Season 1, Episode 1
A Difficult Patient
Content Warnings:
-Alcohol Abuse
-Discussion of near sexual assault[Pre-episode announcement]
Hey, everyone! Before we begin, I just wanna give a quick heads-up. The Marksbury Incident will have some recurring themes that may be uncomfortable for some listeners, including depression, anxiety, survivor’s guilt, and murder, including that of a child. There will also be episode-specific content warnings in the descriptions of each episode. As excited as we are to share this story with the world, our main priority is always going to be the health and safety of everyone involved. But for now, take care of yourselves, and enjoy!
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[Therapist’s office. Day. The recording begins, and there are a few seconds of awkward silence.]
NARRATOR
This is stupid.
THERAPIST
You haven’t even started yet.
NARRATOR
What’s the point? How is this any different than what we usually do?
THERAPIST
I told you. Being able to go back and re-listen to sessions could be helpful. Maybe give you reminders about what we wanted to work on.
[Narrator scoffs.]
THERAPIST (Cont.)
If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to hear it. [He sighs] Look. If you don’t start working with me, I’m going to have to report it. I’ve been telling them that your post traumatic stress has been making progress slow, but it’s only a matter of time before they decide that it’s non-compliance. Not everyone gets this chance. Please. Don’t throw it away.
NARRATOR
...Fine. Fine, okay.
THERAPIST
We’ll just record this one for now and we’ll go from there. It might be a bit awkward at first, but it could help.
NARRATOR
...Do you think they made the right decision? I mean, with what happened…. It’s not like it was a misdemeanor.
THERAPIST
I think that they saw you the way that I do. A good person who made a mistake. You know better than anyone what kind of state you were in afterwards. And I think they realized that there wasn’t any real malicious intent.
NARRATOR
...Right.
THERAPIST
So you’ll cooperate?
NARRATOR
Yeah. Fine.
THERAPIST
Good. So you said last week you were going to go through your mother’s things?
NARRATOR
Yeah. I managed to do it.
THERAPIST
That’s good. How did it go?
NARRATOR
Okay I guess? Dad kept a lot more than I expected. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of much, but… some of the less sentimental things. Clothes, mostly. Things she never wore much. And… turns out she kept a lot of the drawings I did as a kid in a box under her bed, too. I saved a couple, but most of them I threw out. Then an old journal or diary or something that was in some weird mix of Italian and Gaelic, and a couple of pictures.
THERAPIST
Were the pictures of her?
NARRATOR
Yeah, mostly. There were some of her friend, too. Lauren, I think her name was? Laura? Mom would tell me about her sometimes. Here, I, um… I brought one.
[The Narrator unzips his bag and retrieves the picture]
THERAPIST
Why’s it ripped?
NARRATOR
I don’t know. That’s just how I found it. There were a lot that were ripped, actually…. I-- I imagine it’s the result of a bad breakup or something.
THERAPIST
Makes sense. You were okay, though?
NARRATOR
I mean, I had to take a few breaks during it. I think it took… four hours to go through the three boxes?
THERAPIST
No shame in that.
NARRATOR
I did have a bit of a breakdown after, though. But… nothing new there, I guess.
THERAPIST
When that happens, what do you do to calm down?
NARRATOR
Depends. On good days I grab a book and try to focus on that.
THERAPIST
And what about the bad days?
NARRATOR
...Cheap whiskey and cigarettes. But I’ve been trying to quit.
THERAPIST
And after going through the boxes, was that a good day or a bad day?
NARRATOR
Somewhere in the middle, I guess? I promised myself I wouldn’t drink, so I went for a walk.
THERAPIST
That’s good. That’s very good.
NARRATOR
...Yeah.
THERAPIST
...You don’t sound so sure about that.
NARRATOR
No, it’s…. It’s fine. It was good, it got my mind off of it.
THERAPIST
...Did something happen on your walk?
NARRATOR
Nothing you want to hear about.
THERAPIST
Try me.
NARRATOR
...You’re going to think I’m crazy.
THERAPIST
I’m a psychologist. Once again, try me.
