Catch Me if You Can

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains themes of psychiatric illness and violence. I apologize if the details regarding these topics are inaccurate. I tried my best based on my own knowledge and research.

My office is frigid; I can practically see my own breath as I exhale. The walls are a plain beige color, the kind of color where you wonder about the mental state of the one who chose the color to be plastered all over the building. I peer down at my now-stale cup of coffee- black, with no sugars or creamers- and see the faint outline of my reflection staring back at me. “Ahem,” I hear as I suddenly snap my attention back up to the client in front of me; I must have zoned out again. 

“Dr. Hamlin, are you listening to me?” A deep, gravelly voice scolds gruffly. Mr. Ingle is my current client; the lumpy, burnt-orange sofa he is sitting on caves significantly under his weight. I suppress a sigh and look Mr. Ingle straight in the eyes. His amber eyes are somber but filled with a flick of anger and disapproval. He furrows his bushy grey eyebrows and rests his hands on his round belly while he waits for a response.

“Yes. Sorry, Mr. Ingle. Please continue”, I encourage. 

“Hmph. Okay, well, as I was saying…” Mr. Ingle continues, but all I can focus on is how his gravelly voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me. I’m not quite sure how I am going to survive a whole hour chatting with him.

The truth is, I used to be extremely passionate about psychology. I desperately wanted to understand the inner workings of the mind and help people by giving them advice and a shoulder to cry on. But lately, my spark for this career path has dimmed significantly, because how are you supposed to understand the mind of another person when you can’t even understand your own? My night terrors have become horrendous yet again. My most recent one was a terror about me being chased through the woods by a psychopath; that’s ridiculous, of course, but each terror feels horrifyingly like reality. When I am not asleep having night terrors, I am awake tossing and turning with anxiety and paranoia so debilitating that it makes it hard to function. I have tried to take what I have learned about the human brain from years of schooling and apply it to my own self, but to no avail. Nothing is working. In fact, I have considered resigning my position as world-renowned psychologist and going into an early retirement, but I can’t afford that. I am a widowed mother of my beautiful 13-year-old daughter, Audrey, and I want to maintain the life I have worked so hard to give her, so I keep trudging along as a psychologist working in Unit 4B at Indigo Creek Psych Hospital. The client I am with right now is Mr. Lawrence Ingle, who was admitted because he expressed tendencies characteristic of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Right now we are discussing one of his personalities, which he has dubbed as “James”. Mr. Ingle has described James as a friendly guy but with a very sinister side to him. I help Mr. Ingle to overcome James by equipping him with appropriate coping mechanisms to use when James’ sinister side wishes to be unleashed. After his nurse comes into my office and escorts Mr. Ingle back into his room, I breathe a quick sigh of relief. It’s not that I don’t like helping people. I love making them feel better, but sometimes it can just be so exhausting. I’m honestly stoked that Mr. Ingle is my last client of this shift- I can’t wait to go home and see Audrey. I quickly pack up my belongings and head to the breakroom to grab my lunch pail. I haven’t gone grocery shopping in over two weeks, so all I managed to pack today was a mediocre bologna sandwich, an overripe banana, and some sour-cream-and-onion Pringles. Bleh. I’ll have to run to H-E-B before I head home.

As I reach the front door to head out to my car, my bladder decides that it’s a terrific idea to completely fill itself up so that I have to pee really bad all of the sudden. I contemplate holding it until I get home, but decide that that’s a bad idea and swivel on my heel to go to the staff restroom. The hallway of Unit 4B is slightly eerie with cool undertones and the same drab beige color on the walls as my office has. The blinding fluorescent lighting beams down on me as if heaven itself had opened up; it’s never dimly lit in the psych ward. I shiver as I suddenly feel an uneasy quiver ripple through my insides. Someone is watching me. I spin around abruptly and scan the hallway for potential perpetrators. I don’t see any signs that anyone but me is in this hallway right now. Frightened, I quicken my pace to a brisk shuffle and duck into the women's restroom. As I prepare to relieve myself, something on the mirror seizes my eye.

