-care attitude had attracted her to him early on. Sometimes she wished she could do what he did in life. If she was honest, Grace envied him. She wondered what it was like to pick out what you wanted from the banquet of life and leave the rest behind. What did it feel like to leave the icky vegetable on your plate, eat only what you found tasty, and still have dessert?

She always thought life required appreciation of both the difficult and the easy. The realities of both offsetting and complementing each other. Without one, how did you know to savor the other?

Her mother had pounded into her that life was not all rainbows and butterflies. She would face hard times and she had better be ready. She hadn’t approved of compromise nor leaving something undone. If Grace had started it, she had better finish it, and finish well. For that reason, her mother had not liked Blake.

Cecilia Sykes had let her daughter’s suitor know immediately that she was not impressed. His nonchalance and refusal to turn away from his selfish pursuit were strikes she never let fade. Cecilia had been clear in her dislike from day one.

He will lie and he will cheat, Gracie, she had said on their wedding day. He will never give you anything but heartache and loneliness. You will want, and he will be stingy with you. She had been zipping up the couture gown Grace’s father, Franklin, had bought her.

But since you insist on marrying him, she had continued on in Grace’s stunned silence, you had better finish it. I do not want to hear that you have filed for divorce from his sorry ass. You finish! With that final declaration she had pecked her on the cheek hard. Grace had still felt the impression of it as she walked down the aisle. Remembering the moment, she could still feel the bruise of it now.

Time bore out and Cecilia had been dead on. He had left her lonely more often than not, his schedule demanding travel at least once a month, and often for weeks at a time. He had lied to her about what he had to do at work and what he chose to do. His partners often slipped up by goading him over the time he spent over and above for one client or another.

Grace even wondered about his ethics at times. He was always stretching the boundaries of the strict regulations. What’s more, he pushed hard against what was socially acceptable. He seemed to enjoy seeing what he could get away with without getting caught. It was her own guilt that kept her turning away before she could see any of that in real light. If she knew he was unethical she would feel compelled to divulge it, so she chose not to know.

Grace sighed. Everything seemed to come down to compromise on her part, never his. But isn’t that what she grew up with? Her father had made it clear that his word was law and her mother had never questioned it. She had watched Cecilia forfeit her talents for his career, citing his successes as her own.

When Grace had been precocious as a late teen and asked what her mother wanted, she had stood in shock. Cecilia had looked her daughter dead in the eye and said, What I want stopped mattering the day I said ‘I do’.

It was a stark contrast to the way she had raised Grace. Her daughter was to be independent and exacting, uncompromising in her goals. She had encouraged Grace to find her way in college, to finish her degree with honors and distinction. It hadn’t been an option to finish any lower than cum laude. Nothing less would suffice.

Her mother had never encouraged Grace to find a husband, only to stretch herself and learn all she could. Grace had assumed that Cecilia would have wanted what she had. She had imagined her mother living a life separate from male