Red Foxes, Part Four

Final revision for my portfolio of my short story, Red Foxes. I wrote it as fiction but am quite tempted to make it a fantasy.

Lisa Stone pressed the phone her ear with her right shoulder as she organized the papers on her mahogany desk, the only picture resting in a gold frame was of herself and her mother and father. Her eyes flitted around the room, a pale cream color with dark brown accents. Two fake plants rested in the corner opposite of her, a lovely leather couch centered between them. Artwork and framed diploma’s and recognition certificates for psychology peppered the walls. A small glass coffee table with scenic pictures rested in the center, between the desk and the couch, a live orchid resting on it. Behind her desk was a wall bookshelf crammed with psychology and therapy books, books on sexuality and family, on philosophy and death. Cabinets on either side filled to the brim with patient files. Turning towards them, she ran her fingers down to the ‘E-H’ drawer, quickly opening it as her fingers flitted through searching for the one she wanted.

                Falleden, Quinn.

“Falleden, pick up the phone,” the woman whispered, as the repetitive ring resounded in her ear. She flipped open the file and quickly glanced over it, her handwritten notes scrawled over pieces of paper stapled to documents. Quinn was one of her more unusual patients, and Lisa wondered if she was ever going to break through with her. It took three calls to finally get an answer from the girl, and the woman swore under her breath just before the line picked up.

                “Yes?”

                “Hello Quinn, its Lisa Stone. I just wanted to check in on you.”

                “I’m fine.”

                “I see. Where are you? You missed your last appointment with me. It’s hard to reach you since you don’t come in anymore.”

                “I wasn’t able to return your call, bad service. Sorry for missing it.”

                The woman sighed in frustration, dropping into the seat behind her desk, forehead dropping on her fingers. It was the same excuse every time, bad service. The girl wasn’t hiking in caves, so what on earth was she doing?

                “Quinn, I’m worried about you. It’s been what, a year now? You don’t answer the phone half the time, you’ve missed our sessions… I’m only trying to help you. Why are you being so stubborn?”

                “I’m fine, I’m dealing with things.”

                “Have the red foxes stopped?”

                The other line went silent, the sound of wind and cars and children’s squeals in the background.

                “Quinn?”

                “I had an interesting conversation with a young girl, about a fish. Apparently, at this pond, there’s a Silver Koi. If you find it, you get a wish. It reminded me a bit of my mom. How long does someone have to tell you something before it comes true?”

                “What?”

“I’ll call you when I’ve found the answer. Until then, don’t worry about me. I’m sure your other patients are waiting to pour their hearts out to you, you’re a well-respected psychologist you know. Many good reviews online.”

“That’s not what we’re talking about. When are you going to tell me everything as a whole, instead of these little pieces?”

“When I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

 “What are you looking for?”

“I wish I knew.”

The line clicked dead and the woman dropped the phone on her desk, muffling a squeal of frustration. Quinn wasn’t an official patient; just someone she’d been referred to because Lisa had dealt with young cases before, and had been successful. If only she could say the same about Quinn. Always running, always hiding, only revealing bits and pieces.  Checking her watch, she flipped through the file again, reading all of her notes once more. Her mother had been incarcerated at Valencia Institution. It was a rather nice place all in all, it had some wealthy sponsors that kept it alive, thanks to the Institution housing valued family members. It had been for Bipolar Disorder, Quinn’s mother, a rather rare case of it. It had always existed, but in a very mild form. Postpartum depression hadn’t helped, and Lisa believed it was the trigger that led to the eventual devolution of the elder Falleden’s mind.

                “Quinn didn’t inherit it from her mother though…”

                The comment Quinn made earlier stuck in Lisa’s mind. How long did someone have to talk about something for it to come true?

                “I hope you find what you’re looking for soon, Quinn. I would love some answers.”

                Lisa snapped the file shut and check her watch again. Slipping the manila folder into a desk drawer, she walked out of her office to call in her next patient, an inviting smile painted on her face.

Author's Note

Any/all help and critique is loved.