“Catch me if you can, bitch” is written in a thick crimson-red ink across the reflective surface. What the hell? Is this some sort of prank? I stare both at the writing and at myself through the mirror, my hands now shaking. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling overwhelms my stomach, and I barely make it to the toilet before hunching over and retching as my sandwich makes a comeback. All I want now is to get the hell out of here, so I quickly bolt to the restroom door and out into that numbing, uncanny hallway. I continue my quick sprint to the front door. I am about 10 feet away when I abruptly bump into something and find my butt on the floor. 

“Dr. Hamlin, are you okay?” I hear a sickly-sweet female voice ask. I peer up and see Nurse Brin reaching a hand out to me. Nervous, I take her hand and allow her to pull me back onto my feet.

“I’m F-fine, thanks. Sorry for running into you, Nurse Brin,” I exclaim shakily.

“That’s quite alright, Dr. Hamlin, but are you sure you’re okay? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” Nurse Brin expresses, her icy blue eyes filled with concern. I plaster my best fake-smile on my face and look up at her; she has about 4 inches on me, even though I have heels on.

“Yes. Sorry to worry you, Nurse Brin. Audrey just texted me that she threw up at school, so I am in a hurry to go pick her up,” I lie through my teeth.

“Well, okay then,” Nurse Brin says with an expression on her face that shows that she isn’t buying a word I’m saying. “Have a good evening then, Dr. Hamlin.”

“You too, Nurse Brin. And please, call me Sophie.” I utter as I continue to the front door. As soon as I am out of Brin’s line of sight, I quicken my pace to a sprint yet again. I bolt to my car and throw myself into the driver's seat, slamming the door and locking it immediately after I’m inside. I veer onto the highway, feeling instantly less frightened now that I am inside the safety of my Bronco. I chuckle to myself for getting all worked up about the mirror- surely it’s just some silly prank, probably carried out by a patient on the unit. Right?

***************

“Audi, please come help me with these groceries, sunshine!” I call out to Audrey as I carry in five bags of heavy groceries on each arm. Our cat, Cinnamon, nearly trips me as I venture into the kitchen, but I manage to right myself before I go tumbling to the floor for the second time today. Audrey saunters into the kitchen, her eyes glued to her cell phone screen. 

“Pumpkin, please put that device away and help me put away groceries.” I politely urge. I’m met with a very obvious eye-roll from my newly-official teenager. 

“But Mo-om! I’m texting Makenna about how Cade kissed Chelsie when Cade is supposed to be Alyssa’s boyfriend! It’s very important gossip! And don’t call me pumpkin, it’s so cringey!” Audrey whines as she scrunches up her face. Ah, yes, classic 7th-grade drama. I breathe deep as I explain to Audrey that her “gossip” can wait and that I need help carrying in groceries. I’m met with another eye roll and a sassy sigh that makes me decide that her phone privileges will definitely be revoked for a few days and a long, heartfelt conversation is in order for my 13-year-old, but I manage to get her to bring in some groceries. Suddenly, my phone dings with a text message. I unlock my cellular device and peer at who the text is from, the receiver reading as “Unknown.” Usually, I disregard texts from unknown individuals, because they are typically spam, but this message stops me dead in my tracks. “I said, catch me if you can, bitch.” the message states. I slap a hand over my mouth and hear an ear-piercing scream, which I register as my own. This is most definitely not a prank.

***********

I don't sleep a wink. I toss and turn, contemplating who could possibly have sent that message. There is no one in my life who would target me, or at least I don’t think so. Audi and I have lived a pretty quiet life, especially since my husband, Lev, died. I mostly keep to myself, and the only people I talk to are my clients and Jodi, my best friend since high school. She lives up in Pennsylvania with her family now, though, so I only speak to her through the phone. At 4:00am I decide to give up on sleeping and shoot up from my bed. I pace gingerly around my bedroom for a while before going into the kitchen to brew myself a very early morning cup of joe. I decide to add a double-shot of espresso, as I’m gonna need it to make it through my day. A rustle in the trees makes me snap my head toward the window, distracting from my coffee-brewing. Against the morals of every horror movie I’ve ever seen, I decide to go investigate the noise. I can’t live just not knowing what the hell the noise was. I ditch my cup of coffee and throw on my space-gray fleece coat, the luscious fabric instantly warming me. Although, I suppose that could be the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I grab a flashlight and creep carefully out of my backdoor and to the location of the noise, fear already making me regret this decision. But I have to make sure this noise really is nothing, for Audrey’s safety. I tip-toe into the wooded area behind my house, my stomach uneasy. The trees rustle behind me and I spin around abruptly, my eyes being met with an individual. And then I realize something that makes my blood run cold: the individual has a knife. Shit.

