Chapter Twenty-Seven: Dr. Sherman:

The next day, I ended up in therapy. This was all Mama’s idea, really.

“You’re too old to be acting like this!” she complained. “It’s just embarrassing!” Grandma didn’t say anything.

“I don’t think that is going to help her, Henry said in a hushed tone. “A therapist will not be enough to stop Miranda. She’s not some mental illness that can be cured.”

“Miranda is not real!” Mama shouted. “Stop encouraging her! I am going to put an end to this right now!” I didn’t argue. I just wanted it all to stop before someone else got hurt. My first session began when school got out for summer. I sat in Dr. Sherman’s office, silent and waiting. I remembered him so well. He looked to be about forty years old. I think he smoked because he smelt like cigarettes and chestnuts. The black dye in his hair didn’t look normal at all. He sounded so effeminate when he spoke. His hands looked so rough. Dr. Sherman always wore sweaters and jeans, even in the summertime. I didn’t know what to make of him during the first session.

“Good morning, Kinsey,” he said on the couch. I wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Good morning,” I muttered.

“How are you today? It is okay to be honest with me. You are safe in here.”

I didn’t really believe him. “Okay…”

“How are you today?”

“A bit nervous, really.”

“That is understandable.”

I didn’t think it was. Dr. Sherman pulled out his notebook and started taking down notes. I looked down at the papers on his desk.

“What is that?” I asked.

“These are just some notes that I take for some of my patients,” he said.

“Notes?”

“Yes. It will help me help you.”

“Okay…”

“Is that a problem?”

I quickly shook my head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Right on. Tell me a little bit about yourself if you don’t mind. Oh, wait. Hang on a minute.” Dr. Sherman reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a tape recorder. I raised an eyebrow.

“What is that for?” I asked.

“Do you mind if I record our session?” he asked. “I can hit stop any time that you want.” I drew my knees to my chest. Dr. Sherman gave me a concerned look.

“Too much?” he asked. I nodded once. He gave me a small shrug.

“That’s fair enough,” Dr. Sherman said. He shoved the tape recorder back into the drawer and picked up his pen.

“Tell me about yourself,” he repeated.

“Okay…” I said. “I am thirteen years old with no siblings. I just live with Grandma, Mama, Ms. Doris, Henry, and Miranda.”

“Who are Ms. Doris, Henry, and Miranda?”

“Oh, Ms. Doris works around our house. Henry just lives with us. And Miranda is… just a friend.”

“Tell more about Miranda. What is she like?”

I bit on my lower lips as I drew my knees to my chest. “She used to be really nice. We would play together. She didn’t try to harm Addie.”

“Who is Addie?”

“She another friend of mine. I met her on when I started school years ago.” The ticking clock in the background made my spine crawl.

“I see,” Dr. Sherman said. “Tell me more about Miranda. You said she used to be nice. What happened? What made her change?” Here it was. This was the question that I feared.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “She got mad when I was talking to this guy from my school. He used to be a jerk. But lately, he seems nice. And kind of cute.” My cheeks turned a light pink before I looked up at Dr. Sherman writing in his notes. He hadn’t spoken in minutes. Did he really believe me? Did he think that I was crazy?

“What do you think so far?” I asked.

“I don’t really know yet,” Dr. Sherman admitted. “We just met and I am just letting you talk.” His words did little to assure me.

“Right…” I said. My eyes moved up to the ceiling.

“Do you believe in monsters?” I asked. I wrote Dr. Sherman stop writing in his notes.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. I shook my head and rested my feet down onto the carpet.

“Not really,” he said. “But that would depend on what monster you are talking about.” I narrowed my eyes.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Well, there are the imaginary monsters and then the human monsters,” Dr. Sherman said. “Which one do you think Miranda is?”

“I… I don’t know,” I said. I did know but I couldn’t put it into words then. I still can’t put it into words now. All I knew looking back was I was starting to see the real Miranda. That conversation with Dr. Sherman brought out the violence in her.