What Lies Beneath

Chapter 1

Monday…

“Hello Olivia, I am Doctor Ann Wilson.” A delicate hand encouraged Olivia to come inside. “Please have a seat anywhere you like.” Doctor Wilson is a lovely woman; her kind oval face framed by soft blonde curls, her brown inviting eyes offering a warmth that pulls you in, reassures you in a way. Olivia could feel the Doctors’ intelligent eyes on her back as she made her choice–would the decision between the chair and the sofa unknowingly reveal something about her? The thought made her nervous, so she took the sofa–she figured it would make sense to appear comfortable.

“How are you doing?” the Doctor asked. Olivia’s eyes slipped down to the Doctor’s manicured hands resting calmly in her lap. When she was driving over this morning, she pictured the woman sitting with a little notebook, writing down everything that is wrong with her - it made her feel a little more at ease seeing the Doctor without it.

She kept her features smooth “I am doing well, thank you. In fact, this is utterly unnecessary. I am doing just fine, really.” Olivia even managed a small smile.

Grinning, she said, “I am going to let you in on a little secret, Olivia. When someone starts off their session by trying to convince me they are fine, it has the opposite effect.”

Well s**t. Olivia thought. She had hoped Doctor Wilson would roll over like the others before her. “I realize that this is mandatory to return to work, and that is my current problem. I have been off from work for a week now, I would feel much better to have something to occupy my time.”

“Why is that?” Her face remained neutral, yet soft at the same time.

“Why is it that I want to occupy my time?” The Doctor nodded in response. “I just function better when I know I have something to do.”

“What happens when you don’t?”

What the hell? Olivia knew there was a reason she didn’t want to do this; they always ask these types of questions. Ones that either make absolutely no sense, others which are painfully obvious, or repetitive - such as this one.

“Like I said, I function better.”

Nodding.                              

“Do you talk to anyone?” Wilson wanted to know.

“I talk to many people,” she deadpanned.

“About what bothers you?”

The only response Olivia could muster was a blank look.

“I am trying to figure out what you do to release the pressures of the day.”

“With all due respect Doctor Wilson, if you want to know something just ask, there is no reason to beat around the bush.” She knew it was only a matter of time before she got annoyed and lost what little manners she had left these days.

“Fair enough. I just find that people get skittish if you just ask questions outright. It’s better to build up to the question.”

“I do what every normal person does; I deal with it.”

“How?”

“I process it.” The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. “What?” she asked defensively.

“You know what you just did.”

“Fine, I have a drink or two at night.”

“Just one or two?”

“I don’t exactly count. Do you drink?”

“I have a glass of wine most nights after dinner.”

“So we both have a drink and then we go to bed. Our situation is not that different. I am fine, I deal with what comes my way and move on.”

“Our situation is not that similar, actually. My guess is you have more than just a couple of drinks each night. I have a glass of wine to unwind from my day, you drink to forget.”

“The alcohol is the least of my problems.”

“So you don’t think the alcohol is a serious problem?” Her calm voice was grating on the last nerve.

“It’s not the best solution, I agree, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the alternative.”

“What is the alternative, Olivia?” Her neutral face, at first comforting, now just pisses Olivia off.

“The alternative isn’t an option,” she muttered.

“But killing yourself with alcohol is?” Wilson lifted a delicate eyebrow.

At that moment, Olivia wanted to do a lot of things, but she controlled the dark urges. Instead, she stood calmly and walked to the door. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this s**t,” she said as she passed Doctor Wilson on her way to the door.

“See you tomorrow, Detective Pearson.”

The dark amber liquid spilled over the rim of the glass as she poured it passed the level of propriety. Olivia never really cared much for propriety. Well, there might have been a time where social conventions would have made her think twice about what she did and who might have seen her doing it. Olivia hasn’t seen that person in quite some time. The person she was before. Before her normal, picture-perfect life came crashing down around her. Past the point of caring that she left a puddle of bourbon on the wobbled counter, she walked back into the living room and fell back into the one-seater, taking a gulp as she went down.

