mrsfrederickchilton - Tumblr blog

mrsfrederickchilton · 1 month ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 77 (of 77)

Dear readers, this is the last chapter of our long story. This is my second favorite chapter, and I hope you enjoy it too!

This is the only one of my books that will have an epilogue. I don't usually use epilogues, but I felt like I needed one here. BUT you can ignore it, you can absolutely stop at this chapter if you like chapter 77! And forget about the epilogue if you don't like that epilogue! I'll upload it tomorrow, it's pretty short.

And since this chapter can be considered the end of the story, I want to say THANK YOU for reading and being with me and the characters! I will write more when I upload the epilogue. But for now — congratulations, we have reached the end, I hope your hearts are okay! 🖤🖤🖤

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 within temptation – all i need

Can you still see the heart of me?

All my agony fades away

When you hold me in your embrace

He was the answer to all your questions. A puzzle that fits perfectly into the puzzle of your soul. But even though he stopped killing when he met you, he still had a past that would sooner or later destroy you both or separate you again, tearing each of your hearts apart. No matter how much you wanted to cross it out, the past still exists.

You were sure that you couldn’t live without your love, your criminal. Literally, you thought you would die without him.

But just because you thought so, doesn’t mean it will happen.

And no matter what you felt for him, every puzzle always has several sides. The one that fits perfectly into one may be completely different from the one that fits perfectly into another.

You had never loved like you loved your killer, and you knew that you could never love anyone like that. But only now did you begin to understand that love comes in different forms.

Passion. Danger. Adrenaline.

Tenderness. Calm. Sentimentality.

The belief that love won't turn you in to the police and the willingness to go to a mental hospital instead.

The desire to protect from pain and the past.

Maybe, you thought, love isn't always psychosis on the verge of self-destruction. Maybe love is its absence. The smooth surface of a soft forest lake, not the turbulent current of a dark, poisoned river.

You never had a chance to find out.

* * *

Frederick's discharge was moved up to today. He didn't tell you about it. It would have put you in an awkward position: if you hadn't wanted to meet him, you would have felt bad about not coming; in that case, you could have come just out of politeness. It would also have hurt him more if you hadn't come: if he hadn't told you about the discharge, he could pretend that you simply didn't know.

He had no idea what would happen to you next.

To the three of you.

Frederick changed his clothes. The always perfectly pressed suit he had been brought into the hospital in was slightly wrinkled and a little too big, and there were a few stains on it; his tie was missing somewhere, he had only just discovered it. You brought him a shirt, to replace the one that had become a holey and bloody piece of evidence. His stitches were removed, and the scar was surprisingly neat. The doctor had recommended a scar-dissolving ointment, but Frederick wasn't sure if he should get rid of it. After all, it was a good reminder of his stupidity and despair. A reminder of how not to behave. Frederick has shaved, despising his own reflection. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and his tousled hair couldn't be styled properly. He didn't have to look in the mirror — Frederick already knew that he looked terrible. Not at all like before. Not that well-dressed and well-groomed man who handed you a glass of champagne, sparkling at your smile.

He was even glad that he hadn't said anything to you.

Frederick sat down on a bench near the entrance to the hospital, enjoying the fresh air. People were coming and going through the doors, and he just watched them. Then he looked at your number on his phone, but realized he won't call. You were probably in the hospital right now. Helping orderly Higgins. Or admiring your killer's watercolors.

And what would he say to you if you came?

God, if only we had another chance.

Some people left the hospital healthy and happy, but Frederick couldn't count himself among those people. He was poisoned forever, and there was no cure for it. No chance, he knew it. The only hope was for remission.

In about a hundred years.

“God, is it really you?” he heard an enthusiastic voice, and his heart sank.

Frederick turned around and saw the one who poisoned him — the one who could heal him.

“I can't believe it!” you wailed with a smile, waving his book. “Will you give me an autograph? Wow!” you held it out along with the pen. “I adore your books!”

Frederick stood up, not believing that all this was really happening, unable to utter a word. He took the proffered book, put it on the bench; the pen remained in your hand. He stepped closer and hugged you tightly. A wave of great tenderness washed over your heart, the pen fell onto the asphalt. You hugged him, and he hugged you even tighter, as if he was afraid of losing you.

“Thank you,” he whispered, burying his nose in your neck.

You ran your fingers through his disheveled dark hair. You felt how hard his heart was beating. How your own was beating even harder. You felt how the dark fear of everything you've done and are doing habitually seeps into the soul.

How it meets something new, bright and unbearable there.

What will happen next?

No one could answer you.

Frederick loosened his embrace and put his palm on your cheek, gently running his thumb along your cheekbone.

“I called a taxi,” you said, pressing your forehead to his forehead, feeling how your legs were weakening.

Frederick allowed himself to get lost in this moment, in the scent of your perfume, in the sunlight warming this rainy day — in your inner light. He would like to tell you that terrible people, like you considered yourself, cannot have such light. But he only hoped that he will have such an opportunity once more.

“I—” he began, but you stopped him, putting your finger to his lips.

“It's okay.”

Now.

The taxi never arrived — the app for calling it had a glitch for all users, so it was impossible to order a car from Frederick’s phone too. But just in time, a bus pulled up to the stop, heading in the direction of his house. Frederick hadn’t ridden public transport for many years. The thought of being in a cramped, shaking space with a bunch of very different people had never seemed attractive to him, and he was glad when a period in his life came that allowed him to spend money on a taxi every day.

“Let’s go,” you tugged at his coat sleeve, and Frederick, reluctantly, obeyed.

Besides you, about ten more people got on the bus at this stop, and there were no free seats inside. You squeezed to the end and stood by the window. The ride was not long, but the trip was already beginning to seem endless to him.

“How did you know that the discharge was today?” Frederick asked, holding on to the handrail.

There are probably millions of germs on it, he thought against his will.

But you are with him.

“Actually, your doctor told me yesterday. But you,” you tapped your finger on his shoulder, “for some reason didn't tell me about it.”

The bus braked abruptly, a child began to cry on the lap of a woman next to him, and Frederick lowered his head, muttering something.

“What, what?” you gently lifted his chin, smiling.

“I can't believe I let you ride the buses.”

* * *

The first thing he wanted to do was take a shower — all these days in the hospital he was forbidden to wash himself properly. A long, cleansing shower...

Well, not very long. You will be waiting for him.

Will you?

“I'll be quick,” said Frederick.

“Take your time,” you responded. “I'll order a pizza. With everything they can put in it.”

He smiled and answered:

“Two would be better.”

Frederick went into the shower, you placed an order for the nearest time. A minute later, standing in a quiet apartment that looked like the one you could stay in, you felt an urgent need to go after him. You needed to make sure. Once again. Prove that you weren't just looking for intimacy. That this wasn't just guilt. That there really was something between you.

Something more.

You knocked on the matte-opaque shower door. Frederick stopped soaping himself and turned his head in your direction.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked, not even trying to hide his smile.

“I need to take a shower right now,” you said impatiently.

“I'm afraid it's taken.” The smile clearly grew wider, you couldn't see it through the frosted glass, but you could clearly hear it in his voice.

“It's okay. Honestly, I've never seen such a huge shower stall in my life,” you answered.

Truth.

“Unfortunately, you don't meet the dress code yet,” he chuckled.

You took off your clothes, he pulled the shower door open, and neither of you could control what happened next.

Certainly would not could if this was really happening. Of course, you won't pester him right after he was discharged, especially like this. Even if he might not mind very much. Your new page is still blank, and you weren't sure where to start, but you knew that if you weren't careful, you could cut yourself on it. God, if he knew what was going on in your head.

Both of them.

“What a relief,” Frederick said, stepping out of the shower.

Finally refreshed, he meant. And that you're still here.

Shining green eyes, damp hair, a dressing gown. It was him. Just like that time, at Christmas and after.

Frederick.

You really could lose him forever. You wanted to hug him tightly, just for who he was. But you couldn't overdo it. You had to control yourself.

Not anymore, you remembered, and stepped toward him. I'm so glad you're alive, you wanted to tell. But you didn't want to remind him of that horrible attack. And that he could have died.

“The pizza is on its way,” you said instead, but your voice wavered, and perhaps Frederick could read the unspoken in your eyes.

Half an hour, two pizzas, a cup of coffee and a cup of tea later, you were still at his place. Yesterday you gave the orderly Higgins and your killer the books you bought, but went to spend the night at your apartment. I've had enough of spending nights in mental hospitals, you told them, and that was true. I have a lot to do in the morning, you didn't tell them, and that was also true. When you woke up, you imagined yourself late for Frederick's discharge, who hadn't dared tell you about it, and he, alone and unhappy, sadly making his way home, where no one was waiting for him. This morning you were getting ready at the speed of light.

And no, it wasn't pity. Pity would never have pushed you to the actions and words you've done and said in the last few days. It wouldn't have been enough to be here at all. And even less enough to be here still.

“Shall we watch something?” you asked.

And even less so for this.

“Of course,” Frederick rejoiced.

You were sitting on the couch, and the big TV screen was once again immersing the living room in the colors of the deep sea. It was incredibly calming. Frederick looked at you with such a look that you couldn’t stand it any longer and sat on his lap. He immediately hugged you around the waist.

“I missed this so much,” he said.

“Broadcasts about the underwater world?”

“The very ones."

Me too.

“Will you be able to trust me again?” you asked, realizing that this was the only thing that worried you, despite everything.

He looked at you for a long time, and there was sadness, hopelessness, and humility in his eyes.

“I have no choice,” he finally answered. “You can’t even imagine what you’ve done to me.”

Oh, Frederick…

Your heart was ready to burst. You pulled him closer, showered his forehead with kisses, and it helped a little.

“What is it?” He laughed at your sudden tenderness.

“An attack,” you answered, not caring too much about the choice of words.

“I like this attack much better,” he muttered and buried his nose in your collarbone.

“Frederick,” you said.

What a beautiful name.

“Mm?”

“I almost ruined your life.” And I will ask for forgiveness until the end of mine. “Forgive me.”

You are my life, he thought, raising his head and looking into your eyes.

“We'll see.”

Incredible.

“Frederick,” you said again, not believing that he answered these words.

He looked at you, but you said nothing more.

“What?”

You shook your head.

“What?” he repeated.

“You have such a big heart,” you answered, laying your head on his shoulder.

I didn't know that myself.

“Don't abuse it,” he responded, moving his palms up your back.

“I won't,” you whispered.

“Don't lie to me again,” one of his hands lay on your neck, the fingers of the other buried in your hair.

It feels so good.

“I won't be able.”

“Oh, you'll be able,” Frederick smiled bitterly. “But don't. Please.”

“No, I won't.” Truth. You couldn't imagine betraying his trust again. “I promise.”

Frederick didn't answer, he just nodded. You sat there, hugging each other, for a while longer, enjoying the warmth and the newfound balance, not wanting to think about anything else. Then your gaze fell on the clock.

Oh, my God.

You should have been at the hospital a long time ago. You never showed up, sorting out Frederick's discharge... Orderly Higgins called you just as you were walking with a book to the hospital entrance. You hung up, then wrote that you would call back later. But later never came.

“I'll go,” you said softly, pulling away and standing up. “You need to rest.”

“I'm not tired,” Frederick objected.

“Oh, no, you're very, very tired,” you smiled. “And you'll finally be able to sleep in a normal bed.”

“I've already gotten used to that one, the hospital one,” he replied. “It's quite narrow, but I'm used to it. My bed seems too wide to me now...” he complained, standing up after you. “For me alone.”

