The Silent Patient

by Alex Michaelides

We’re like a married couple who have fallen out of love. Today I realized just how much I dislike him.

My face was feeling hot and I was getting angry. I couldn’t control it. I tried to paint but my hand was shaking.

I’d intended to break it to him more gently. But somehow I was unable to stop myself. And the funny thing is, I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to be brutal.

RAge problem?

pulled two tickets from inside his jacket and showed them to me—they were for a tragedy by Euripides, at the National. “I’d like you to come with me. It’s a more civilized way to say goodbye, don’t you think?

This is the Acestis greek play. Did JF set her up to keep her art?

“Like he owns you or something. I think you should leave the gallery now—before the show.” “I can’t do that—it’s too late. I don’t want him to hate me. You don’t know how vindictive he can be.” “It sounds like you’re afraid of him.” “I’m not. It’s just easier this way—to pull away gradually.” “The sooner the better. He’s in love with you.

Jean posessive over Alicia

I am afraid of him.

The person you love most in the world has condemned you to die, through their own cowardice. That’s quite a betrayal.”

How does Alcestis feel?” I knew the answer this time. “Angry. She’s … angry.” “Yes.” Diomedes nodded. “More than angry. She’s murderous—with rage.”

that was why Rowena disliked Alicia—jealousy.

It was a small movement. Tiny, really. Nonetheless, it spoke volumes. Alicia smiled.

“She’s not going to seduce me, Christian.” He laughed. “I think she already has. You’re giving her just what she wants.” “I’m giving her what she needs. There’s a difference.” “How do you know what she needs? You’re overidentifying with her. It’s obvious. She’s the patient, you know—not you.”

“Is it all in storage?” After a slight pause he answered, “Well, no, actually … I have all her stuff.”

Weirdo kepkng her stuff. Profiting off of her or obsessed?

Jean-Felix was scared of coming here, scared of seeing Alicia. Why? What was there between them? What was it that he didn’t want to face?

So Kathy hadn’t been lying about meeting Nicole. I registered my emotions with shock—I ought to have been hugely relieved that Kathy had been telling the truth. I ought to have been grateful. But I wasn’t. I was disappointed.

He wanted an excuse to leave. To feel justified in his emotions

Alicia had painted a redbrick building, a hospital—unmistakably the Grove. It was on fire, burning to the ground. Two figures were discernible on the fire escape. A man and a woman escaping the fire. The woman was unmistakably Alicia, her red hair the same color as the flames. I recognized the man as myself. I was carrying Alicia in my arms, holding her aloft while the fire licked at my ankles. I couldn’t tell if I was depicted as rescuing Alicia—or about to throw her in the flames.

All expensive items, but crammed together like this, they looked like junk. Taken as a representation of Barbie’s mind, it suggested a disordered inner world, to say the least. It made me think of chaos, clutter, greed—insatiable hunger. I wondered what her childhood had been like.

Alicia told Barbie she was being watched. The police had presumably thought Barbie was attention-seeking and making it up,

It meant that Alicia had been scared enough to appeal to Barbie for help—and afterward to Gabriel. What then? Did Alicia confide in someone else? I needed to know.

I had a sudden image of myself as a child. A little boy close to bursting with anxiety, holding in all my terrors, all my pain; pacing endlessly, restless, scared; alone with the fears of my crazy father. No one to tell. No one who’d listen. Alicia must have felt similarly desperate, or she’d never have confided in Barbie. I shivered—and sensed a pair of eyes on the back of my head. I spun around—but no one was there. I was alone. The street was empty, shadowy, and silent.

Projecting. Identifying WIth alicia but its his own trauma?

She was totally calm, perfectly still, like a statue. Her expression reminded me sharply of the painting—the Alcestis. Blank, expressionless. Empty. She stared straight at me. For the first time, I felt afraid.