Pounding.

“Olivia?”

Pounding

“Open up! For f**k’s sake, Olivia!” Slugging down the last of her bourbon she got up and shuffled to the bed–she fell into it face first, completely dressed. The pounding and yelling had finally stopped. Olivia closed her eyes and surrendered to the sweet oblivion where bad dreams drowned in warm amber flood.

Tuesday….

“Have you considered getting sober again?”

Olivia got up and left.

Wednesday…

“Do you still want to be an investigator?” “Why would you ask me that? Of course, I still want to work for the department.”

Wilson shook her head. “You didn’t answer my question. I asked if you still wanted to investigate murders.”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I disagree.”

Olivia had nearly snorted. “Of course you do. You’re not very agreeable.”

“Deflecting is just going to make this drag, Olivia. You know the deal. You talk and I sign off. You are not talking, which means I cannot sign off. Ergo, do you still want to be a homicide detective?”

“You probably think I should quit?” Olivia pushed up from the couch and walked over to the window overlooking the city. She recalled the days when she would dream to be old enough to dress up for parties and kiss boys. The age came, but never the parties or boys. The city had lost its appeal to her long ago.

“No, I don’t, actually. It’s not my job to make you quit the hard stuff. It’s my job to give you the tools to deal with it.”

“That’s just the thing.” Olivia turned to look at the pretty woman sitting in her pretty chair. “You keep waiting for me to break down and cry about my sad little life, but I’m not going to. I handle whatever comes my way. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“You’ve been drinking for years. That’s not a coincidence. Look, this is compulsory if you want to return to work. If you don’t do it, you’re not going back. Maybe you are using this as a way out.” Wilson’s calm voice felt like a slap across the face. Olivia didn’t know what she wanted anymore, but at this moment, her work is all she had.

It’s all she ever had.

“Fine, I’ll talk. I was kidn*pped and held against my will. It was unpleasant, and I got over it.” She headed back to the couch and sat down–her mild interest in the world outside had already evaporated - just as her patience did.

“What was the reason behind the k********g?”

“What does that matter? According to you, I have to come to terms with what happened to me. Why should the reason be relevant? The outcome would remain the same.”

“The k********g incident is not the only thing I want to discuss. Your story is front page news, Olivia. Your life has been one tragedy after the other. There are a lot of issues we are going to have to work through. The reason for your k********g, being one of them.”

“I have already been to therapy for those issues. No need to dig up the past when it should remain buried.”

“There is every reason to if you still have residual triggers from those issues.”

“I don’t”

“I don’t agree.”

“Of course you don’t.” Olivia got up and left. She didn’t want to lose the last bit of hold she had on her temper and say something she cannot take back. She just wanted to get this over with and get back to work–work keeps her sane and functioning. Talking about her poor life and her poor feelings will not make her feel any better. If that were the case, she should have been the poster child for mental health by now.

Thursday…

By the time the alcohol-induced coma wore off, Olivia was already two hours late for her session with Doctor Ann Wilson. She called the secretary with some half-assed excuse and promised not to miss her next appointment the following day. She rarely ever made promises, but if she wanted to return to work, she’d have to see Doctor Wilson. There was no way around it.

Therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists. Olivia had seen them all. Some suggested mediation and yoga, others suggested forgiveness and acceptance, and then there were the ones who’d prescribed pills and just up the dosage every couple of months when the desired effects were no longer attainable. By the second year, Olivia nearly lost her work because the medication had altered her in such a way that she could barely get two thoughts straight, let alone chase down criminals.

She never would have gone to see the therapists, psychologists, or psychiatrists if she didn’t have those nightmares. She could handle everything else except for the nightmares. Later on, she realized that half a bottle of bourbon usually did the trick.

