Actions

By Constance Lechman

Who tried to kill Kerry Chapman?

Can psychotherapy help Kerry to restart her life or is she forever doomed to be a victim?

Actions, a story about guilt and betrayal, exposes the dynamics of self-destructive behaviour in therapy sessions between Kerry and her psychiatrist.

Anyone who has questioned why they became entangled in t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meraki House Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781988364339

Constance Lechman

Born and raised in Winnipeg, Constance Lechman is a retired social worker and hospital social services administrator. She has master's degrees in social work and business administration. Constance has authored numerous non fiction articles and book chapters on social work practice and research. How can a strong accomplished woman be vulnerable, insecure and self defeating? The author strives to answer this contradiction by exploring the complex personality of a courageous female character who battles to overcome obstacles and find love. The results are a page turning read that will be inspiring to women of all ages. A competitive bridge player, Constance loves fashion and is a loyal CFL fan. Decisions is her debut novel. The author lives in downtown Montreal where she continues to write. You can connect with her on Facebook.

Book preview

Chapter

One

Can you hear me? Miss? Are you OK?

He gently brushes some grit off of my face and carefully lifts some strands of hair away from my eye. I feel his warm breath on my cheek.

Can you talk to me?

He’s leaning closer and speaking softly into my ear.

Hear you? Yes, I hear you. Talk? I open my eye. I can see you. You look like you are a police officer and you’re kneeling down on the ground next to me. I can see you out of the corner of my right eye. Yes, I can hear you. Why are you here? Why are you talking to me? I’m tired. I want to sleep. I close my eye. Blackness. Peace.

Don’t try to move. Stay quiet, he says.

I open my eye. He puts his hand on my shoulder as if to emphasize his point and to keep me immobile.

I close my eye again.

I’ve called for help. They’ll be here soon. I’m here with you. I’ll stay right here with you. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here real soon Miss. Are you able to speak to me?

He lifts more hair from my face, rousing me from the darkness again.

I open my eye. I try to open both of them, but I’m laying on my left eye. And I can’t see out of it. So I keep it tightly closed. I look around slowly moving only one eye. I’m laying curled up on my side in the yard that borders the back lane outside of the apartment building where I live. The left side of my face is embedded in the dirt and grass. The grass is sticking into my nostrils. My knees are sticking up and they are propped against the shrubs that circle the foundation of the building. Some of the skinny, smaller branches close to the ground are tangled into my socks, and my sweater and T-shirt. They’re cutting into the exposed skin on my legs and arms.

Some big green plastic bags of garbage that regularly line the side of the back lane on garbage pickup day are sitting close to me. I can smell their rotting contents. My stomach clenches and I start to gag. I can taste the burning bile. I close my eye and focus on feeling the bumps in the ground underneath me to try to push the putrid smell out of my mind.

Is this how you found her? Was she laying just like this?

It’s the policeman talking. Who is he talking to? Me?

Yes. Yes. I was afraid to touch her, to move her. I. I. You know, I thought she might be, you know. Might be dead.

It’s a woman. The voice sounds familiar. I’ve heard it before.

And they always say, you know, to call 911 right away. Right? And you shouldn’t try to move anyone. So. I uh. Luckily, I always take my cell phone with me when I’m out early with my dog. So I called right away, she says in a shaky voice.

You did the right thing, the policeman replies.

Will she be OK do you think?

She sounds frightened. Why? I feel sleepy.

Buster stop pulling. Stay! Wait!

I hear a dog whine. Buster! It’s one of my neighbours. She lives on the ground floor in the same apartment building as me. And Buster is her nine-year-old Bernese Mountain Dog. He’s a big furry, friendly dog who always wants a pat when we meet. I don’t remember her name. She’s quiet. Nice. Oh yeah, she’s a retired teacher. I only see her when I pass them going in and out. We only say hello and I pat Buster and that’s it.

She’s opening her eye when I talk to her so that’s a good sign. The first responders are on their way and I told the dispatcher to send an ambulance also.

The policeman slowly stands up and stretches his legs.

Oh. It’s so terrible! So awful!

The woman sounds like she’s crying. Why?

Well, hopefully she’ll be OK. It’s good you saw her. We’ll get her all the help she needs. I’ll ask you to stand back further when they get here. And please make sure that my partner has your name and phone number before you leave.

Of course. No problem.

I hear Buster whine again. He’s tired of waiting. Buster likes action.

How did I get here? The hard surface of the ground is damp and cool and it feels solid under my face.  I take a shallow breath in and I can smell the earth. It smells like rain.

I hear a siren somewhere in the distance. It really does sound like a wail. The noise is getting louder and louder. It’s coming closer. I open my eye again. I’m too tired to move. Nothing hurts. No pain. No hurt anywhere. So I must be OK. Why is there a siren? Is it for me?

The siren screams at me as the truck pulls in and the tires crunch on the gravel as it comes to a halt on the edge of the lane. It’s big and red. A fire truck. I close my eye. I’m tired. Why am I here? How did I get here?

I don’t know how long she’s been laying here. I think for a while because her clothing’s damp. A neighbour out walking her dog saw her on the ground here and called it in. She hasn’t moved, but she’s opened her eye.