“Frederick!” You shook your finger at him and headed for the bathroom, hearing his loud theatrical sigh behind you.

Are you tired of our company?

The message from the orderly Higgins arrived while you were washing your hands.

Some business came up, you typed out a reply.

Truth.

You came out of the bathroom, put your phone in the bag that you had left in the hallway. You put on your shoes, and smiled at Frederick, who was ready to hand you your coat.

No, you were wrong. Frederick didn't hand you your coat like he usually did. Instead, he stood up, blocking the coat rack.

“It's not too late,” he said. “Why are you getting dressed?”

When you should be undressing.

“I have to go,” you replied, looking away and getting up from the ottoman.

He knew what you meant.

“You don't owe him anything,” Frederick shook his head.

Not truth.

You still owe him everything. Your life. Your soul. Your heart. Your loyalty.

The last one has suddenly become complicated.

And you still don't understand why you feel anything other than guilt.

This apartment was always empty, but without you, without your voice, without your warmth, it was no different from the cell in his hospital for criminals. The weight of the emptiness and silence in it had become too great since he had fallen in love with you. Frederick couldn't bear the thought of being alone now. He couldn't let you go.

He took your hand, and your heart sank.

What is it about the hands of this psychiatrist that in seconds turns you into butter melting in the sun?

“Stay. I ask you.”

What is it about his voice that betrays all his feelings, about his words, about the fact that he needs you?

“Please.”

What is it about his green eyes that look with immeasurable tenderness straight into your dark soul?

You didn't let go of your hand. You realized that you don't want to leave. You don't want to go to a mental hospital for murderers and rapists that already made you sick. Climbing the stairs, walking through the corridors, greeting the orderlies and worshiping the love of your life, cursing the cold glass that cuts you off from each other. Tomorrow, but not now.

Right now you want to stay.

“Okay,” you say casually, watching as Frederick’s face breaks into a warm, happy smile.

The melted butter inside you turns to liquid gold.

“Why are you smiling?” you ask, squeezing his hand tighter.

“Are you kidding?”

“No. Why?” You’re being very serious.

Frederick just keeps smiling.

“Why specifically?”

Because I love you.

Truth.

He pulls you closer:

“Can I answer later?”

You haven’t felt this warm in a long time. On a golden impulse, you gently touch his lips with yours.

“Why did you do that?” Frederick asks.

You grin.

“Why specifically?”

Because I couldn’t help myself.

Truth.

You put your hands on his shoulders and smile, feeling like the whole world is left behind:

“Can I answer later?”

12 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 76 (of 77)

(This chapter is very long, but I decided not to split it into two!)

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 rihanna and mikky ekko – stay

Funny you're the broken one But I'm the only one who needed saving 'Cause when you never see the light It's hard to know which one of us is caving

How great was your betrayal? What did you plan to achieve? The last time Frederick brought this up, you saw that it was difficult for him to have such a conversation. He asked about the tape recordings of your “conversations” — was it really just because of them? Was that what you were counting on?

Why were you trying to make me fall in love with you?

Frederick didn't ask this question, but it hung in the air. You said you were wanting to win his trust. He said you were the only one who had succeeded.

“But what exactly did you want? You didn't think I'd just soften and let him go, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Truth.

“Then what?”

“You'd better never know.”

Truth.

Of course it upset him. Of course it bothered him, especially after what you said.

In fact, it was the only thing you could give him.

The truth.

On Frederick's birthday you stayed with your criminal, helped the orderly with some small chores, and left without reporting to anyone. First, you stopped by your empty apartment, picked up a few things from there, then headed to the hospital to see Frederick, buying flowers along the way. There was also some kind of celebration in the neighboring ward. Judging by the fragments of phrases, someone's successful employment. You stood leaning against the door frame while the nurse finished the bandaging. You held a small bouquet and a bag behind your back. Champagne was opened nearby, and you were glad again that on his birthday, Frederick was not alone in his empty, sad ward, listening to the laughter next door.

Frederick smiled when he saw you. His heart sank at the thought that you had come again, leaving your criminal alone to amuse himself with watercolors behind thick glass — you had come to see him. He felt incredibly happy that of all the people in the world, you were the one who came to his birthday. He needed no one else.

He would have been humiliated before if he had allowed you — or anyone else — to see him in such a state of disarray. When you were together — that is, when he was with you, and you were carrying out your evil plan that had brought you to this very moment — you had once caught him hunched over his desk, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled up, and the marks of a leaking fountain pen on his wrist. And although you had noticed nothing at all, he had spent the entire day beating himself up about it. Frederick had always believed that he should be seen at his best, and nothing else. But now it was different. His vulnerability, the vulnerability not only of the attack he had suffered but of your presence, had taken precedence over his eternal pride.

“Hi,” he said when you were alone.

He wanted to say more, but his thoughts were racing at the speed of light, not allowing to come up with anything better.

“Hello, Frederick,” you answered, tilting your head slightly, examining him. He looked better today. He was clearly on the mend. “Happy birthday!”

“Thank you!” He sat up more comfortably on the bed and patted his hand on the chair, inviting you in. “Oh…” Frederick saw the bouquet and was a little embarrassed. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been given flowers.

You took off your coat and hung it on the hanger, and then he noticed the small package in your hands, which you, sat down on the chair, placed on the nightstand next to. Frederick really wanted to look inside, and you clearly saw it. But first, you needed to talk. Your gift was too cruel.

Why are you always so cruel to him?

“They'll be bringing lunch soon,” he said, turning his attention from the bag back to you.

Another tasteless hospital diet food, even on a birthday.

You took the vase out of the nightstand, where it was hidden so that it would not irritate Frederick, and put the bright bouquet you'd brought in. The room immediately became more cheerful.

“It's beautiful,” he smiled. “Thank you.”

His breath caught when you gently placed your palm on his. He wanted to thank you, to tell you how much it meant to him that you were here now, no matter what had happened before or what would happen after. But you didn't let him say a word.

“Forgive me,” you said. “I'm a terrible person.”

“You're not a terrible person,” he countered softly, touching your shoulder. “You're a good person in terrible circumstances.”

“That's more about you,” you smiled, but the smile didn't come easy to you.

As much as you wanted to believe his words, you knew it wasn't true.

“Well...” he drawled.

“What?”

“I don't think anyone would agree with you. You saw that no one even came.”

“It's just that no one knows you the way I do,” you answered.

“Really?”

You just smiled sadly again.

“Or maybe I'm just a narcissistic asshole with an inflated ego,” he quoted you, without knowing it. After all, at first you thought exactly that.

“Yes, maybe,” you chuckled. “And then I'm an antisocial doormat for a psychopath.”

Frederick suddenly became serious.

“I suggest we forget all those terrible words,” he said.

“I don't mind. But...”

“But — what?”

“I'm afraid you'll pick new ones for me.”

Frederick frowned, not understanding what you meant. You took a folder out of the bag and put it on your lap.

“I was obsessed. I really tried to do it. I know it's not the kind of gift anyone wants for a birthday, but it's the best I could come up with.”

Frederick was scared. What are you talking about? You looked genuinely remorseful, but what else was there that he didn't know? You pulled some papers out of the folder and handed them to him. He looked at you for a long moment, then took the printouts in his hands.

“I know it's cruel,” you whispered. “Forgive me.”

Frederick read the papers, his face becoming more and more miserable. By the end, he looked completely sick. It broke your heart, but he had to know.

He had to know that you really were the most terrible person.

* * *

What Frederick read was a rundown of every aspect of your vile plan. From the editing of the tapes to the fancy lingerie. Half of it was about the ethics committee, half about the police. In short, you were going to find out all of his secrets, frame him for rape, and blackmail him with it. He had to know everything. How you carefully studied the furnishings of his office. How you used his graphic key to access hidden documents, which until recently had been an essential part of the plan. How you read his emails, how you teased him, how you worked your way up to the hardest part — and what would be the most effective part. How you prepared a statement to the police, detailing how Dr. Chilton had coerced you into having sex with him right there in his office during one of your “sessions.” To make it all seem believable, you included details of the setting that no one who was lying could possibly know. It was terrible, but you were going to make Frederick give in to passion and then, that same evening, crush him. As a convincing bonus, at the moment of that very passion, a witness was supposed to burst into the office you had unlocked. All so that by means of blackmail you would leave him no choice. All so that he would help organize an escape. Or rather, actually organize it. After all, who, if not him, knew how and what weaknesses of the security system and personnel could be used for this?

Frederick was silent, trying to comprehend what he had read. If he had not said another word to you, you would have understood him.

“I think you won’t want to see me now,” you said when the silence became unbearable.

“Think? Before, it seems you didn’t think at all,” he shook the papers.

He was not shocked. Rather, disappointed. Upset.

“Put this away,” he thrust the printouts at you.

You put them in a bag and looked at him:

“Now you know everything.”

“No, not everything. Not everything. Do you really think that statement would be enough for the police?”

“It would be enough to start an investigation at the very least. And that already means trouble,” you answered honestly.

“At the very least? Tell me the rest,” Frederick demanded.

He threw off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed, clutching the bed with his fingers.

“Okay,” you sighed.

And fell silent.

“Speak,” he repeated.

“Your... God. Forgive me,” you said. “Your...”

How disgusting it sounds.

“Just say it already!”

You swallowed and spoke:

“Your skin under my nails. Your marks and traces on my body... and underwear. Torn clothes... And...”

“No, don't,” Frederick grabbed you by the shoulders. “Enough.”

“...a witness who will confirm all this.”

“Don't say another word,” he looked into your eyes, but there was no stopping you. You had to end this once and for all.

“The reputation is finished.” You grabbed his hands, squeezing your shoulders. “The license is finished.”

“I swear, if you don't stop right now, I'll strangle you,” Frederick said desperately, actually moving his hands to your neck.

“And you'll be right,” you answered.

He let you go, climbed back onto the bed, sat up, pulled the blanket up. He wanted to cover his head with it, hide from all this, like a child, and never come out.

“This witness of yours, is he orderly Higgins?”

“I can't say anything,” you shook your head.

Frederick chuckled:

“Just think. You didn't play chess for nothing.”

“I didn't say it was him. And if that weren't enough, there would have been a second witness,” you admitted. Although you hoped that it wouldn't have come to that. “Frederick, with testimony and evidence...”

“And who's the second?”

“I think Dr. Irving would have testified too if he had been asked...” you said the impossible words.

“Are you kidding me now?” Frederick looked at you.

And he realized that no.

Lord.

“Understand, there could be no half measures, Frederick,” you said. “It was already unstoppable. Having gone this far, I had to go for broke, no less. Use every opportunity. I'm sorry, but I really thought so. But...”

“What?”

“I don't know if I could have handled it in the end.”

He paused.

“Even if an investigation had started, with a good lawyer I would have won. And my lawyer would definitely have been good,” Frederick winced, the picture presented — the police, the rape accusations, the lawyers, the attempts to justify hinself — disgusted him. “You didn't think about that?”

“Of course I did,” you responded.

“And by the way, as I understand it, your witness would not have given that dirty testimony for no reason?”

Dirty. But he was right. You nodded.

“I hope you brought him cash. That's why you sold almost all your stuff, by the way?”

You nodded again.

“Amazing.” Frederick sighed heavily. “So it was cash?”

This time you shook your head, already understanding where he was going with this. Even if you had thought about it, the orderly had knocked it out of your head with his piece of paper with the account number. He didn't seem to be thinking about it at all. But even that didn't change the matter. It shouldn't have.

