The Devil Wears Black
Candles flicker in the absence of a clock, counting down the hour drawing near. Perhaps if not for Allison’s father who sat adjacent to her, she may have forgotten about their wait. The way he tests his own patience often put Allison on edge: he bounces his leg, clears his throat, crosses his arms—all unspoken reminders that he hasn’t got all day. Somehow one way or another, Carter Mae has a unique way of being the most impatiently-patient man in the room. Even though they arrived an hour early to her appointment, he still makes her feel late.
Against his unwavering glare, she focuses on the room. It’s relatively bland for a foyer, she thinks, made up of mute black and brown furniture. Maybe it’s the candle light, but the world here feels glower and poor. Despite the darkness, there is a vibrant painting hung across from Allison that catches her eye—a violet orchid blooming in the rain, almost stubbornly glowing to life. For a moment, Allison could feel something almost cathartic while staring at it.
“We can always leave,” Carter says gruffly.
Allison reels back to reality, and shoots him a confused glance. His patience finally waned, she thinks and ignores him. Carter says, “whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it here. You will find it in the word of God, should you wake up early enough to hear his sermons.”
“Is he making T.V. appearances now?” she asks rhetorically. Carter sits up and scoffs, ready to lecture her. Just then—the office door opens and a petite woman with short, dark hair peers into the room. She offers Allison a knowing glance and smiles at the two.
“Allison Mae,” she calls. Her voice is much deeper than expected.
“Yes,” Allison shoots up from her chair and retreats behind the woman quickly. Carter sighs heavily, reluctant as he stands to leave. Instead, the woman gives him a short wave to follow her, and he puts his hands up to decline.
“No, no,” he insists, “this is just for her. She won’t want me here for this kind of thing… trust me.”
“I understand,” says the woman, “but since Allison is still under the age of eighteen, she must have a parent to sign her in and out of appointments. I’ll also need a bit more information as well before you go.”
Carter hesitates as he glances between the woman and his daughter. Then with a reluctant sigh, he nods and promptly follows behind.
As soon as they enter the office, Allison notices that the left wall is nothing but a window. The natural light pouring in is merciless compared to the waiting room, and without curtains to cover it up, it’s blinding. She squints and shields her face with a hand as she looks around. The office itself is massive, and from floor to ceiling the entire room looks more like the opening of a cathedral. On the far other side from where she stands is a bookshelf, one reaching from wall to wall and ceiling to floor, brimming with books from every end. As she follows closely behind the woman, she is brought to a step down lounge.
“Please, have a seat,” she says. Allison takes her place on a black leather couch, leaning into a throw pillow as Carter sits in a chair adjacent to her. The woman hurries to sit across from them, picking up a folder with Allison’s name on it. As she opens it, she writes down a few things and then turns to Carter.
“I’ll try to make this quick,” she says. “Firstly, my name is Azryel—I will be Ms. Allison’s case manager. That means I will be here to help provide her resources, as well help identify goals for Ms. Allison to work toward. I will also be helping manage her appointments, and meeting with her almost as regularly as she will be with Mr. Morningstar.” Upon hearing this, Carter curls a brow in dismay which makes Allison’s heart begin to race. “We provide a six-month program for all patients, and in this time, identify stress factors, offer critical thinking exercises, and practice healthy coping mechanisms.
Every month, we will conduct a wellness update to track Allison’s progress, and determine if further treatment is necessary. You are welcome to unenroll her from our program at any time, and we can provide her treatment plan to you, should you choose to take her elsewhere. Now—” she slides the folder across the coffee table toward Carter, pen resting atop a form, “—this is our Consent to Treat form, stating you are allowing us to treat Ms. Allison for the time being. If you don’t have any questions, please sign the bottom line.”
Carter picks up the pen and then stops. Skeptically, he glances up at Azryel and asks, “how much is this going to cost?”
Azryel smiles and says, “we are a facility funded by the state, whatever cost you would have been paying should be covered by your insurance.”