It’s the policeman‘s voice. Who is he talking to now?

I open my eye. He’s talking to the firemen who are standing over me. I can’t tell how many there are. All I see are legs. Men’s feet and the bottoms of their legs. All of the firemen are wearing their big boots. Do they always wear them even when there’s no fire?

That’s the neighbour over there. She recognized her. She lives in the same apartment building. We were on patrol close by so we got here right away. Like I say, I don’t know how long she’s been here. Looking at these scratches and scrapes and the way the branches are crushed underneath her, I think she somehow fell or was pushed, maybe from one of those balconies and landed in these bushes. She’s lucky because they must have broken her fall.

It’s the same voice talking. It’s the policeman. I’m lucky? He’s says that I’m lucky. Why?

Can you speak to me?

It’s another male voice and he’s bending down next to me. He must be a fireman.

She seems to be drifting in and out, he says to someone over his shoulder. I don’t see any visible trauma except for the scrapes.

My partner’s been inside talking to the caretaker of the apartment building to see what we can find out about her.

I recognize the policeman’s voice.

Her neighbour says that she is Kerry. Kerry Chapman. She doesn’t know much about her. Guesses that she’s in her early forties. She’s quiet. Works long hours. Keeps to herself. Says she’s a good neighbour.

I open my eye and I see a fireman kneeling beside my head. The policeman is standing behind him talking to one of the firemen. There’s another police officer walking over to them. She’s short and blonde and she’s typing something on a cell phone.

In our city the firemen are the first responders. They always come first when we have a medical emergency at work. If it’s serious, the ambulance quickly follows them.

Behind them I can see an aluminum warming blanket that is being unpacked from the truck and carried towards me and another fireman is carefully unfolding what looks like a big, stiff nylon blanket. It’s a stretcher. I’ve seen one like it before. It’s a portable inflatable stretcher used to keep people immobile while they are moved. The first responders used one at the senior’s residence last week when a resident fell and broke her hip in the dining room. They were able to use it to move her without actually having to stretch her body out. They carried her folded up the way she fell. I knew that she was badly hurt when I saw them do that.

I should be at work right now. I need to be there. I’m in charge. Why aren’t I at work? Are they using the stretcher because they think that I’m badly hurt? Are they afraid that they can’t get me out of here? Why are they afraid to move my body? Have I broken my hip? What are they afraid of? Do I have injuries?  What kind of injuries? I don’t feel anything. I need to go to work. But I need to go to sleep first. I’m too tired to work now. I close my eye.

Let’s get this draped over her to keep her warm, a man’s voice says disturbing my dozing.

I open my eye as a fireman is gingerly covering me from head to toe with the silvery, foil blanket. He’s managing to do it without moving me. I don’t want to move. I’m too tired. I close my eye.

We need to be very careful when we move her. We’ve got to get her to the trauma centre ASAP. But we need to do this very slowly. We don’t know what’s broken or if there’s head or spine trauma.

The fireman is talking to someone else while he is gently touching my arms and legs. Spine trauma? What does he mean? What happened to me? Where is Doug?

More voices in the background. I can’t see them. Is it more police officers? Where did they come from? Neighbours? Gawkers? Why? How did I get here? What happened to me? A tear runs down my cheek.

I hear another siren. It’s getting closer. It has a higher pitch than the firetruck. Are more firemen coming? Who else? An ambulance? I force my eye open. But my eyelid is too heavy. I close my eye. Hands continue to move slowly and lightly over my body. Barely touching me. What are they doing to me? Why?

I hear doors open and slam and I open my eye. It’s two more men. They’re wearing jeans and navy windbreakers with Ambulance written on the front in large white letters and they’re pushing a metal stretcher towards me. I close my eye and drift into darkness. I hear muffled voices surrounding me. They sound very far away.

The darkness is penetrated by what sounds like a bicycle pump inflating air. Air? Where is it going? Into what? I open my eye and I see the portable stretcher sitting unfolded next to me on the ground. They’ve started the pump that inflates it.

Put it around her like this, a man’s voice instructs.

He’s bending over me. I can feel his breath on my face. I smell mint. Candy? Or maybe toothpaste?

I feel a slight pressure steadily move against me. Something is slowly surrounding me. They’re bagging me! It takes three of them. I close my eye. It’s a long, slow process and I drift in and out of darkness as they inflate the stretcher to contain and carry me without changing the position of my body.

My partner and I will go with you to the emergency room. We have to determine what happened. Did she fall? Or was she pushed? If she was pushed...

It’s the first policeman’s voice. He doesn’t finish his sentence. Why not? What does he mean? If she was pushed? She? Me? He means me. Why can’t he say it? Who pushed me? Doug? Why did he hurt me? Why? Did I let him hurt me? Is it my fault?

OK everyone. Ready?

I know that it’s the voice of one of the firemen. The one with the minty breath. Ready? Ready for what? What are they going to do to me?

Let’s go on the count of three. OK? Here we go! One. Two. Three. Lift.

I scream as they raise me up and pain explodes through the core of my body like a bomb shooting burning shrapnel through my chest. Acid burns my throat and I vomit. Both my eyes are open. My heart is racing. And I’m gasping for breath. I can feel! And it’s unbearable! Blackness envelopes me and