“Yes, that's stupid,” you said. “It was a money transfer. You see, I have problems with my brain after all.”

Frederick's expression darkened, as if your mistake could cost him dearly, and not the other way around. He placed his hand on your cheek, making your heart flutter, and said very softly:

“If you transferred money to the account, it's bribing a witness. It's evidence. Against you. And your plan.”

He spoke to you as if you were a child. After all he had learned and heard?

“And if we put all this evidence aside, it is ultimately your words against mine,” he said.

“You are right, Frederick,” you responded, but in such a way that he withdrew his hand. “The words of a psychiatrist with a poor reputation, deprived of the right to private therapy, against the words of a woman with a fragile psyche with whom he conducted this therapy.”

There was a knock on the door and a lunch cart was wheeled in, giving you a break. Frederick looked dejectedly at the lean soup, which was the least of his problems at the moment. He didn't feel like eating anyway. What you said was, unfortunately, true.

The empty cart was wheeled away, leaving two plates and tea on the table.

“Tea with sugar?” Frederick asked. “They always put sugar in it. It's disgusting.”

You took a small sip and nodded.

“It really is disgusting.”

“And not only that,” Frederick added after a pause.

“I know.”

“And what, this red dress of yours, in your opinion, is normal clothing for talking to a doctor?” he snorted. “Were you going to rip it? Or rather, I was. It's just ridiculous. And suspicious, isn't it? In the end, it was more like you came to seduce me.”

You clutched the cup of over-sweetened tea in your hands, trying to calm yourself. What would happen when this horrible conversation was over? Would you two feel relieved? You, because you had spoken out and realized how disgusting your plan was; Frederick, because you, fortunately, did not carry it out?

Or would you part forever, carrying with you the murderous knowledge that collapse was so close? His, as a doctor and head of the hospital.

Yours, as a person.

“The dress...” you said. “It would unlikely have come to that, but I would have said that you asked me to put it on. More precisely, ordered me to. How could I disobey my doctor?”

Frederick closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Simply unthinkable.

“Why ‘unlikely’?” he asked after a minute of silence that turned your soul inside out.

“Because it would unlikely have gone to the police or the court, Frederick. I don't think you would have wanted to risk everything. Your reputation, your license, your hospital. What you've invested so many years in. Your whole life.”

He lowered his head, and you cursed yourself.

“Am I right?”

Rape is a serious charge. And raping your own patient, especially an “unofficial” one... Even if everything had been resolved safely, rumors would have started to spread at an incredible speed. The reputation was already not the best, to ruin it even more would have meant burying yourself.

“Frederick?”

He looked up at you:

“Yes,” he said sadly. “You're damn right. And that's the worst part.”

You couldn't stand and hugged him. Tightly, throwing the blanket onto the floor, pressing Frederick closer to you.

“Forgive me,” you said, “forgive, forgive, forgive...”

He hugged you back, and you squeezed him even tighter, desperately hoping that someday he would truly be able to forgive you.

“My stitches are about to come apart,” Frederick said, and you immediately released him from your death grip.

“Forgive me,” you repeated.

For everything.

“Can you get me some normal tea?”

“Of course,” you jumped up, feeling incredibly relieved. “Right now.”

You literally ran out of the room, and Frederick looked at the bag with those horrible papers again. You were right to base your plan on his egoism, his reputation, his attitude to his achievements, to his hospital. In his circle, reputation is gold, and silence is more blessed than rumors and speculation. And this gold has always been the most important thing.

But Frederick had changed.

You returned to the room, carrying a cup of fresh tea in each hand. And looking at you, he realized that the most important thing for him was no longer his reputation.

* * *

You took away the soup and the colorless puree that Frederick refused to eat. You wished that on his birthday, accompanied by your terrible revelations, he could eat something tasty. He always ordered wonderful dishes for you, which he probably missed here. But he still had to follow a therapeutic diet.

“I’ll leave here and immediately eat a huge pizza with everything that can be put on it,” Frederick said, finishing his tea.

You nodded, agreeing. You were afraid to say anything. You did not believe that you were still near him. He did not send you away after everything he learned. You did not want to say something wrong.

As if there was something right in what had already been said.

“And I’ll drink a liter of coffee.”

You remembered how the orderly Higgins, having first entered the forbidden office, immediately began to torment Frederick’s expensive coffee machine. And nodded again.

You were sitting at a table with empty cups, you in jeans and a sweater, Frederick in his dark blue silk pajamas, wrapped in the blanket you brought him, and with a pillow under his lower back. For some reason, lower back and back hurt mercilessly.

But heart hurt more.

“Do you think your blackmail would have worked in the end? And I would have really helped him escape?”

“Maybe,” you said. “Do you think not?”

You rolled up the sleeves of your sweater — you often did that when you were nervous, Frederick had already noticed. The scar was not visible now, but it was still there. He will have a scar now, too. And there was no escape from that either.

As well as from you.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I can’t imagine. It would have been a huge problem.”

“Of course, but a completely different kind of problem. A patient escaping is something that is not directly related to you. You wouldn’t have opened the cell and called him a taxi. Imperfections in the system, human error, administrative oversight… It’s very serious, but it’s a different matter, not as personal as… As…”

As a direct accusation of rape and manipulation of an illegal patient.

“Yes,” Frederick answered. “That’s right.”

There was some noise in the hallway, a nurse looked into the room, then another. Frederick was given some pills, which he immediately washed down with water.

“Maybe I should ask for some more tea?” you asked.

The diet allowed for tea. And for you, tea allowed you to stay a little longer. All this was barely bearable, but leaving was scary. You could leave forever, irrevocably, and you didn’t want that.

“I would never have allowed it,” Frederick suddenly said, as if reading your thoughts.

“What?”

“All of this. He knew. I would never have allowed my...” he hesitated, choosing the word. “My... friend... to do such terrible things. Never.”

The wind direction outside changed, and the slightly open window began to slam. You got up and closed it.

“He knew that I would have done what I had planned anyway,” you answered, looking at the streetlights coming on along the road. “He couldn't stop me or hinder me.”

“Nonsense,” Frederick said, also getting up and going to the window. “He doesn't respect you at all if he let all this happen. Doesn't it horrify you?”

No matter how you felt about him, you still lived in different universes. Revolving in different orbits. You — it's clear around whom. That's why it didn't horrify you.

Almost.

“He’s in the hospital because of me,” you said, still looking out the window. You and Frederick were standing there now, not looking at each other, almost like you and the killer had stood by the sinks, looking into the mirror. After he’d played the funeral march for your lives.

“He’s in the hospital,” Frederick said, “because he killed people and because he’s insane.”

“He gave himself up. I could have been in his place. Under your glass dome. They lured him out with this, with their twisted, unspoken deal…”

“Why mine?” he asked.

“What?”

“If they were threatening to put you in a mental hospital, why do you think they’d put you in mine? You’re not a murderer.”

“No, but I would have been considered an accomplice. And an accomplice is the same as a criminal. And there’s only one mental hospital here for criminals, Frederick. Yours.”

The silence between you was sad, but not empty.

“So,” he put his hand on your shoulder, and you finally looked at him, “we would have met anyway.”

You touched his hand, realizing that you thought about this prospect very differently than you had a few months ago.

“I’m afraid so,” you answered.

When will this damn heart stop hurting?

He hugged you, and the answer came to both of you.

Right now.

* * *

Half of the next day passed in a fog for you. They said something to you, you answered something, and even did something, but your thoughts were not in this hospital. But in the one where the man you betrayed, who made you feel things you shouldn’t have felt, found the strength not to push you away. You both understood that when he was discharged, a new chapter of your tangled story would begin — but which one?

Will you continue to visit your criminal, trying to avoid meeting Frederick? Or maybe you will have lunch together sometimes? Or maybe he will forbid visits again, in order to try to break your criminal connection again? Or will he not allow you to cross the threshold of the hospital at all, so that you can close this chapter, reject everything that reminds you of it, and finally begin to live on? Allowing him to live on, too.

Orderly Higgins did not want to let you go, accustomed to your help. You said you were tired of the hospital and wanted to go shopping, promising to buy him something too. Surprisingly, you actually had to do that. The orderly asked for a book on chess, your killer for a book on modern art. They both thought you would be back in the evening, as usual, and you realized that you would. In any case, you weren’t planning on spending the night in Frederick’s room. You stopped at the bookstore, spent half an hour there, unexpectedly finding something very interesting, came to see him at the hospital, talked to the doctor. What he said threw you off a little. You weren’t ready. What should you do? You sat in the hallway, thinking about your life. About how you were afraid of hospitals as a child. Now two of them have become part of your existence. About what music and love meant to you before and what they mean to you now. About how you know things about yourself that you'd rather not know. And about how much you don't know about yourself yet. About who you were and who you've become. Who you could have been and who you'll become. There was very little time left for the visit. You finally gathered your courage and went to see Frederick.

You saw the joy on his face and knew that it was on yours too.

You discussed both hospitals: you told him what issues you had helped with (Frederick was surprised but pleased — apparently, at least some of the things were in order), he — that the diet was almost finished and that after discharge he was advised to stay at home for a few days. However, considering who was in charge of his hospital, he was not sure that he would be able to follow their recommendations.

But he did not tell you what the doctor had told you. Why?

“So when exactly is the discharge?” you asked, wanting to hear his answer.

“I don’t know yet,” answered Frederick.

Lie.

Probably, he was afraid, as you were. The uncertainty scared you both. But while you were sitting in the corridor, the uncertainty became a little more certain for you. What if everything changes tomorrow? You needed a little more time, the two of you. But you didn’t have it.

“You've lost a lot of weight,” he said, reaching out and gently touching your face.

“That's strange, because orderly Higgins feeds us well,” you smiled, feeling your chest warm under his touch.

“I guess I'll have to completely revise the cafeteria menu,” he chuckled.

He would like to spend the rest of his life like this, on this uncomfortable hospital bed, under a thin, simple blanket, with a scar aching under the stitches, just so that you would sit next to him, leaning towards him, giving him all your attention. And your blush, blossoming under his palm.

“Look what I found,” you said, taking out your phone and handing it to him.

Frederick looked at the screen curiously and raised his eyebrows:

“It was a lo-o-ong time ago.”

He once wrote a small book about medical research, which quickly sold out. Probably because the print run was small. The book was well received, but Frederick has not published anything since then. That was some time in another life.

How he wished for another life for both of you.

“Second-hand book,” you said. “A very rare edition.”

“The price is clearly too high,” Frederick answered, returning the phone to you. “I would not buy it.”

You smiled, because you already bought it. If you parted forever, you would at least have something to remind you of him. Besides those notes that you knew by heart. A nurse came into the room and politely informed that visiting time was over.

Will another time begin for you?

“I wish everything was different,” Frederick said, not knowing that you were thinking the same thing. “That we would have met... differently. And, “he added, looking at you,” about three years earlier.

“Differently? Like, for example?” you asked slyly.

“For example...” Frederick thought about it. “For example, none of this would have happened. I would have written a couple more books that would have become famous, you would have accidentally met me on the street and asked for an autograph.”

“So,” you said.

“I would have composed some ornate wish on the flyleaf, and you would have been delighted.”

“Not bad,” you smiled, imagining this picture.

“And then...”

“And then everyone will think of something to the extent of their depravity,” you kissed him lightly on the forehead and stood up.

It was time to go back to the hospital for criminal psychopaths.

“Please,” Frederick asked quietly.