The pounding came again late in the afternoon. This time the voice was less angry and a lot more female. Olivia got up from her one-seater and yanked the door open.

“Do I need to put up a f*****g sign?” The worry lining her face nearly did Olivia in.

“Olivia.” She gave her a pleading look.

“Seriously, just leave me alone,” Olivia muttered and closed the door in her concerned face.

She waited by the window and saw the Jeep slowly pull away from the curb. In the passenger side, stormy eyes connect with hers. Her chest constricted, but the broken wail pushed through, cupping her face to her hands as she crumpled to the floor.

Friday…

“Why are you so angry all the time?”

“I am not angry. I just don’t have the patience for this, I keep on insisting that I am fine, and you keep on insisting that I am not. Do you want there to be something wrong with me?” There is so much wrong with her, she thought.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course, I don’t want that!” That might have been the first flash of anger Olivia had seen from the Doctor - she quirked an eyebrow at the response. Taking a deep breath, Wilson composed herself and continued, “You have gone through a tremendous amount of trauma without ever really dealing with it. You dig a hole for your emotions and bury them. You don’t even realize how much you need my help.”

“Why, will you look at that?” Olivia eyed the clock on the wall, the hour is up–she sat in silence for a full forty-five minutes but that wasn’t her fault–instead of walking out when asked about the alcohol, she just kept quiet. Olivia wasn’t sure how many times she would have to remind the Doctor that drinking wasn’t a problem, but the solution to one. “Have a lovely weekend, Doctor Wilson!” She shot for the door only to pause halfway there. “If you will not talk on Monday, you might as well not come in. It’s been five days and we’ve gotten nowhere. If you want to go back to work you have to talk, otherwise I’ll end this and you will not like my report to the chief.” Without looking back, Olivia made the rest of the way to the door and gently closed it behind her.

The bitter-sweet memories of home; life was good here until it wasn’t.

Olivia tried to remember why exactly she thought it would be a good idea to come back home after eight years. Maybe she needed closure? Maybe she missed her hometown? But it seems, however, that she just like being miserable.

She kind of felt like a stalker sitting in her ancient Toyota Corolla watching the inhabitants of her childhood home going about their morning routine. Getting the kids ready for school while toiling to get themselves ready for work in between sweaters and breakfast and missing shoes.

When she lost her parents, Olivia couldn’t deal with the estate. The pain was unbearable, and she had to get out, get away. She left her hometown, gave instructions, put the house on sale and its contents given to charity. She wanted nothing to remind her of her parents, foolishly thinking that having those things would make it difficult to move on with her life. Ignore it until it goes away. But that didn’t pan out quite as she wanted it to.

So, here she was - a glutton for punishment, remembering all the great times she had while growing up here. The tree where her swing used to be–her dad used to push her so gently that she’ll get frustrated and demand him to make her fly higher. He never did. Her bedroom window, where she would sit on her knees, praying for the rain to stop so she could go play outside. Her mom would always try to entertain her with some sort of silly game, but nothing sounded better than being outside. Her broken arm from the swing when she flew too high and fell off. Her first kiss on the porch with Logan Riggins. Her mom baking… Long steady inhale, slow controlled exhale. Long steady inhale, slow controlled exhale.

When the panic attack kept boiling under the surface, she knew she shouldn’t be here. She had worked way too hard and came way too far to go down this rabbit hole again. Olivia would like to blame Doctor Wilson for this trip down memory lane, like revisiting her past would somehow help her open up. However, coming to the source of it all did nothing to prepare her for her session today. She started her car and headed towards downtown where Doctor Wilson’s office is. Her brief trip had sunken her mood terribly.

“I am glad to see you came back, Olivia.” The Doctor smiled warmly at her. Olivia just nodded and headed to the sofa. Tired of pretending and done with acting like an angry teenager. She was just so f*****g tired of her bullshit life at this moment.

Without her having to ask, Olivia started…