and recovering your dead son is normal. And, Emma, this sense of presence you’re experiencing does occur as part of the grieving process. The hallucination of seeing Tyler rescued, the phone call, things that are even characteristic of spiritual or metaphysical phenomenon—the profound conviction that Tyler is alive in another time and space—this is all part of the grieving process.”
“It is? Is someone calling you to tell you your son is alive part of the grieving process?”
Pierce let a long silent moment pass.
“Emma, your leaving home to search for Tyler at the clinic in California, the symbolic place of his origin, is extreme, but it is still part of the mourning process. As is your anxiety, your disbelief, even your self-recrimination. As you said, you were the one who suggested the picnic, which resulted in the drive and accident. You said that had you not gone on that drive the tragedy never would have happened. This is survivor’s guilt. Essentially all of these symptoms have converged to form your yearning, and at the same time, deceive you into believing Tyler is alive. It’s a protective mechanism.”
“Wait!” Emma held up her hands. “I don’t understand.”
“I know it’s difficult to absorb what I’ve identified.”
“No. Not that. I thought you believed that Tyler was alive, that the phone call, the information I obtained from Polly Larenski—who admitted she sold Tyler’s files, admitted someone somewhere has Tyler—all pointed to the fact that there is some sort of plan, plot or conspiracy going on.”
“No, Emma, I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”
“I thought with you being from L.A., that you had contacts with police, authorities, that you were going to help me follow up on Polly’s information. It was all very real. I did not hallucinate any of that.”
“Emma, I understand—” he cleared his throat “—but I also agree with the earlier observation by Dr. Kendrix that you were hearing and searching out what you needed to hear to counter your disbelief. You need to be assured that Tyler did not suffer in the fire while you lay a few feet away unable to go to him.”
“No!” She clenched her hands into fists. “You are my only hope.”
Pierce said nothing as a long awkward silence passed.
“Emma. I understand that you believe deeply that what you’ve experienced is reality, that it has in fact happened. I promised at the last session that once I had your test results, I would explain how I would help you confront what is real. And that’s what I’ve done.”
All the blood drained from Emma’s face as he reached for a pad.
“I’m going to give you a strong prescription and I want you to follow it.”
As his pen scraped across the pad, Emma shut her eyes.
Her faint light of hope had gone out.
Pierce tore the page from his pad. It was the sound of betrayal as Emma felt the last measure of hope being ripped from her heart.
Pierce was like all the others.
He didn’t believe her.
No one believed her.
She sat motionless in the chair as Pierce went around his desk and opened his office door to where Emma’s aunt Marsha and uncle Ned had been waiting.
“She’ll need this prescription.” Pierce gave it to Emma’s aunt. “You can get it filled at the hospital pharmacy on your way out. Emma—” Pierce put his hand on her shoulder “—I’ll see you Friday at the same time?”
She said nothing.
“We’ll have her here,” Uncle Ned said.
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Aunt Marsha.
No one spoke in the car. Emma sat with Aunt Marsha in the back. Uncle Ned drove and fiddled with the radio, finding a classical music station. He kept the sound low.
Emma loved them. Their devotion to her was unyielding, never giving way to their own pain. She could not have survived this far without them. They were halfway across town, stopped at a red light, when Emma made a decision.
“Can you please take me to the cemetery?”
Uncle Ned looked in the rearview mirror where he found Aunt Marsha’s face and the answer.
“Of course, dear,” Emma’s aunt said.
When they reached the entrance to the Sun View Park Cemetery, Emma asked her uncle to stop.
“I’d like to go the rest of the way alone. I’ll walk home later.”
“But, dear?” Aunt Marsha was worried.
“I need some time alone out here, a long time.”
“We can wait, or come back,” Uncle Ned said.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll walk home. I just need to be alone, to think.”
The anxiety in her aunt’s eyes was clear.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Marsha.”
“Try telling the