Even he himself didn't know what he was asking for. With that one quiet word he broke your heart completely.

“See you,” you said just as quietly, putting on your coat.

Truth?

Masterlist

12 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

Another performance by our chamber choir, the last one, I promise!

It's a bit sad that FREDERICK has so few chapters left to upload, so I've switched my attention a bit to our music! I love this song :)

🎶 Autumn by Ola Gjeilo

Feel the falling air

The light becoming golden

Trees their colors wear

Deep and all-enfolding

The autumn leaves embracing

But soon they all must fall

The summer green erasing

To answer winter's call

And here once again

Familiar paths I wander

Through the westmark wend

The living earth I ponder

Though fading days are colder

And soon the darkness long

My spirit-fire grows bolder

And in my heart a song

Even when shadows lengthen

I'm here where I belong

#chamber choir #choir #concert #music

4 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 75 (of 77)

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 jenya noble – counting scars

You went to the psychopaths' hospital inspired, despite the fact that Frederick had made it clear that you were not to come to him anymore. You were terribly sad about how you saw him, what you did to him, you and this police scheme. About how lonely he was, and how much it hurt him, even though he tried to hide it. But he was alive, he was very lucky. He talked to you. He sent you away, but then he let you go to his house and bring his things. He didn't hate you as much as before. Maybe there was still a chance to fix something.

But why did all this bother you so much?

You were starting to guess, but it was unthinkable. It just couldn't be.

You put the pass in, went into the compartment, smiled at your killer.

It couldn't be for you.

“Where have you been?”

He's already gotten used to you sharing this cell-ward with him almost every minute. You never lie to each other. But for some reason you didn't want to talk. But why? You didn't do anything bad.

“I went to the hospital,” you answered, sitting down in the chair that the orderly Higgins had lent you from his temporary office. He had even been kind enough to help you carry it. It was very strange: sitting in the same chair in which you had spent hours talking with Dr. Chilton, and then with Frederick, sitting in it — opposite your love.

“To Chilton, or what?”

He asked this with such disdain that you even felt a little hurt. You nodded.

“To make sure that he won’t be back here anytime soon?”

It’s so unfair, you thought. But your criminal could not even imagine what was going on in your head. He did not ask why you so desperately called Dr. Chilton Frederick that day, although you had written to him that you were not going to call him by his name. Good thing, because you would not have known what to answer without lying to him and to yourself.

“He’s lucky,” you said. “A little more and it would have been very serious.”

“Too bad,” your killer responded disappointedly, and for the first time in two years spent with him, you felt something for him other than all-consuming love. But what is it?

“He will stay in the hospital for some time,” you summed up.

“Good. Did it upset you that much?”

Psychopath or not, he knew you. He felt you.

“A little.”

“Maybe this will please you,” he said, bending down and taking something out from under the cot. Then he walked over to the glass.

“Oh my God,” you blurted out. “This… This…” This is a punch to the heart. “This is amazing.”

He was holding a watercolor of exquisite detail, a watercolor he was sure you would love. Your favorite place. Your favorite time. Copenhagen, with a couple in the background, depicted from behind. He was talented in more than just music and murder.

“A test of the pen, so to speak. Or rather, a brush.”

You shook your head, smiling. How you wished he was free. To play the piano. To paint with watercolors. To be the one you loved so much.

“It's amazing, really,” you said. “And there… more?” You saw that there were several sheets of paper lying under the cot.

“Still in progress.”

“Show me.”

He shook his head.

“No, it's not ready yet.”

“Please,” you asked. “Is it Copenhagen too?”

“Better.”

What could be better, you thought, smiling.

“Show me.”

He sighed and brought his unfinished work to the glass. The idea was still unclear, but you could make out black and white watercolor keys on the paper.

“Beautiful. I'll wait,” you said.

“I'll finish soon.”

You missed lunch visiting Frederick, but the staff were served sushi and rolls for dinner, and for the first time in a while you actually had an appetite. Honestly, you were starving.

“That's what he said?” Orderly Higgins grinned when you advised him not to abuse the hospital budget anymore and quoted the words about black caviar and his salary.

“Yeah,” you gobbled up the rolls one after another, and orderly Higgins approved that. You didn't know how to use chopsticks, you didn't like soy sauce, so you just took them with your hands. “So don't get too carried away.”

“Will he be back soon? Since it's not that serious?”

“I think in a few days.”

“Then I'll still have time to order caviar,” the orderly laughed, and you weren't at all irritated by his terrible laugh.

In addition to your appetite, something else had clearly returned to you. Something resembling a good mood.

Well, as much as it possible.

You spent the night in the hospital, saw your criminal, had breakfast in the cafeteria (still not caviar, but rather tasty pancakes). Orderly Higgins was running around the building with documents, marking off completed tasks, your killer was reading a book, and you just wanted so badly to see Frederick again. Maybe, little by little, you could restore... mutual understanding? You knew that when he returned to his hospital for psychopaths, it would be more difficult to restore anything. And there was still the question of a repeat transfer request...

You came to the hospital to see Frederick, but this time you were out of luck. He was in the ward, but they were supposed to come in and take him to the procedures. And, frankly speaking, he was more upset than happy to see you.

How much longer will you torment me? — he wanted to ask. But out loud he said:

“I asked you not to come. Don't you two have anything better to do?”

“I was thinking, maybe I should bring something else?” you went around, seeing his mood.

“Nothing is needed. And today is a procedure day, visitors have nothing to do here,” Frederick answered, trying not to wince from the pain. He decided not to take the last pill, and, as it turned out, in vain.

It came out a little rude, but it's even better this way.

“And this... will be long?” you asked.

“The procedures will be all day,” he said. “Otherwise, I won't get out of here anytime soon.”

You carefully placed your hand on his shoulder. He was wounded in the side, but that was not why you were careful. The fragile ice should not have collapsed.

“Until the evening?” you asked softly.

“Yes.”

The nurse came and called him, and Frederick sadly trudged out of the room. You followed them. He was so sad that your heart broke just from the sight of him. Not the hospital — your deserved punishment. And that's how it should be.

“Then I'll come tomorrow,” you blurted out after them.

He turned around, looked you in the eyes, but didn't answer.

But he didn't tell not to come either.

* * *

You returned to the hospital, and just in time: orderly Higgins was completely overwhelmed with current administrative matters, and any help from you would not hurt him. So you agreed: you would do something that you could understand better than him. You were not particularly busy. The first thing you had to do was order bottled water for the coolers. The phone call with the delivery pissed off the orderly so much that he delegated it to you. It turned out that the hospital had a contract for supplies that needed to be renewed, and while you were sorting it all out, at least an hour had passed. But everything worked out, and orderly Higgins slapped you on the back, almost knocking the wind out of you:

“My school,” he grinned, and you did not argue with him.

He also reported to your criminal about his new assistant. He seemed even glad to learn that you had something to do. There was a lot to do, so you will spend less time hanging around the glass that separates your lives. And, according to the orderly, you have become a better eater in the cafeteria. Certainly, the refusal to consider the transfer and the attack on Dr. Chilton did you good. If he had died, you probably would have blossomed completely.

With so many small things to do, you did not notice how evening had come. You had dinner and soon went to bed: the orderly in his home, you in the cozy staff lounge you had arranged, your criminal in his cell.

Frederick in his lonely hospital room.

You could not fall asleep half the night, thinking about him. Otherwise, I will not get out of here anytime soon. You clearly imagined how bad it was for him there. Did it upset you that much? More than you thought.

Much more than it should have, considering all the circumstances.

But, as you already understood, it was impossible to consider everything from the very beginning.

You helped with the morning chores and even volunteered to take the folder with documents to the right address instead of the courier. Need to get some fresh air, you said, without specifying that the address was next to Frederick's hospital. Something literally pushed you towards him.

Where have you been?

Something — contrary to common sense.

Frederick was lying in his already disgusting hospital bed, dreaming of his orthopedic mattress (at least his pajamas were good), when there was a knock on the door.

Oh, you weren't kidding. You really did come. Again. Why?

Of course he knew why. So he could end this new, heart-pounding farce right now.

“So that you don't suffer,” Frederick said without preamble when you entered his room, “I'm not going to re-request a transfer.”

Oh, my God, thank you.

“Thank you,” you blurted out, unconsciously pressing your hands to your chest. “Thank you—“

“Is that all?” Frederick interrupted you, and you caught your breath at how bitter it sounded.

You shook your head, took off your coat, and hung it on the hanger.

“That’s all,” he repeated evenly, as if answering himself, but you shook your head again.

“No, not all. Fre—”

“Doctor Chilton.”

You sighed, pulling a chair closer to his bed. Frederick pulled the blanket up to his chin and watched your actions warily. What else did you want from him?

“Are you feeling better?” you asked, looking at his pale, but no longer so haggard face.

“Everything is fine,” he lied. “Are you going to sit here?”

You nodded.

“Didn't you hear what you wanted?”

“That's not what I came for.”

Well, it was certainly wonderful news, let's be honest.

“Of course,” he snorted. “I ask your forgiveness.”

“It's me who is asking for forgiveness,” the words sounded pathetic and unconvincing, and there was nothing you could do about it. “Someday...” you added.

Frederick sat up, intending to throw some appropriately hurtful answer in your face, but, not having thought of one, he leaned back tiredly on the pillow.

You light up my life, and then you steal it. You ask me to forgive you, and in half an hour you will be having fun again with your psychopath, whom you will never be able to let go. You are playing openly, but I no longer know what. Here it is, the real evidence of my absolute incompetence.

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes. “Dr. Irving was right.”

“What?” you shuddered at the mention of that jerk.

“I can't help anyone,” Frederick answered. His eyes were closed, and he spoke completely calmly, as if he had resigned himself. “Not even to myself. Especially to myself.”

You remembered how Dr. Irving had actually written him something like that in one of his letters.

“It's not true,” you were indignant.

To be honest, you would have been indignant at anything, that was how Dr. Irving and his attacks (even if sometimes deserved) on Frederick affected you. But it really wasn't true.

Time after time. Something that accumulated and settled. Something that appeared in your memory at the most inopportune moment. You can't be pulled out of the darkness anymore, but he was able to pull the darkness out of you. He was able — although you resisted and refused to believe it to the very end.

“Really,” he said, quite sarcastically.

When will you finally leave?

But who will he talk to then?

“Your notes...”

“What?”

“It won't change anything,” you said. “But it... helped. Me. Really.”

To remember that you are not at all like your psychopathic killer.

“At least something,” Frederick chuckled sadly, still not opening his eyes. It was easier not to see you. “I think I should get a medal for this.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too. Will you do me a favor?”

“Of course,” you were happy.

Anything, Frederick.

“Tell me the truth. Just once.” He sighed. “Why are you here now?”

You looked at him, feeling your heart begin to ache. You leaned over and ran the back of your fingers over his unshaven cheek. Frederick’s eyes widened in surprise. He instinctively grabbed your hand, but he couldn’t figure out what to do next. Should he push it away or, on the contrary, cuddle up to it? He released it.

“Because I want to be here,” you said.

Truth.

“Lord, have mercy,” Frederick groaned. “Why is this happening to me?”

I know you were hurt. Even if it isn't now.

I’ll come anyway. Your voice is very weak.

A Christmas, where something happened. Yes?

If you can’t appreciate Bach, please don’t interfere.

A sincere smile suits you much better.

I think we should go back to Dr. Chilton.

“I want to make things right so much,” you whispered.

“Some mistakes can’t be fixed,” he answered, and he was absolutely right.

Please, don’t say anything more.

