Outpatient - A Story of Horror and Madness by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 8

The next morning, Catherine decided on a morning hike around Stratton Pond and stopped at its far side, sitting on a large rock to rest. She looked up at the Bigelow range and remembered her hike to the top with Nancy. Now, the August heat had shrouded the mountains in an almost opaque veil of haze. She sat on the rock watching the water rippling near her feet, wondering what the outcome of her psych appointment would be. Nancy's attempt to comfort her yesterday didn't do much to calm the terrifying possibility of going back to AMHI. She started back, continuing around Stratton Pond until she returned home. Upon entering her front door, Catherine unclipped the belt that her water bottle hung from and tossed it on the couch. She sat in the chair nearest her father's picture and looked into his eyes. “Daddy, I don"t want to go,” she muttered to herself more than to the image of her father.

The tears welled up again, and she pulled her knees up into the fetal position, with her arms wrapped around her knees. She began to cry softly to herself, tucking her face into her knees as though she was trying to hide and drifted off into a light sleep. She woke with a start from the half-hour chime of the clock on the wall. Catherine noticed that it was two thirty and her appointment was at four o'clock. It would take an hour to get to Franklin Memorial's medical arts building, so she had to get ready a little faster than usual.

Catherine left for her psychiatrist's appointment. She scratched Ivan on the top of the head as she left, and he tipped his head up, closing his eyes. He loved having his head scratched and purred loudly as he pushed toward Catherine's fingertips. Catherine left the cabin, closing the door firmly behind her and making sure it was locked. Walking over to her car, she opened it remotely and climbed in. She drove a Nissan 350 Z, having had it special ordered in forest green, she considered it to be the perfect fusion of practicality, efficiency, and speed. With a noticeable touch of the sexy sports car she'd always dreamed of having. The interior was jet black with gun metal gray trim, and the seats were covered with black leather. At night, the arch-shaped dash lit up with a multitude of indicators and lighted buttons, with a heads-up display of the speedometer reflecting off the lower left windshield. Catherine often thought that this must be what it was like to sit in the cockpit of an F-27, and driving it at night gave her a bit of a rush. Whenever she gunned the engine, Catherine would swear it sounded like the brief roar of a lion. She crept slowly down the dirt road that led to Route 27 and as she pulled out into the southbound lane, the car's tires kicked out a bit of loose dirt from the road. Catherine tried to be careful how she pulled out into traffic, but secretly she loved the sound the tires made as they spit out the dry, loose dirt and gravel.

As she began the drive to Farmington, Catherine began to unconsciously grip the wheel tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. She"d release her grip and then tighten it back up again. She caught herself doing it when one of her knuckles cracked. Catherine was very well aware of the reason for her anxiety. Ten miles into her drive, she glanced at the heads-up display.

“Holy shit,” she muttered, with both surprise and disbelief.

The speedometer read 72 miles an hour. Now, it occurred to her that she had to relax and slow down. After all, she reasoned to herself, this could all be in her imagination. Sometimes, Catherine would get an idea in her head and get herself worked up over it. Then later, as events unfolded, she'd realize that her anxiety was caused only by herself. She began driving east, past Sugarloaf Mountain. The trails were bare and empty, but the mountain didn't need snow for its beauty to be seen. She started the turn south and within 5 or 10 minutes the peak of Mount Abraham began to show itself through the thin summer haze. Catherine always found the mountains both glorious and incredibly soothing. At home, she