Panic Attack

The only problem was that Joh

At seven o’clock, about fifteen minutes since Dana had died, there was still no sign of Adam. To keep his alibi, Joh

Joh

Joh

He put the unused knife back in the rack. As he took off his sweatshirt, pulling it up over his head, he thought about hairs and fibers from his hat and DNA evidence. He tried to be as careful as possible, but even if a piece of hair fell out onto the floor he didn’t see why this would be any big deal. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in the house before. Why couldn’t the hair have fallen out the other day?

Just in case, when he had the sweatshirt off he crouched down and looked around. Nope, no hairs.

He put on his leather jacket and leather gloves and then put the sweatshirt away in the backpack. Walking around the body and the blood, he left the kitchen and went through the house toward the front entrance. It sucked that he couldn’t leave through the back, where he was much less likely to be noticed, but he didn’t want to risk the dog making a racket again.

Outside it had gotten totally dark. He opened the front door cautiously. If Bloom was there, Joh

When Joh

Joh

twenty

On his way to work Adam made an emergency appointment with Carol. Reaching her on her cell- she was on a Metro North train, en route from her home in New Rochelle- he told her that he was in the midst of a “major crisis” and had to meet with her immediately.

“My schedule’s full today,” she said.

“I have to see you,” he said desperately. “My life’s falling apart.” She called him back a few minutes later, saying that she’d postponed her ten o’clock appointment so that she could meet with him.

It was the most difficult session Adam had had in years. As he described to

Carol everything that had happened yesterday after he returned from his golf game, he broke down crying several times, especially when he described how

“enraged” and “out of control” he’d felt. Naturally Carol was very detached and supportive. When patients were in the midst of a crisis it was important to let them express themselves, and it was no time for a therapist to intrude with “solutions.” Carol mainly listened, maintaining the constant highly concerned expression that all therapists mastered, as he went on, except during the times he was most upset, when she gave him generic tidbits of support, telling him that it was “natural” to act the way he did and that he didn’t have to “apologize for his feelings.” When he was through with his venting she challenged him a bit more, but still remained very supportive, telling him that he’d felt hurt and betrayed and assuring him that he’d acted the best he could under the circumstances. As the session continued, Adam became increasingly agitated, frustrated, and a

“This isn’t working,” Adam a

Carol, completely unfazed, giving her patient the room to express himself, asked, “What isn’t working?”

“This,” Adam said. “What you’re doing right now. I know what you’re doing, because I’d be doing exactly the same thing. You’re trying to treat me, and I don’t want to be treated.”

“What do you want?”

“I want solutions, I want answers, but I’m never going to get them this way.” “How can you get them?”

“See? You can’t stop analyzing me, not even for a second. Analysis won’t work on me. I can help other people, I know I’ve helped other people, but I need to be told what to do, I need to be fixed. I’m screwing up my whole life right now, and I feel like I can’t stop myself. I feel like I’m addicted to very negative behavior.”

“You know I can’t tell you what to do, Adam.”

“Can’t you just talk to me like a normal human being?”

“If you wanted to talk to a normal human being you wouldn’t’ve called me this morning.”

There was a long pause; then they both laughed, a nice icebreaker. “Fine, you want me to help you. You don’t need my help. How’s that for help?” “I’m not a victim, right? I’m in control of my life, it’s not controlling me.” “See? You have all the answers.”

“But knowing this doesn’t help me.”

“That’s a decision you’re making. Do you really want your marriage to end?”

“No,” he said without hesitation, and at that moment he felt he’d made a breakthrough. True breakthroughs were rare in the therapeutic pro cess, but in his experiences with his own patients he’d seen them come at the least expected times. In his case, by confronting Carol about his lack of progress he’d ironically made more progress than he had in years.

Adam desperately needed a day off to pro cess his feelings, but he couldn’t go home. Although he’d gotten more cancellations and no- shows, he still had several patients scheduled. In his current mindset, it was difficult to take on the role of therapist and counsel other people, but he did his best to be attentive, and he managed to get through the day.