“It’s true,” you said, squeezing his hand again. “But I’ll try.”

Please, stop. I can’t listen to this.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, I… Believe me, I understand it well. But if I don’t try, I don’t know how I’ll live with it.”

Truth.

Words and strength ran out of you both. He was silent, and you realized that you could no longer stand being here. You stood up and went to the door, but Frederick wouldn’t let you leave so easily. Not after what you had forced him to listen to.

“Why?” His voice rang with the same despair that was now filling your soul. “Tell me, why? Why are you saying all this?”

Such terrible things.

“Because…” you began slowly, already feeling that you couldn’t lie — not to him, and, most of all, not to yourself. It was time to admit it.

Just admit it. This is a fact that you can no longer deny. It exists regardless of whether you accept it or not. You can only decide what to do with it, but you can’t change it.

“What?” Frederick broke the prolonged pause.

His green eyes looked at you with feigned indifference and real sadness, the sadness of a man who knows he can't trust you and is ready to hear your new lie.

And maybe even believe it again.

“Because you were right,” you sighed heavily, taking your coat off the hanger.

You have to leave here, leave here, leave… This is all wrong.

Frederick was ready to hear anything, but not this. He waited silently for you to continue, and in a suddenly went down voice you finished:

“Christmas was special.”

You were going to leave the room the second you said this, but his gaze stopped you. Don’t lie anymore, his gaze begged. Just not like this. You wanted to cry.

Frederick studied your face, looking for signs of a lie, signs that he had missed before, but he saw only sadness. What you said was true, or at least it could be, and his heart beat twice as fast from the realization. The thought that you could feel the same as he did was almost unbearable. But your face… You weren’t at all happy about what you said. Frederick turned away and looked out the window.

You are forever bound to your criminal. You two have gone too far into the darkness to turn back; you two are one until you die. Frederick will forever be in love with the one who deceived and used him, who gave and took away hope that in another world might have been worth it. You both are doomed to suffer. But now you couldn’t just leave. You couldn’t, that’s all. You threw your coat on the nightstand by the door, came closer again and sat down in the chair again. Frederick sat up, leaning his back against the headboard of the hospital bed, not taking his eyes off you.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know what you wanted. Never to see him again and forget everything, or never to hurt him again and not let anyone else hurt him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded?

He didn’t know what to say. But he knew exactly what he wanted. You were the only one who could touch his soul — truly. Who looked deep into it, broke through the walls surrounding it, carefully building by him over decades. The only one to whom he was ready to give his heart.

“Maybe…” and if your voice went down a few minutes earlier, his was hoarse. He couldn’t finish the sentence. In an attempt to maintain at least some connection with you, he almost said the stupidest, most terrible, most incredible and incomprehensible words to save at least something: maybe we can stay friends?

But he realized that he was not able to say them.

Instead, he took your hands, and your heart was flooded with tenderness. God, you would never have believed it. All this time, there was — and still is — only one man for you. But… This warm look. This trust — after everything you’ve done. These hands, from which for some reason you don’t want to break away. This face that you hated so much and which now seems almost like family to you. You wanted to hug him and atone for all the pain you caused him. Only now did you truly feel it. But you couldn’t allow yourself to do so.

“Maybe — what?” You asked with feigned cheerfulness, praying that he wouldn’t blurt out something stupid that would completely knock you off your feet.

If anyone had walked into the room, they would have seen just the two people holding hands. But it was much, much more complicated. Frederick knew that one wrong word would ruin everything. It had been so much easier when you were pretending and not paying attention to his words at all.

Now it was for real.

Maybe we could try again?

Maybe we could have dinner when I will be discharged?

Maybe I would just never let you go?

You both had no idea what was coming next. There was only this moment, like that one Christmas. And this moment was the only one that mattered. So Frederick squeezed your hands lightly and said what was in his heart right then. What he wanted more than anything, more than he could have imagined an hour ago.

“Maybe you could stay a little longer?”

God.

“Of course, Doctor Chilton,” you agreed, with visible relief. Playfully, trying to hide the emotions that had washed over you. God knows, at this moment you had forgotten even about who you met the man in front of you for.

“Frederick,” he corrected seriously.

The silence of the hospital room was broken only by the ticking of the clock. Second, second, second...

“Frederick,” you repeated after a pause, smiling.

Frederick.

Next chapter (Chapter 76)

Masterlist

8 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

Another performance by our chamber concert choir :)

🎶Haste thee, nymph is a secular air/chorus from Handel oratorio L'Allegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato.

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and youthful jollity;

Sport, that wrinkled care derides,

And laughter, holding both his sides.

#Handel #choir #chamber choir #concert #music

5 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 74 (of 77)

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 jelly roll and halsey – take a bow

He's not dead, but he'd rather be dead.

It's not even that things got out of control. In the end, this psycho was caught, and still, it could be considered thanks to him, Frederick. But he got hurt, although he didn't plan on it at all. He was lucky — the doctor said a couple of centimeters to the left, and the knife could have done much more significant damage. Frederick got off with one wound and a lot of bruises.

But everything else upset him much more.

There were no mentions in the media, no sense of satisfaction that he had planned to experience. No praise, no honors. No visitors. They came to him once, thanked him for his help, wished him recovery and forgot about him. And the hospital ended up under the supervision of orderly Higgins. Frederick was not sure that anything would be left of it by the time he returned. But the worst thing was this hopeless melancholy.

Frederick sat on the hospital bed, staring blankly out the window. The room was solitary — he wouldn’t have been able to stand having roommates, but now this loneliness was eating him up completely. Sterile whiteness, lifeless silence and not a single soul who cared about him. He thought for a moment about trying to get to know the nurse who would come to give the injection, but who was he kidding... Frederick saw a bouquet and some children’s drawings being brought into the room across the hall. No get-well cards were brought into his room, not a single flower stood in the white vase, which he eventually asked to be put away so that it wouldn’t mock him with its emptiness. He had been in the hospital for two days now, and no one else had come to visit him. Deep down, Frederick knew that people didn’t like him, but he hadn’t been alone with that knowledge for a long time. He could die, and no one cared.

No one.

Lying back down and wrapped in the blanket, Frederick tried again and again to push the memories away. Your warning about the police operation — you were right, and he had fallen into the trap of his ego again. Your eyes full of genuine tears when you fell to your knees, begging him not to ruin their lives. Your damned plan to destroy Frederick's heart, pride, self-esteem and reputation, which you discussed with your maniac. The Christmas that he thought turned his whole life upside down. His hand on your waist, your graceful curves, your bittersweet perfume. Your arms wrapped around his back, your closed eyes, your mouth parted in languor, soft skin, tangled hair, hot breath. His name on your lips.

God, this is unbearable.

You were the air he couldn't hold in his lungs. An illusion. A high-class self-deception.

Even if it was all a lie, it was painfully delightful.

* * *

“A relative?” they asked you, and you shook your head:

“A colleague.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” a young girl, too young for this job, still capable of sympathy and empathy, was truly happy. “He's been here three days already, and no one has visited him yet.”

No wonder, you thought.

“It's very upsetting for patients and doesn't contribute to recovery,” she confided, and you nodded, not saying that your visit could also upset him. Very much so. “Besides, his birthday is coming soon, he won't be discharged yet. Come and call the others!”

“Of course,” you smiled, sure that you would never set foot in this hospital again. And that you couldn't find any "others" even if you wanted to. But a birthday... You didn't know that. Poor Frederick.

You found the right room, but still couldn't find the right words. There was a small window in the door, and you saw him right away. Wounded. Defenseless. Abandoned.

God, you never thought it would touch you so much.

You knocked quietly, opened the door to the ward. He looked up, saw you. His face changed, became wary. He silently watched you standing in the aisle, and did not say a word. He deprived you of the opportunity to say anything, too. You were silent, too. But it was impossible to remain silent forever.

“I’m so sorry,” you finally squeezed out the most banal and at the same time the most truthful thing in the world.

“Oh, not that,” Frederick said, and you heard the bitterness in his voice. “Just don’t feel sorry for me.”

I definitely won’t stand that.

But what you felt wasn’t the pity he was so afraid of. Not at all.

“I didn’t—”

“Have you come to finish me off?”

“Frederick,” you breathed out, coming closer.

“I told you: for you, as for everyone else, I am Doctor Chilton.”

He had already forgotten that he had addressed you as “You” the last time you met. He remembered something else, and it was hard to get rid of it. But he will try his best.

It was not the time to argue, so you simply said,

“Good.”

Lie.

You knew that for you he would still be Frederick. Now you knew it for sure. From the second you looked through the window of the ward door.

“Can we talk?”

“What do you want?” Frederick asked sharply.

You looked down. Of course, now he would always think that you wanted something from him. That this was part of some plan again.

“How... are you?”

You couldn't and wouldn't be able to address him as “You”. You hoped that he understood that.

“Everything is fine,” he said colorlessly, turning away to the wall. “The doctor said, nonsense.”

The doctor told you something completely different. A little less luck — and he could have been killed.

You could never see him again.

“That's good,” you responded.

How is the hospital? How is orderly Higgins? How is your psychopath? Frederick had a lot of questions, but he didn't want to talk to you.

“You have to go,” he said.

“But I just got here...”

“You have things to do, don't you?” he tried to add some malice to his voice, but it didn't come out very convincingly.

“I know there won't be a transfer,” you said.

“What?”

“I saw the letter. The letter denying consideration of the transfer request.”

Frederick was so indignant he didn't even feel any pain, raising himself up on his elbows on the hospital mattress.

“You were going through my mail?”

Not me, but orderly Higgins.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Well done!”

“How long were you going to scare us with this?” you couldn't help but say. You were in hell every minute of this wait, he couldn't help but know.

“You.”

“What?”

“You. I don't give a damn about him.”

Shut up. Frederick wasn't going to be frank with you at all.

“So how long?” your voice rose, now betraying your indignation.

“As long as possible,” Frederick answered sharply.

You paused, choosing your words. You wanted to know if he was going to resubmit a request, but it was inappropriate to ask about it now. It's a miracle he's even talking to you. Even like this. But there was no need to look for words.

“Go away,” he said so tiredly that you regretted your arrival.

He was probably right. It would be better to leave. And yet you hesitated, and he turned completely to the wall so as not to see you. And he repeated:

“Please, go away.”

Get well, you wanted to say, but you couldn't. He sent you away, and you obeyed. You saw that your presence was hard for him. As if it was easier for you.

When you left, quietly closing the door behind you, Frederick thought that he would never be able to work in a hospital again. He himself will end up in a mental hospital. Not his own, of course, he was not a criminal after all. Some run-down one, with peeling flowered wallpaper in the lounge area and cracked tiles in the toilets. You were driving him crazy. You and his past. You and his future. He thought little about either, but with your arrival, an avalanche of unnecessary thoughts began to descend, and it was impossible to stop it. Frederick cursed the day your psychopath gave in and came into his sights. Him and you.

Your shoe covers rustled on the linoleum as you walked to the elevator. The door to one of the rooms was open, and several people were sitting by the patient's bed, laughing. With every step you took, you felt more and more that all this was wrong. Everything you did to Frederick was wrong. Everything you felt.

And the fact that you listened to him.

“Why did you come back?” he blurted out with such despair that you both felt awkward.

This time you didn't knock, you just walked into the room and found him in such a broken state that you felt a lump in your throat.

“Forgive me,” you said, sitting down on a chair near the bed. “Forgive me. I'm so sorry.”

You're kidding me.