“That you’re soft on her.” I was startled by this. Before I could respond, Elif went on, speaking with cold contempt. “You’re in love with her, mate. I told her so. ‘He loves you,’

We need to be brave enough to sit with the madness, to hold it—instead of trying to lock it up.”

The sun was low in the sky, coloring the river bloodred.

I pretended to smile, and so did he.

An intimate kitchen-sink tragedy.

A man is condemned to die, and his wife, Alcestis, wants to save him. The actress playing Alcestis looked like a Greek statue, she had a wonderful face—I kept thinking about painting her. I thought about getting her details and contacting her agent.

Alcestis dies and is reborn. She literally comes back from the dead. There’s something there that I need to think about. I’m not sure exactly what yet.

I couldn’t get Alcestis’s death and resurrection out of my mind—

“You need to be careful,” he said. “You’re way too trusting. The people around you … you trust them. Don’t. Don’t trust them.”

couldn’t get close enough to him or feel him deeply enough in me. I wanted to be fused with him. I wanted to climb inside him and disappear.

“What do you mean, vanished?” “He just disappeared.” “Uh-huh. Is there any chance you could be imagining this?” Something about the way he said that annoyed me. “I’m not imagining it. I need you to believe me.” “I do believe you.” But I could tell he didn’t totally believe me. He only partly believed me. Part of him was just humoring me. Which makes me angry, if I’m honest. So angry I have to stop here—or I might write something I’ll regret.

I was conscious the whole time of something. I kept looking over my shoulder—but couldn’t see anyone. But someone was there, the whole time. I could feel it. I was being watched.

don’t know why I told Barbie about it. I don’t like her or trust her—but I was scared, I suppose, and I needed someone to talk to, and she happened to be there.

was all in my imagination—that’s what Gabriel will say. Best not to say anything to him at all and risk upsetting him again. I don’t want to bother him. I’m going to forget all about it.

Gabriel held out his hand for mine—I wanted to slap it away or scratch it. I wanted to bite him or hit him, or throw him over the table and scream, “You think I’m fucking crazy but I’m not crazy! I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!” But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead I nodded and took Gabriel’s hand, and held it.

He looked at me like I was an insect or something.

“You’re trying to get me to admit I’m going crazy again—like after Dad died.” “Is that what you think is happening?” “No. That time I was sick. This time I’m not sick. Nothing’s the matter with me—apart from the fact that someone is spying on me and you won’t believe me!”

Even saying it made me feel sick. The thought of losing him, I couldn’t bear it. I’d do anything to keep him—even pretend I’m crazy when I know I’m not. So I gave in.

West looked pleased. He said we could go downstairs now and rejoin Gabriel. As he went downstairs in front of me, I thought about reaching forward and shoving him down the stairs. I wish I had.

There’s no one else I can talk to. No one I can trust.

I know all this sounds crazy. I hope nothing comes of it. I hope I never see the man again. But I have a horrible feeling I will. Where is he? Why hasn’t he been here? Is he trying to get me to lower my guard? I mustn’t do that. I must continue my vigil by the window. Keep waiting. Keep watching.

I was transfixed, staring at a Medusa, turned to stone.

for a few seconds I had a confused, out-of-body experience, convinced I was watching myself walking in the park with Kathy.

I would have died for Kathy. I would have killed for her.

“It’s not ivy, it’s jasmine.”

Why didn’t Alicia die instead?’”

I’ll never forget it. ‘He killed me,’ she said. ‘Dad just—killed me.’”

Just as Admetus had physically condemned Alcestis to die, so had Vernon Rose psychically condemned his daughter to death.

What your father said is tantamount to psychic murder. He killed you.” This time she reacted. She looked up sharply—straight at me. Her eyes seemed to burn right through me. If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead. I met her murderous gaze without flinching.

I felt a small flicker of pride—a son congratulated by his father. I was conscious of my desire to please Diomedes, justify his faith in me and make him proud. I felt a little emotional. I lit a cigarette to disguise it.