The Skeleton Cupboard by Tanya Byron Read Free Book Online

with blinding clarity, I knew exactly what to do.
    â€œThat’s a big knife, Ray.”
    He said nothing.
    â€œA beautiful knife. And such a big, long blade. It really is beautiful. Can I touch it?”
    Still saying nothing, Ray slowly offered me his blade.
    I gently cupped my hands around its shaft. “That is long. Long and hard. It’s beautiful, Ray.”
    Still no sound except his breathing—quiet but getting faster. My mouth felt like it was stuffed with wool.
    â€œYes, Ray, you are right. I am a little princess, but make no mistake about it—I know a good blade when I see one. I’m not completely inexperienced, you know.”
    Ray looked at me and I worked hard to look right back. Everyone and everything was calm.
    â€œCan I stroke it, Ray?”
    Exhaling, Ray closed his eyes and nodded and then opened them again to watch his blue-eyed goddess gently place her fingertips on the broad, flat edges of his long blade and slowly stroke them up and down the cold steel shaft.
    Ray’s breathing quickened, and as I continued to stroke the knife, he closed his eyes. I knew that this was my moment.
    â€œRay, I’m done. Thank you. You can put it away now.”
    His eyes still closed, Ray flicked the blade’s safety catch and the knife retracted into itself. Silence. Ray continued to exhale audibly.
    OK, I told myself. Six paces to the panic button. Ten to the door. Stay with me. We’re going to count. One … two. That’s it, keep it steady. Three … four. Take your time. Five … Reach out and …
    â€œYou cunt!”
    Huge hands encircled my neck as I launched myself at the panic button. A siren went off and Ray shook me like a rag doll, my feet lifted off the floor. I felt like I was drowning.
    And then, as I was about to go under, I saw the most incredible sight. In an explosion of light, the door to my room flew open and two large women burst in. While one punched Ray right in the face, the other kicked him hard in his testicles with the full force of her Lucite stiletto.
    As I fell to the ground, “Josephine” caught me in her strong arms and held me into her muscular body and enormous breasts. She smelled of sweat, musk and heavy foundation. I snuggled into her, feeling safe.
    Next to me, Ray was now being held facedown on the floor by two security guards, his arms locked behind his back. Crouching down next to Ray with her knee pressing onto the back of his head, “Daphne” slipped open her little red clutch and pulled out a warrant card. As I was helped out of my office, Ray was being read his rights.
    *   *   *
    First placement, first critical incident debriefing. I was still shaking, and now I had to meet my clinical training supervisor to talk about what had gone wrong.
    Chris came into the room and I stood up, like a child when the teacher arrives. I suddenly felt stupid. Chris didn’t seem to notice. She threw her bag down and put her large takeaway coffee cup on the table.
    Dr. Chris Moorhead—she who was renowned for being a hard-core and brilliant clinical supervisor—sat opposite me, staring. And here I was, the trainee she’d asked not to let her down only a few weeks earlier. I’d royally screwed up.
    Chris was the one who would decide after each of my training placements, over the following three years, whether I would pass to the next, whether I would one day qualify.
    â€œHow are you doing?” she asked.
    â€œI’m fine. You?”
    Chris stared straight at me. “I’ll start again, and this time, please answer me honestly. How are you doing?”
    â€œI’ll survive!” I smiled.
    â€œFinal time. Think carefully before you answer. How are you doing?”
    To my horror, I burst into tears.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    Chris rummaged in her large bag, pulled out a packet of tissues and handed me one. “You have had a pretty big