Suddenly you took his hand, squeezed it lightly. He felt that you were speaking sincerely. That you were you. Like that time, at Christmas. Or at the Association party. Or when you watched a program about the underwater world, ate damn pies and laughed by candlelight. Or when you praised his articles and defended him from the attacks of Dr. Irving. He knew that not everything was a lie. And that you probably didn't realize it yourself.

But how could he believe you again?

He didn't squeeze your hand back, turned away, unable to look at you. An endless minute passed, but nothing changed. Perhaps you shouldn't have come back. You should have gone to the hospital, to your criminal and orderly Higgins. Your place is there, not next to the one you betrayed.

“Should I really leave?” you asked, seeing that he had completely closed himself off.

Frederick was still studying every crack in the wall.

You removed your hand and stood up, realizing how stupid it was to hope for anything.

You removed your hand and stood up, and wave came over with renewed force. Frederick felt: a little more, and he will never swim out again. The damned loneliness that had gnawed at him right here, in the hospital, where no one knew him, where there were no his staff, no his criminals, where there was no one and no one needed him at all... How pathetic he was.

“Not necessarily,” very displeased, but still he said.

Of course, he wasn't going to forgive you. But your presence no longer made him want to strangle you and your psychopath and then hang himself. There was no that sharp, bitter rage, so unusual for him. This stupid idea, the attack, the hospital loneliness, the fact that you already knew that there would be no transfer for now, and the fact that you came back for some reason when he was sure that you had left... You can stay, but he will be cold so that you do not understand how bad he felt.

“Is everything okay in the hospital?” Frederick asked casually.

“Today the staff was served pizza for breakfast,” you chuckled. “Orderly Higgins wrote it into the budget.”

Lord.

“I hope they serve black caviar tomorrow,” he responded, wincing. “I will write it into the salary of orderly Higgins.”

You smiled.

“When will you be discharged?”

“I don't know yet. I don't think the staff misses me very much,” Frederick looked at the ceiling.

His voice was such that you understood: a little more and he would completely slide into self-deprecation.

“Not very much,” you said honestly. “But still misses.”

“Really?”

“Someone will have to clean up the mess.”

Truth.

“That's for sure.”

You weren't on your knees crying, he wasn't throwing horrible words at you or admiring the effect he'd produced. You weren't flirting with him, he wasn't trying to help you. You were neither enemies nor friends now. Brittle ice, an unknown road.

“Bring groceries?” you asked with some hope. Apparently, you really wanted to be useful.

“No. I'm on a strict diet,” Frederick answered with some arrogance. Apparently, the pizza really hit a nerve of him.

“Maybe some of your things?”

He thought about it and nodded.

“There, in my pocket.” He pointed to his coat hanging on a coat rack by the entrance. You came up to him and groped for the keys to his apartment in his pocket. It wasn't that he trusted you again or wanted to see you in his house, but you were still the only person he could ask for that.

“Bring me my pajamas. And a pillow. Both are terrible here.”

You nodded, hiding a smile. Indeed, the hospital pajamas were nothing compared to the silk Frederick ones he was used to.

“And a phone charger.”

You nodded again.

“And don't even think about playing the grand piano.”

* * *

You brought what he asked for, and a few other things that you saw in his apartment that might come in handy. Considering that the hospital Frederick was in wasn't the most comfortable, you grabbed a towel (soft), hand soap (non-drying and with a pleasant aroma), slippers, warm socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and shaving supplies, just in case. And a couple more things. When you returned to the ward an hour later with two huge bags in your hands, Frederick perked up a little. He sat up on the bed, leaning against its back, and immediately put the pillow you brought under his lower back. He barely managed to hold back a blissful sigh. You showed him everything that was in the bags and put the things closer to the bed, in the nightstand and on the table, so that Frederick wouldn't have to get up or stretch too far.

He was wondering if he should thank you. Would you think that all was forgiven because you brought him slippers? Frederick was well-mannered, and you knew it, so perhaps you wouldn't consider basic politeness to be anything more. On the other hand, it was still hard for him to see you, much less talk to you, and he thought that you were just trying to make amends. And perhaps you wanted to know if he would reapply for the transfer.

But who would have brought all this if it weren't for you? After all, you weren't obliged to do it.

“Thank you,” he said anyway, but in a way that made it clear that he could do without your help.

“Maybe something else?” you asked, sitting down on the chair next to him.

He shook his head, and at that moment a nurse entered the room with a cart on which medical bandages and medicines were laid out.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You were the one looking for Dr. Chilton.”

She saw you when you were standing near the reception desk.

“Yes,” you said, standing up. “Yes, I was the one looking for Dr. Chilton.”

And found Frederick.

“She's already leaving,” Frederick — Dr. Chilton spoke up, and you both looked at him. You turned away first.

“It's... so,” you nodded, approaching the coat rack.

“Well, you'll come again, right?” the nurse asked very kindly.

What a caring staff here, you thought. And just as you wanted to say of course, Frederick answered for you:

“No,” he objected. “I have already got everything I wanted.”

What I really wanted, I will never have anyway.

Next chapter (Chapter 75)

Masterlist

14 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

I agree with these words... And they remind me of "Frederick"

#love #love quotes #heartbreak #frederick chilton

7 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

When I'm not writing, I sing in a chamber concert choir :)

🎶 Time to Say Goodbye

#choir #chamber choir #music #concert #time to say goodbye

8 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 73 (of 77)

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 echos – every piece of me

Evening came, and no news of Dr. Chilton or the successful capture of the psychopath who was attacking psychiatrists had been heard. You were nervous, your criminal saw it.

“Why are you so worried?” he didn't understand.

And really, why?

You sighed and spoke of something else, just to keep your mind off Frederick. You really hoped that he wouldn't suffer from his recklessness.

Yours.

You hadn't been home since you found out that you could lose your love at any moment. You slept in the staff lounge, sometimes the nurses slept there, but in the last few days you were alone. Dr. Chilton's hospital had truly become your second home. In the morning, after you cleaned yourself up, you first visited your criminal, then went to pick at your breakfast in the staff dining room. Where, contrary to the usual, there was some kind of unhealthy excitement. There were a lot of people, and everyone was discussing something. You didn't see orderly Higgins. You didn't want to sit there without him, even though he had irritated you lately, you didn't talk to anyone else. But it would be strange to turn around and leave, you had already been noticed. And for some reason, the conversations began to die down.

You threw a tea bag into a cup and began to pour water from the boiler. You felt eyes on you. You suddenly wanted to cry — sharply, irresistibly. Not only because you had no strength left. None. Not for this endless struggle. Not for this hospital. Not for all these whispers behind your back. But also because yesterday's bad feeling literally devoured you from the inside from the moment you entered the dining room.

The boiling water spilled over the rim of the cup and dripped onto the floor. You quickly pressed the button, turning off the water. You unrolled a roll of paper towels from a nearby one, sat down, and wiped up the hot puddle. You heard someone's footsteps coming from the hallway. Silence crept up behind you. No one said a word. The footsteps became louder, you stood up and turned to face the entrance.

Orderly Higgins entered the cafeteria, clutching a thick folder of papers, and all eyes turned to him. He looked pleased, important, and excited at the same time. The orderly waved his free hand, like a choir conductor, and the cafeteria filled with noise and conversation again.

“I have a lot to do today,” he said, approaching you. “You already know, right?”

You didn't answer, just looked at him, feeling everything inside you turn over.

Frederick helped catch the criminal, and that's what everyone's talking about, right?

Please, right?

“Our favorite got a bit chopped up,” the orderly grinned.

* * *

During his career, Dr. Chilton had hardly missed a single day at the hospital, which in a certain sense was closer to him than his own home. In which he lived a life that he had once imagined and brought to life there, and in which he did not have to think about another life, lost, wasted, passing by. Of course, he had a deputy, a calm, phlegmatic doctor whom Chilton had chosen out of all of them for his maximum lack of ambition (it was unlikely that he would have wanted to “undermine” Chilton in his theoretical absence). Dr. Chilton paid him a fairly large salary, not allowing him anywhere near his office, his place, his position. There had been no practical need for a deputy until now. Dr. Chilton did not go on vacation, and his health was excellent.

Well, until yesterday.

Dr. Chilton’s deputy was on a planned vacation, and quite far away, so he could not return urgently. In his absence, the next on the list of deputies was the personnel administrator, the head of the orderly Higgins. But, as luck would have it, he had been on sick leave for a week with pneumonia.

Next on the list was his deputy.

“Amazing coincidences,” said orderly Higgins. “It's providence, no other way. It's not that I'm unhappy,” he grinned. “The bonuses will be significant.”

Unbelievably, for the next few days he was to become the acting head of the entire hospital. Dr. Chilton would have fainted if he had been told that such a thing would ever happen.

Fifteen minutes later, when you had drunk your tea, told your criminal the news and went to the toilet, you ran into the orderly in the hallway.

“All the keys are officially mine,” the orderly twirled an impressive bunch of keys on his finger. “And these too,” he patted his pocket, from which several magnetic cards were sticking out. “Great, huh?”

A crazy idea came to you for a few seconds, blinding you with unexpected joy.

“Well, unfortunately, I won’t be able to let anyone out,” orderly Higgins read your face. “I still don’t have that kind of access.”

“Of course not,” you muttered. That would be too easy.

“But I do have access to the one master office,” he smiled, jingling the keys again.

You followed him, not knowing why. The office you had been in so many times. So many different times. The orderly opened the door with a key, turned on the light, went to the coffee machine, examined it, started making coffee. He walked around the room, touched the chairs, ran his finger along the polished surface of the table, began to pull out the drawers. You stood and watched as he rummaged through things, the things of Frederick, who had ended up in the hospital, having let go of control. Of his hospital and of his life. The coffee was ready, and the orderly, waving some papers that he needed, threw them on the table along with the mail he had fished out (several opened envelopes) and slammed the drawers shut with a bang.

“I need to get my head around something,” he said, putting a cup of coffee right on the table (Frederick usually used coasters) and plopping down with pleasure into an expensive leather chair. Orderly Higgins felt like a big boss and, oddly enough, he had the right to, but you were so unaccustomed to seeing him here. Instead of Frederick.

“I'll go.”

“Yeah,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the expensive fountain pens on the stand.

You were sitting with your criminal when it happened. When a plump, chess-loving, power-gotten orderly with thick fingers and a rubber doll's face glued your world back together. He entered the compartment, making you flinch, and poked you in the chest with some kind of letter.

“I think you'll like this,” he grinned. “Both of you.”

You took the letter, your love came closer to the glass. You pulled out a sheet of paper with seals and signatures from the envelope and began to read.

“What's in it?” your killer couldn't help but ask, seeing how orderly Higgins was grinning and how a barely perceptible, timid smile appeared on your face.

You went up to the glass, put the letter so that he could read it himself.

Consideration denied... Please resubmit your request no earlier than such-and-such date...

Even your killer smiled. You felt the air returning to your lungs, which had been cramped for the last few days from lack of oxygen. Hospital air, but still.

“I like your game,” said orderly Higgins. “Not chess, of course, but similar.”

He meant you and Dr. Chilton.

You looked more closely at the envelope in your hand. The envelope was dated as incoming several days ago. The envelope had been opened.

Damn him.

Frederick knew the request had been denied.

* * *

He drafted the documents for the transfer in a rush, emotionally, with several inaccuracies, and the request had been rejected, asking to repeat it again later, corrected. He wasn't going to tell you about it, of course. You and the psychopath were supposed to wait helplessly for the end.