“That sounds a little too good to be true,” he comments and looks to Allison. She sinks in her seat, pressing herself further against the nook of the couch. After a moment of silence, Carter sighs heavily through his nose and signs the form. Scooping it back up, Azryel flips through a handful of pages.
“Now, I will need to get some general information about Ms. Allison’s background—if you don’t mind.”
“Listen,” Carter says, “there’s no information I haven’t already given you when I filled out the intake form. I think I’ve cut into her time enough to meet with this therapist-guy, and you have my contacts and insurance. Can I go ahead and leave?”
As Carter stands, so did Azryel. She appears almost stunned by his sudden need to rush out, but keeps her composure. Quickly filing through the pages, she double checks a few things and then gives him a curt smile.
“Right this way, Mr. Mae,” she extends her hand toward the door they came from. Without hesitating, Carter briskly walks ahead of her as she tells Allison to wait there, and beats her to the door before she could open it for him. He turns and looks at her with a cold, solemn look.
“Have her call me when she’s done here.”
“Of course, Mr. Mae.”
The door promptly shuts behind him, leaving Azryel alone with Allison. Allison watches over her shoulder, bemused by Azryel’s disgruntled look. Even though she still feels tense, Allison stretches out on the couch.
“Yeah,” she says, “he can be pretty difficult sometimes.”
“I can see why you’d be so tense,” says Azryel.
“You noticed?”
“It’s hard not to,” she muses. As she walks back toward the lounge, Allison finally looks at the woman properly, taking in her features. Azryel is a petite woman with a pale, clean complexion, and her nose is short and button-like. Her narrow eyes are big and round, and a strange blue color that stood out. Allison couldn’t tell if Azryel wore makeup, but she did notice how her hair looks almost like a short, black wig. She looks ageless, her features are soft, and her presence is calming.
Azryel’s sudden friendly nature would throw anyone off. Just moments ago she was a proper business woman, giving Carter a cold rundown of how Allison’s therapy would work, but now—she feels more welcoming. As she sits back down near Allison, Azryel opens the file again and clicks her pen.
“No matter,” she says, “now we can focus more on you, Ms. Allison.”
“Alli is just fine,” says Allison.
“Alright,” Azryel writes that down, “Alli it is…. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Alli?”
Allison pauses and looks down at the coffee table. Hesitant, she says, “I… don’t really know what to tell you.”
“Maybe we can start with where you go to school and your grade.”
“Oh,” Allison perks up, “I attend Billard High—I’m a senior this year.”
“That's exciting,” says Azryel. “Are you ready to graduate?”
“Not really,” Allison admits. “I kind of feel like everything is happening too fast. I guess that’s a little weird, since you’re supposed to be excited for graduation.”
“Is that so?”
“Well, yeah,” Allison ponders, “I guess I feel like I’m still kind of a kid; I don’t think I’m ready to be an adult—but it’s bound to happen one way or another.” Azryel nods and takes a few notes.
“Tell me a little about your homelife,” she says.
“Well…” Allison looks around the room but takes nothing in. “I guess it’s okay. It’s just me and my dad—my parents got divorced when I was about eight, and mom moved out of town shortly after that.”
“Do you get to see her often?”
“No, not really. She moves a lot and works most of the time when I am around. It’s not really up to her though,” Allison grimaces, “dad pushes for a lot of child support, and it takes most of her paycheck each month.”
“I see,” Azryel continues to write, not sparing even a glance to the young woman. “Tell me about your dad…. What is he like?”
Taking a deep breath, Allison says, “after the divorce, dad became a shut-in. He doesn’t go out too often, and is usually in a hurry when he does. He doesn’t like to sit in one place for too long either, and likes to preach a lot about religion.”
“That explains why he wanted to leave so quickly,” Azryel remarks and Allison chuckles.
“Yeah—that’s dad,” she says, “he’s been like that since I was a child. I remember it used to drive mom up a wall, because sometimes she just wanted to take her time and enjoy things. Dad couldn’t understand it.”
“Would you say you feel safe at home?” Allison stops and looks at Azryel, mouth open but empty of words.
Comments (0)
See all