********

I hear the shuffle of two pairs of feet- my own, and my attacker’s - as I begin booking it deeper into the woods. I don’t care where I’m going as long as it’s away from Brin. “You won’t be able to run forever, Dr. Hamlin. I’ll eventually catch you if I can. Which I know I can.” I hear Brin not far behind me, her voice laced with poison potent like a thousand dart frogs. I sprint as fast as my legs will carry me, knowing that I must make it out alive for Audrey. That thought makes me tremble with sadness. I picture Audrey’s precious face, sharp and defined, and her strawberry-blonde hair that flutters like dandelions in the wind. I will make it out alive for Audrey. Snapping back to reality, I unexpectedly trip over a large tree branch, my legs giving way and my arms flying out in front of me as I feel myself tumble to the ground in what feels like slow motion. At some point during this game of cat-and-mouse, the sky chose to open up and absolutely pour rain down onto us; I just didn’t notice it until now. The rain, along with my tears, cloud my eyes as I attempt to stand back up. I collapse again and see that my ankle is definitely sprained. So, I flip around into a tabletop position and use whatever strength I have left to muster to push myself backwards. I feel soft earth get caked under my freshly manicured nails as I attempt pathetically to claw myself away from danger. The pitter-pattering of the rain is deafening to my ears, and I wish so desperately to be back home and in bed with my lovely daughter. I see Brin’s sinister smile and ominous gaze bear down on me; she’s getting closer. I do not have enough physical strength to keep trying to get away from her. Instead, I attempt to reason with her and bring out any ounce of humanity that she might have within her.

“Wh-why are you doing this, Brin?” I pant shakily.

“It’s simple, really. Your husband scammed my family out of hundreds of thousands of dollars thanks to his petty hacking scheme. He stole the cash directly from my bank account! How stupid is that?” ” She cackles darkly. “So, since I can’t kill him, I figured ‘Why not seek vengeance on his wife?’ the apple never falls far from the tree.”

Wait- my husband did what? My eyes widen as I remember how we never had to worry about finances when Lev was alive. He never told me exactly what he did for a living, only that he was part of a “unique marketing incorporation.” A vicious sob wracks my body as I remember my late husband, for better or for worse. I don’t have time to dwell on him right now.

“You don’t have to do this, Brin. I can give you your money back right now.” I exclaim desperately.

“Oh, but you can’t, now, can you?” she spits out bitterly. “It was easy, really. I just had to drive your pathetic mind crazy enough with that message on the mirror and the text to your cell to entice you to come investigate out here. I’ve been stalking you for weeks, unbeknownst to you, and tracking your habits and tendencies. This is my only choice, Sophie Hamlin. Catch me if you can.” The glint of her knife sparkles, mocking me in my state of weakness, and the world goes black.

********

“So Sophie, how are you doing? That was quite the episode now, wasn’t it?” Dr. Madsen peers at me. I am sitting on the lumpy burnt-orange sofa and staring at the beige walls that used to belong to me. My office, which is not actually mine anymore, still has that ice-cold tone to it. I stare longingly down at my cup of plain, black coffee. The soft whirr of the central heating system buzzes like a bumblebee as I try to think about what to say. I don’t remember much from the night; I only recall waking up in a hospital bed here in Unit 4B of Indigo Creek Psych Hospital. According to the psychiatrist, I experienced a major schizophrenic episode where I imagined being chased down and stabbed. I was found blacked out in the woods by the local police and was taken here. Brin was nowhere in sight.

“I’m okay, Dr. Madsen. Confused, but okay.” I manage a ghost of a smile, still trying to figure out the inner workings of my own mind. If that was all a hallucination, then why did it feel so real? I spend the rest of my therapy session trying to convince Dr. Madsen that I’m okay. Finally, after our session ends, Brin knocks on the door to escort me back to my room. I feel her hot breath on my skin as she plasters a polite smile on her face. 

“Come along, Sophie.” she beams. She leads me down the crisp, freezing, beige hallway and steers me into my hospital room. And as she leads me to my bed, I swear I can hear her sneer and mumble “you didn’t catch me” under her breath.