But the more he thought about it, the more he doubted it. The emotions that had overwhelmed him were gradually cooling, leaving only a dull ache and stinging disappointment, but not anger, not fury, not a mad desire for revenge. Who, if not Frederick, should think clearly? Administrative problems. A review of the case. Perhaps even a retrial. And all for what? So that this lousy psychopath would die? He could live in prison for another twenty years.

Let him rot here. Frederick will be able to make his life unbearable.

In prison, you will most likely visit him. Here, at least, he can keep you away from him.

Forever.

He was just thinking about what to do with you next when those terrible attacks on the psychiatrists happened. And he was one of them, and not exactly unknown. It didn't even occur to Frederick to inquire whether Dr. Irving had been offered such an unusual entertainment, he was so happy at the opportunity to distract himself from what you had arranged for him, and so he seized on it. And very much in vain, because if he had inquired, he might have learned that Dr. Irving refused, considering the undertaking too risky and dangerous, and advised them to turn to Dr. Chilton, vain and hungry for any attention. Secretly, he, like your criminal, hoped that Dr. Chilton would no longer be able to run the hospital after this operation.

They gave him detailed instructions, explained where the people would be, told him about the security measures.

“Once again, we really appreciate your help, Dr. Chilton,” they told him what he wanted to hear.

“I'm just doing my civic and medical duty. People like that shouldn't be free,” he said solemnly words carefully thought out in advance.

No one was supposed to get hurt. Frederick, of course, was thinking about his own safety, but while he was waiting for all the preparations — more about how you asked him to give up on what he had started. Why did you even start this circus? You don't care. In any case, he will be fine.

But he was much closer to death than he thought.

* * *

“Was he seriously... hurt?” you asked anyway, although you were angry that Frederick hadn't said that the request had been rejected and continued to watch you suffer.

However, it was understandable.

“I think so,” answered the orderly Higgins, and many terrible pictures flashed before your eyes. You knew what they could be like.

“Although... I didn't specify. I'm not sure,” he said. “But I'm sure that I won't be among his visitors.”

Of which he probably doesn't have that many.

“And you?” he asked you. “Although you probably want that the least of all.”

You nodded, agreeing.

Lie.

The staff (and their boss) were following Dr. Chilton's instructions, which allowed you to visit and which he was not yet been able to cancel. You ate your dinner, each on your own side of the glass, silently watching the employee with the cart leave. Orderly Higgins was no longer delivering carts, he was busy with more important matters. Music was now coming not only from the dining room, but could even be heard in the corridors. Music, radio, television broadcasts. Without Dr. Chilton's supervision, the hospital was noisy and unusual. Alone with your beloved at last, without the looming threat of transfer — was unusual too.

You had finally achieved your goal.

You had gotten a bottle of wine and two fancy wine glasses. It was worth celebrating. So now you sat, savoring Bordeaux, opposite each other, and the blood in your veins gradually slowed.

“Poor Chilton,” he said suddenly, grinning. “How unlucky he is.”

And your heart sank painfully, because that was what you'd been thinking about ever since you'd found out Dr. Chilton was in the hospital.

Except you didn't find it funny.

You nodded and took another sip of wine. You smiled, but his words were still ringing in your head. Over and over again.

You had betrayed him, broken his heart, wounded his pride, plunged him into an abyss of mistrust. The police had used him for their own purposes, without caring much about him. And although in the first case the fault was entirely yours, and you had nothing to do with the second, you felt terrible. You knew pain too well, all its forms, to understand what was feeling right now Doctor... no, Frederick. Pain and loneliness.

You finished your wine, and you realized that you were drunk faster than usual. Why else were you thinking so much about the man who called you an antisocial personality (and said he loved you)? What the hell were you doing here, in this asylum for murderers, holding a goddamn wine glass? How did you end up sleeping with a psychiatrist, hoping to get to his patient? Why hadn't all this — everything you'd been through together — eaten away at you over the years? Why... why?

Washing and wiping the glasses, you cursed yourself for the host of idiotic thoughts that suddenly flooded your brain, softened by wine and the experiences of all the last weeks. Apparently, something from the sessions with Dr. Chilton still settled in your subconscious. Something with which you were completely disagreed.

You passed by his office, then returned. The orderly Higgins went there all the time, so in the end he left the door unlocked. Unable to resist, you went in. Turned on the light. Without its owner with the eternally smug face, spinning in a huge leather chair, the office looked shrunken and abandoned. You rolled up your sleeve and looked at the scar left from that suicide attempt. You remembered how lonely you had been in the hospital room. Then you did not know whether your love had managed to escape, or he was already in prison. He carried you in his arms to the hospital, not caring what would happen to him. It was a hard time. No one came, and at some point you even felt sorry that not enough blood had flowed from the cut veins. God, how much you've been through.

You need to find the strength to close this book.

You shuddered, literally hearing Frederick's voice, and swore to yourself not to drink anymore.

And to go to him.

Of course, he won’t want to see you, especially in a someone else's hospital where he was so vulnerable, wounded, betrayed, and abandoned. You knew it perfectly well.

But you will try anyway.

You were about to leave the office when you remembered what you had always wanted to know, from the very beginning. What was it that Dr. Chilton had been scribbling so diligently about you and your love in his blue leather notebook? You opened one drawer of the desk, then another. A third. There, at the very bottom, you found it, piled high with papers.

With a sinking heart, you opened the notebook. What you saw hurt you more than anything that could have been written there.

All the pages had been torn out. Raggedly, violently, bitterly.

He didn’t need those notes anymore. The words you said, the reactions he had noticed, the material for the future book that he valued so much. He didn’t want to use your lies or your glimpses of sincerity anymore.

He just wanted to destroy everything related to you.

Next chapter (Chapter 74)

Masterlist

9 notes · View notes

mrsfrederickchilton · 2 months ago

Text

FREDERICK. Chapter 72 (of 77)

Note: soundtrack for this chapter:

🎵 hurts – liar

Aren't you ashamed of what you did?

Aren't you ashamed of who you are?

I'm not afraid of what you'll say

I won't cry

Of course, after crying in a dress on your naked body and an open coat on the street in such cold, you caught a cold. While you were shaking in a taxi on the way home, unable to cope with the bus ride, you felt like you were burning — and that's how it should be, does it feel any different in hell? Completely automatically, you opened the door to your apartment, closed it.

Emptiness.

Both outside and inside.

You changed your clothes, took a few fever-reducing pills, climbed under the covers. No one cared about your bed anymore. About your mental anguish. About what was troubling you. No one wanted to come and bring you medicine. No one buttoned your coat for you, didn't put a hood on so that you wouldn't freeze. Didn't give you tasty tea to drink.

Only now did you realize how you used to him. To what he did for you. You were breathing heavily, looking at the wall, but seeing nothing in the darkness. The heat was receding, leaving an incredible weakness. You didn't even have the strength to think. Tomorrow you will come and try to talk to him again.

And again, and again...

You will try until you succeed.

* * *

This is a difficult decision.

To transfer your damned lover, who's completely driven you crazy, out of the hospital where Frederick was so determined to lock him up. To give up his plans for him, his ambitions. And, of course, to admit that he was wrong, that your criminal really doesn't belong here. People like Dr. Irving will quickly start discussing this mistake, and in the end, all this will have a detrimental effect on his career.

Frederick was sure that your killer was a psychopath. Maybe not as obvious as some. Unusual. It would be very interesting to watch him. To conduct research. He didn't distort the results much — a few points, but decisive points, which saved his life, hid him in the hospital. Points that Frederick was sure would definitely be confirmed later.

But he didn't allow himself to be researched. He didn't make contact. He refused to cooperate, although he could have received some minor privileges for it. A book, or soft toilet paper, for example. But no. He acted as if he was only there temporarily, by accident, and planned to leave this place soon. As if he had gotten on the wrong train and had to endure a pestering passenger until he could change.

It was getting tiresome. He had no respect for Frederick, and no fear of him. He was the most uncooperative patient in his entire career.

And he was the only way to really hurt you.

* * *

In the morning you felt better. You gathered yourself — piece by piece — and your things, and went to the hospital. It looked gloomier than usual, because it could soon become a hospital without your criminal. With only Dr. Chilton.

And without Frederick.

The difficulties began immediately. The guards, who knew you very well, looked at each other when you entered the hospital. And again when you tried to go through the security checkpoint.

They didn’t let you in.

That was to be expected.

“Sorry, but you’re... on the list.”

Black.

“What list?” you asked anyway.

“Unfortunately, we can’t let you in.”

You sighed and sat down on the bench near the entrance. It wasn’t the first time you called Frederick, but he didn’t pick up again. You put the phone in your bag and stared ahead.

“No, really,” the guard said, “you'll have to leave.”

“Call Dr. Chilton,” you replied. “I really need to talk to him.”

If you can't see him, you'll go to his house and wait for him by the door.

“You're on the list,” the guard repeated.

“That's exactly what I need to talk to him about,” you explained politely. “There's clearly some kind of mistake. You know how many times I've been here.”

And how many times we've left here together.

“Please,” you added.

One of the guards sighed and picked up the local phone.

“Wait here,” he told you, after a quiet conversation, apparently with Dr. Chilton.

“Thank you.”

Frederick came down fifteen minutes later. Before you could even open your mouth to start the speech you had prepared, he said sharply:

“I don't want to see you here. Ever.”

You already knew that.

“Please, let me fix everything,” you said, realizing that it was practically impossible.

You had become his enemy, and not at all like Dr. Irving or anyone like him. A special enemy. And now he is yours too. Again. Again that damn Dr. Chilton. But something in you, something deep inside, for some reason still remembered Frederick.

The one who saw in you what you had already stopped seeing yourself.

The one in whom you saw what others did not see.

“Please, talk to me,” you looked into his eyes.

“Yes, I really wanted to say something,” Frederick nodded. Or Dr. Chilton. More like the second one.

You were glad. No matter how much you hurt him, no matter what he thinks of you now, any conversation is better than nothing.

But it would be better if he kept quiet.

“You won’t come again,” he said. “And you’ll be in the nescience. One fine day — bang!” he snapped his fingers. “And he won’t be here anymore. You won’t even know when it happens. You’ll think he’s here, but he’ll already be in prison. You’ll think he’s alive, but he’s already been executed.”

Of course, Frederick exaggerated. A transfer of such a person would obviously get into the media, and the death penalty can be expected for years. But he saw what he wanted. How your eyes filled with tears, and your lips trembled. He really enjoyed this sight — you had hardened his heart this much. Frederick looked at you, and suddenly a new interesting idea came to his mind.

“You know what? I changed my mind. Come in.”

He nodded to the guard, and he let you through, you, who were not understanding how you could have awakened so much cruelty in Frederick.

He went up the stairs, and you trudged after him. Soon you realized where he was taking you. Approaching the door, he took the pass badge off his neck and hung it on yours.

“You can even spend the night here. It's even better this way,” he grinned.

You felt scared. Dr. Chilton had always thought of himself as the king of this hospital, but now he was a god who would not be stopped by anything. The god of death. You could feel it in your skin.

“Spend time together. You will never know how much time you have left. Two days or two hours. I think it will be much more interesting that way.”

He nodded, as if agreeing with his idea, and left, leaving you standing on weak legs.

Oh, whatever they say about him, he was an excellent psychiatrist and a great psychologist.

He knew exactly how to drive you insane.

* * *

You spent the next few days in constant fear.

