A Perfect Cover Story

Something was off about the room but couldn't point his finger to what it was. Everything appeared the same as it did the last time he came here, and the smell of cigarette covered the air as it usually did. Pamela gazed at Bartley as he kept looking around the room, blurring out every question that she queried. She paused, feeling a slight bit of annoyance before screaming at Barley. His eyes widened and turned to Pamela in full attention.

"What are you doing?" She said as she envelops a risen eyebrow at Bartley.

"Just … You know, looking. Something is off about this room- did you change the curtains? They look lovely."

Bartley pointed and looked at the curtains, swaying the attention from Pamela's line of questioning. Pamela took a peek at the curtains momentarily before taking back control of Bartley's attentiveness.

"You're avoiding me again, Bartley."

"Huh, no. I just wanted to know if you changed the curtain is all."

He snickered to himself a bit but slowly dissipates as Pamela doesn't share his small, heartfelt pleasantry. The room fell into silence. Pamela knows this feeling of dead air when her clients try at every way to avoid the harsh reality that they're in, and she knows Bartley has been trying to do that since they first met.

Bartley takes a deep breath, his tongue wetting his dried lips, and the sense of despair looming over him. He knew his avoidance was temporary and would collapse on him. He wasn't ready to face his darkest moments but tries to linger on what's left of his aspiration.

He looked at Pamela's profound expression, no empathy nor disassociation, but curiousness. Bartley broke the silence within the room as he paused and blinked twice, his mouth opened to say something.

"I'm sorry. It's just- hard for me for these past few days. I … Yeah." He paused, not knowing what else to say to Pamela what he felt. He tries to express the words from his head, but they'd disappear when he feels uncomfortable to divulge them.

Pamela leaned closer to Bartley, she moves her chair closer to him- reaching out his hand and grasping onto his right palm. Bartley moved his hands away from hers, his anxiety caught up to him and expressing disgust yet fear expression at Pamela.

"Oh- right. Sorry. I forgot." Pamela said as she leaned back, her left hand crumpled up in regret.

"It's fine. I'm still getting used to this." Bartley replied back to Pamela as he stood up, calming himself and softening his right hand.

Bartley had been doubtful of himself over the past few days, feeling negative than usual. His boss asked him to take a couple weeks off after what happened but refused in a poignant manner. He however couldn't refuse to participate sessions with Pamela Mary, a psychologist employed by the department and a distant relative to the infamous Bloody Mary.

Pamela was a companion in Bartley's mind, not in an affectionate manner, but rather someone who he can trust and rely on. After Bartley lost his partner, his sense of reality disintegrated. His job is the only remnant of his sanity that motivates his grasp to this world.

Pamela leaned to her left to snatch her recorder and paused it. She grabs the lit cigarette as she placed the recorder beside it, inhaling and exhaling the smoke from her lungs. The smoke floated in the air and Bartley sighed at Pamela as he glanced at the clocktower next to the mirror.

"I guess time's up?" Bartley said and wondered.

"Yeah. I guess our session is over. Progress isn't there … But, as a friend, you really need to let it all out Bartley. I care about you." Pamela expressed her concerns aloud to him, reaching out to his insecure shell as he looked at her face.

"I will. I will."

"You said that last time, and the previous session after that. Just tell me next time I'll see you, please."

Bartley paused, his throat cleared and glanced once more at the clocktower. He wanted to say something, but he felt that anything he would say would surely be meaningless to her. He looked at her eyes and nodded without any word. Pamela sighed, straightening her glasses and stacking up the folder laying next to her ashtray.

Bartley fetched his jacket from the hanger and rolled it under his armpit. He placed both his hands inside his pockets and looked at Pamela as she stood from her seat.

"So, how is Bloody Mary?"

"Ugh. No need to call her by that name." She replied in irritation.

Bartley smirked slightly by her tone. "Alright, alright. I should be going since I wouldn't want to disturb your little dark magic experiment."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Pamela said sarcastically. Her eyes rolled as she carried Bartley's file and recorder to her file cabinet. She neatly placed them alphabetically with the rest, not caring enough to get a lock for her patient's confidential files. Bartley walked towards the door and stopped in front of it. He sighed deeply and waited for a moment before he could grab the handle and open it. Pamela's office was like a refuge for him to relax and not embrace the smell of insensate that plagued the city. He hesitated but shook it off as he opened the door and slowly walked out.

Before he could walk away, Pamela appeared In front of him out of nowhere. Unphased by her sudden appearance, Pamela stood straight and glared at Bartley. She was a bit too close to him and felt something as he too leaned close to her.

"What is this?" He whispered to Pamela as he neared her soft lip.

Pamela leaned back and smiled at Bartley. Her hands behind her back and her head tilted at him. She gave out a chuckle before she could say anything. "Nothing. I just wanted to say … Good luck."

Bartley stared at Pamela with his eyebrow up. He blushed a bit from her wishes of luck. He smiled back and nodded at her. A spark stimulated between their stare, he felt confused yet conflicted about her. Before he could say anything, his phone buzzed and caught his attention. It was a message from his boss, his presence was needed at the station.

"You too." Bartley said to Pamela as he headed out and waved at her. The station wasn't too far from Pamela's building, but sped up his pace as he valued every second that passes by