NARRATOR
[He takes a deep breath] ...It was… maybe two in the morning? I-- I think that’s about right, I lost track around 12:30. I'd spent pretty much my whole day putting off going through the stuff, then the rest of the night either actually doing it or calming myself down. Mostly the latter. Then I kept running into some of my dad's things, as well, so that kept hitting me, too. I guess Evelynn missed some things when she was cleaning it all out. Or maybe she thought I would want some of it? I don't know. Anyway, I'm getting distracted. I was walking past this bar a few streets over from my house. It’s not the most high-brow place in the world, so I made sure to cross the street before I got there. Never know what people will do when they're not thinking straight. Especially since… you know, I'm not exactly the most masculine or threatening person in the world. So I kept a safe distance. Nothing looked suspicious. I could see that the TVs inside had been switched off, so it must have been past last-call. Then I noticed. There was a woman leaning against the wall, doubled over. She had her hands in her pockets, and she was wearing this… deep red hoodie, with her hair hanging loose, covering her face. Even from so far away, I could tell that it was slick with grease, or… something. It was reflecting the streetlights. I think that’s what made me notice her, actually. The glint caught my eye.
NARRATOR (Cont.)
I wasn't about to judge, you never know someone's circumstances. I’ve certainly been in worse condition. I actually considered crossing the street to offer her what change I had in my pocket, but I didn't want to assume she was homeless and end up being wrong. Besides, nothing weird about someone hanging out outside of a bar as it was closing. Maybe she was waiting for a ride home, or getting her bearings before she started walking. Then… two men came out of the bar. They were drunk enough that I could tell neither would remember a thing in the morning, and the taller of the two was laughing and practically hanging off of his friend. He saw the woman and they both fell quiet as they... looked at each other. I could tell what they were thinking. It doesn't take a genius to piece it together. I think that was when I stopped walking. I watched as the taller one went over to the woman, and I couldn't tell what he was saying, but… I had a pretty good guess. She didn't move, but he kept at it, he wouldn’t give it up. I think it lasted two minutes total. He kept getting more and more aggravated, and I was about to yell over that I was going to call the cops. He reached his hand out like he was going to grab her, but he just… he just stopped. His eyes went wide for a moment, and even from that distance, I could see his terror. Looking back, I think he was probably dead before he hit the ground. His friend ran over to him, he was… screaming. Nothing coherent, he was much too drunk for that. Intoxicated on both alcohol and the fear. And even with everything that was going on, with all that noise? Not a single person came to make sure that he was okay. There was no way that no one heard. They just didn't care. You know, I never understood the phrase "Sent a chill down my spine". But… turns out it feels more literal than I imagined. I-- I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what I could do. So I just stood there as his screams were cut off by the sound of him choking as he clutched his throat, desperate for air, eyes locked onto her and pleading for mercy. And once he finally went quiet, then the woman finally began to move.
NARRATOR (Cont.)
She looked up at me. Slow, and I was certain that she'd known I'd been watching the whole time, and was anticipating my response. But her movements were jerky, like she had to force every joint to bend or twist. And I heard a voice. Her voice. I-- I don’t know how I know, but there's no doubt in my mind. Even though she was still across the street, it sounded like she was whispering, rasping in my ear with lungs that hadn’t been used in at least a decade. She said my name. And for some reason, hearing that made me certain that I was going to die. I ran, I locked myself in my house the moment I got home. Every step of the way, I knew she was behind me, I could hear her voice, I could feel her just… there. A couple times, I looked back. I never saw her walk, but she was always the same distance behind me. After I got home, it took me an hour before I finally started to calm down. I thought it was over. But just as I was regaining my composure, there it was again. My name, hardly an inch from my ear. I hated myself for it, but I forced myself to look out the window, and there she was. Just staring at me.
THERAPIST
Did you call the police?
NARRATOR
A-- And tell them what? That there was a person looking at my house? And that two guys had dropped dead just by talking to her? I’m sure they would take that well. Especially from me, the local convicted felon.
THERAPIST
So what did you do?
NARRATOR
I just… sat in my bedroom, in the dark, away from the windows. Like a child. [Laughs] I kept hearing her voice, so I knew that she was still out there even when the sun started to come up. Eventually, I ended up getting the nerve to look again. She had stood there, in the same spot, all night. Just watching. I’ll admit I kinda lost it at that point. I don’t know what I was planning on happening. But I was so freaked out, I-- I didn’t think. I went outside and grabbed a rock out of the garden, and I shouted at her to tell me what she wanted, to leave me alone. If I woke up any of the neighbors, they didn’t say anything. I threw the rock, and-- and I want you to know that I didn’t mean to hit her. I just wanted to scare her off or something. But it did hit her. Right in the chest, around the Xiphoid Process. And she… She crumpled. I mean that literally. It hit the hoodie, but it didn’t hit a person. The moment it made contact, all of her clothes fell to the ground, and I realized that there was nothing inside them.