Every time the door opened, you were afraid that they had come for him. When you saw an orderly or a cleaning lady, your heart almost burst with joy, but almost immediately it sank again in horror. Who would come next?

Frederick changed the passwords for emails and all the sites you had access to. Now your phone was once again yours alone. He also changed the graphic key to the storage with folders, having previously deleted all the files from there. And this was bad, because the fact that you had found access to documents that were not intended for prying eyes, in their absence on Dr. Chilton's phone became less significant. And slightly prompted another question: where did you get access to the password-protected archives of the head of the hospital?

You also had tape recordings of your “conversations.” Edited as best you could, considering that they were unofficial. Those words were even on the tapes. And Dr. Chilton didn't deny them. But would that be enough to convince him to give up the transfer?

The damage you'd done was too great.

You had almost everything just recently: access, passwords, evidence, a future witness, and something Dr. Chilton couldn't get away with (especially with the witness). Something that never happened. All that — and his trust.

All that remained was a dictaphone against the death penalty.

It didn't work.

You waited for Frederick outside his office, but he wouldn't let you in.

“You have no business there,” he said.

Your place is next to your killer.

“Then please sit down,” you sat down on the bench near the door, where you had sat so many times, but now it felt foreign, uncomfortable.

Frederick snorted, but sat down. You handed him the printouts of the tape recordings with the highlighted parts, took out the tape recorder itself, ready to start playing. Frederick stared at it for a long time. He was realizing the scale of your betrayal. Then he turned his gaze to you.

“God, this is simply unbelievable.”

You tapped your finger on the printout, drawing his attention to it. He looked down, read carefully, and flipped through the papers.

“What you did was actually illegal. You no longer have the right to conduct therapy for private individuals. And if it weren't for a chance conversation with Dr. Irving, I wouldn't have even known about it. This isn't going too well for you, is it?”

“Is that what you call ‘fixing everything’?” he chuckled, remembering your words when you weren't allowed into the hospital. “Amazing.”

Fixing something, at least.

“And yet…”

“Anything that might be recorded there doesn’t matter.”

“You’ll have troubles…”

“You think I won’t have any during the transfer?” Frederick chuckled. “One more, one less… Go ahead. Do what you want. If you really think it’s still important.”

You didn’t know what to say. You had imagined this conversation completely differently. What had been one of your trump cards had turned into a useless beaten card.

“If that’s all, I advise you to go back to your lover. Ah, yes, ex-lover,” Frederick (no, definitely Dr. Chilton) corrected himself, remembering how that had offended you at one of your meetings.

He stood up, and so did you. You were still clutching the recorder in your hands, not ready to accept defeat. Maybe turning it on would be more convincing?

“Don’t waste your time, which you have so little of, on senseless blackmail,” Frederick said unexpectedly softly, as if he really sympathized with you.

It was terrible.

* * *

You barely crossed paths in the hospital. Dr. Chilton knew very well how to move around the building to avoid unnecessary encounters. Although you almost never left the compartment where your whole world was. You sat next to him, separated from him by glass, and constantly thought about what to do. How to make Dr. Chilton give up this idea? Would he really decide to do this? He himself said that it would cause him problems. You asked the orderly Higgins, but he did not know anything. There was no one else to ask. How to convince Dr. Chilton not to do what you were afraid to even imagine? How to bring Frederick back?

You thought about giving him what he wanted before. You asked your criminal to agree to all the research, all the tests, all the manipulations that Dr. Chilton wanted, just to stay here. He refused to even try, and no threat of the death penalty could make him change his mind. He could not be convinced. It made you terribly angry. You thought you had to try everything possible, no matter how humiliating and horrible it seemed, but he was stubborn.

“I’d rather die,” he said. “But I’m not going to let him rummage around in my head.”

“You’re just crazy,” you blurted out in anger.

He smiled sadly.

“I didn’t… that’s not what I meant,” you said hastily.

“It’s okay.”

Truth?

He made you eat in the staff dining room, not sitting across from him. He made you go outside his prison cell, his patient's room, his lodger's abode. He saw you fading right before his eyes. You agreed, and now several times a day you actually sat with orderly Higgins in the staff dining room. The one that had become like home to you. The one where you and Frederick once ate an omelet.

You and Dr. Chilton.

Whom you met just on the way to the staff dining room, and who nodded coldly at you and said good afternoon.

“Hi” and “you” disappeared, leaving him with such familiar alone meals.

You categorically refused to play chess. Orderly Higgins tried to entertain you with some stories, but most often you simply did not listen to him, silently picking at your plate and eating almost nothing. You did not want to eat. You did not want anything. You felt like you were not in a hospital, but in a hospice. Where everyone knows everything and just lives the small remaining segment of life in anticipation. And those others, who have a longer segment and are not locked within the walls of the hospice, try to distract them from this anticipation a little.

But everyone knows everything.

It was the three of you — your criminal, you and orderly Higgins. Only you felt more like you were sentenced to death than the one who could actually be sentenced.

You felt like you had given up. You had given up after all. And you were drowning. The only one who could have extended a hand to you was Doctor Chilton. He had done this so many times. He tried to help you. But you pushed him away.

You were sitting in the cafeteria again, and you didn't even pretend to take the soup. Orderly Higgins told your criminal that you weren't eating anything, and that was the only thing that could briefly pull you out of the suspended animation you were sinking into. That pissed you off. You told them both. It was the first time you snapped, and they were surprised. If you can't swallow because you've ruined three lives, including your own, no one will make you eat. Even your criminal.

You took the fruit drink and sipped it, trying to occupy yourself with something. After finishing his soup, the orderly looked at you with burning eyes. He wanted to tell you something.

“Have you heard the news?” he asked.

“No.”

You hadn't heard any news for a long time. And the news you wanted to hear didn't seem to be on the agenda. Neither today nor tomorrow.

“Oh, it's everyone talks about. On the sly, of course.”

“What is ‘it’?” you asked tiredly.

“Some madman attacked two psychiatrists. From different hospitals. But both, fortunately, survived.” Orderly Higgins said “fortunately” in such a tone that the opposite was clearly heard.

You looked at his crooked badge pinned to the pocket of his medical uniform, showing no emotion. You didn't care at all who attacked whom. Your life was practically over. You didn't care about strangers.

“And they didn't catch him,” the orderly added.

“I see,” you sighed, thinking that the conversation was over, but orderly Higgins hadn't told you the most interesting part yet.

“The police think there will be another attack.”

“Uh-huh.”

The collar of the orderly's blouse is a little greasy, it need to be washed.

“And what do you think?” Orderly Higgins added mystery to his voice, hoping to finally intrigue you.

And he himself should do a haircut.

“Our dear Doctor Chilton agreed to play the role of bait.”

You finally focused on his face, looked into his faded eyes.

Bait?

You remembered different eyes, green ones — warm, and then so indifferent.

“Doctor Chilton?” you asked again.

“Well, yes,” the orderly was glad that you finally got the gist. “It's just the news of the day. We decided that he was counting on at least a medal for bravery. Or for heroism. The latter is more likely.”

Bait.

Doesn't he understand how dangerous this is?

What are you doing, Frederick?

“And of course, to get into the media,” the orderly added.

You and he were thinking the same thing.

If Doctor Chilton couldn't make a name for himself by studying one psychopath, he'll make it by helping catch another.

* * *

Of course, you were both right. The reason for his bold, bold, and stupid decision was on the surface, and anyone who knew Dr. Chilton at least a little bit would consider it. A unique chance to prove himself, to get the attention he craved, to contribute to an important cause, and to feel truly significant. But…

You. You were the real reason for all this.

Frederick had heard a lot of things in his work. He had talked to patients. He had done therapy with other clients for a while. Perhaps he himself would do well to go to therapy sometimes. But it was so sad — only by paying someone money could Frederick talk to someone, confident that he would be listened to and not ridiculed. The very thought of it was unbearable. He was so happy when he got you.

Before.

All he wanted was to make you as happy as you made him. He was so looking forward to every meeting with you. He so hoped that you would see each other more often.

Before.

He remembered taking your hand, small and soft, fitting his own, as if you were made for each other.

How, went to bed alone, he was closing his eyes and saw you.

You, doing the same, did not see him.

You won't leave me here alone in the dark, will you?

But that is exactly what you did.

* * *

The love of your life was pleased with the news.

“Maybe,” he said, “someone will be unlucky and the transfer won’t happen. That would be nice, right?”

You are not like him at all.

“Yes,” you said.

Lie.

You didn’t want Frederick to be unlucky. In fact, you had a bad feeling about this crazy idea. You needed to talk to him. And this time, not about you and your criminal.

You waited for him in the hallway. He had his neat beard and slicked-back hairdo again. He had put on his most tasteless jacket, his most inappropriate shirt, his most vulgar tie. He must have bought new ones. He was dressed in Dr. Chilton’s suit. And he walked as if he had been invited to the most prestigious TV show in which he would be the main star.

But you knew that was not so. Because you knew enough about the police, and about criminals, and about psychopaths on the loose, even though you didn't want to.

He was going to take away the most precious from you, but your heart still ached when you thought about everything that had happened. About what you had done to him.

“Wait,” you clung to his sleeve, afraid of what might happen.

Now or later.

Doctor Chilton stopped and turned around in surprise. He hadn't expected you to dare to speak to him, much less grab onto him. He was striding confidently down the path to future honors, and your interference was not part of his plans.

“Don't,” you said, putting all the persuasiveness you could into your words, hearing how ridiculous they sounded in the impersonal air of the hospital corridor.

“Excuse me?” Doctor Chilton was amazed.

“They'll use you and then throw you away like an unnecessary thing. If you even survive,” you caught your breath, because, as always, you instantly imagined the worst.

Doctor Chilton looked at you with genuine amazement. He truly couldn't believe his ears.

“Don't do that,” you said quietly, praying that he would listen to you, and knowing that it was unlikely to happen.

“That? So, not helping the police catch a dangerous criminal?” Doctor Chilton chuckled. “That is what normal people do.”

“Yes,” you said. “I get it. Abnormal people do the opposite.”

“But they don’t always succeed,” Doctor Chilton added, looking at you with ill-concealed contempt.

Truth.

You got scared. Right now, you didn’t care about anything that had happened in the last few days, how he treats you now, even your love. You were scared of the despair in his eyes, hidden behind the anger, and what it could lead to. There are many ways to avoid pain and loneliness. Sometimes people get drunk and start a bar fight. Sometimes people agree to become bait for a dangerous psychopath. But it never leads to anything good.

“It’s dangerous and reckless,” you said, unconsciously reaching for his face. You wanted to stroke his prickly cheek and make him give up on this idea. You barely understood what you were doing.

He grabbed your wrist and pulled your hand away.

“Leave me alone,” Doctor Chilton said through gritted teeth, turning sharply and heading for the exit, with all his might forcing himself not to run.

But they don't always succeed.

You can't do anything the way you want.

Frederick got into a taxi that pulled up and headed to the address the police had given him. It's dangerous and reckless. As if he doesn't understand it. As if you care. As if he would listen to you again. Frederick grinned and looked out the window. He remembered, incongruously, the taxi ride back from that first appointment where you had cut Doctor Irving off, how he had choked on his water from what you had said — to him and Doctor Irving. That day he would not have pulled your hand away.

How everything changes.

The only constant is the emptiness that you had temporarily turned into a memory and which had returned a hundred times darker when you had done what you had done. The police, the criminals, the bait, the consequences. Anything.

He needed to fill that emptiness, and it didn't matter with what.

Next chapter (Chapter 73)

Masterlist

12 notes · View notes