THERAPIST
So… like a ghost?
NARRATOR
No. No, I don’t believe in ghosts. I think there’s something after death, something that gives people awareness, personality, life-- [He cuts off, takes a breath] ...But no, not ghosts. I don’t know what it was. But the clothes were gone when I looked out an hour later. [Beat.] So. Believe me?
THERAPIST
...I did read that there were two men found dead outside of a bar. One from a brain hemorrhage and the other asphyxiation.
NARRATOR
But I suppose you think that’s a coincidence.
THERAPIST
...I think it’s... interesting. I think the figure you’re describing could potentially be a manifestation of your internalized guilt over the deaths of--
NARRATOR
Yeah, see? You think it was a hallucination.
THERAPIST
I’m just saying, you did have similar experiences while you were in the hospital.
NARRATOR
That was different! Believe me, I know how it sounds, I’m not an idiot. Would you say the same thing to someone who walked in here saying they saw a vision of Jesus?
THERAPIST
That’s--
NARRATOR
[Bitterly]
Different?
THERAPIST
A religious belief. You’ve told me yourself you aren’t religious.
NARRATOR
...Okay, fine. But you can understand where I’m coming from.
THERAPIST
I suppose. I just have to entertain every possibility. Preferably the scientific ones. Henry is studying psychology, right?
NARRATOR
[Softly]
...Please don’t.
THERAPIST
Right, sorry. I’m just saying, you have to know that if I just accepted every instance of ghosts or unexplainable events as true, I would be out of a job. I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing. [Beat.] How’s he doing?
NARRATOR
[He scoffs]
Seriously?
THERAPIST
You know what I mean. Has there been any progress?
NARRATOR
Not at all.
THERAPIST
You still visiting him?
NARRATOR
Every day.
THERAPIST
What do you do when you’re there?
NARRATOR
Talk, mostly. Sometimes I end up falling asleep.
THERAPIST
You know, not many people would have that much dedication. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.
NARRATOR
...Yeah. Really lucky.
THERAPIST
You don’t agree?
NARRATOR
It’s… complicated. I don’t think…. [He trails off, steadying himself] Sorry.
THERAPIST
No, it’s okay. You’ve opened up a lot today.
NARRATOR
The threat of prison will do that to a person.
THERAPIST
Maybe so. But we’ve been at this since March, and I still feel like I hardly know you. The therapists you went to before me all said the same thing; That you had trouble before, and that ever since you lost your brother, things have only gotten worse. I still think it would be good if you talked to your sister.
NARRATOR
Not gonna happen.
THERAPIST
You both have been through a lot, you’re the only family she has left.
NARRATOR
And yet, she’s made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me. So forgive me if I’m not jumping at the idea.
THERAPIST
It couldn’t hurt to try.
NARRATOR
You don’t know Evelynn. It very well could. I can’t tell you the amount of times we wrestled as kids, and I never won a single time. [A small laugh] But no, in all seriousness, I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, she cleared out pretty much all of our father's things when I was… you know.
THERAPIST
Recovering.
NARRATOR
Recovering, sure. Whatever you wanna call it. I thought that at the very least, losing him would help close the gap between us. But then… I don't know why I thought that, she didn't even look at me at Billy's funeral, I-- [His voice falters, and his breath shakes] I-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't--
THERAPIST
No, it's okay. We're still working on it. That's more than you usually feel comfortable with. Do you think the recording helped?
NARRATOR
A little? I still couldn't talk about anything important, though.
THERAPIST
How about this? We'll record sessions every so often, not every week. And for homework, you can record at home. About whatever you feel like. Be it what happened, or even just about your day. Maybe saying it out loud without anyone around will help you eventually talk about it here so we can work on it.
NARRATOR
...Do I have a choice?
THERAPIST
[Smug, but kind]
Not really.
NARRATOR
And here I was thinking therapists were supposed to help people stop talking to themselves.
THERAPIST
I'll see you next week, okay?
NARRATOR
Right, yeah.
[The door opens]
THERAPIST
Oh, and before you go?
NARRATOR
Hmm?
THERAPIST
I'm really proud of you.
NARRATOR
...Right.
[The door shuts]