Hidden

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events are fictitious and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, or real events is entirely coincidental.

Text Copyright © 2012 Derick Parsons

All Rights Reserved

“Table of Contents”

Hidden

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Epilogue

  
Kate Bennett quickly crossed the inner quadrangle of Trinity College Dublin, her high heels clicking sharply on the grimy old cobblestones.  The expression on her face was grim and her eyes were blank, her thoughts far away.  After yet another uninspired lecture –during which few of her students had bothered to hide their boredom- it was becoming painfully clear to her that teaching was not her
forte
.  She bit her lower lip as she walked and frowned down at the cobbles; she was not used to failure and it rankled.  Failure in professional matters, that is; spectacular failures in her personal life
were
her
forte
, and always had been.  Which was why she had returned to Dublin from England in the first place, some months before.  But she was used to relationship breakdowns and could handle them, more or less; failing in her work was a new and unpleasant experience.  On paper it had seemed the ideal solution to her troubles; being a part-time lecturer would give her time to work on her latest book, as well as giving her generally chaotic life a little much-needed structure.

In practice things had not run so smoothly.  In spite of
her deep knowledge of psychology, both the theoretical side and the practical experience she had picked up working in the field, her career as a teacher was in danger of foundering after just a few short weeks.  She just couldn’t understand why it was all going so badly wrong; even aside from her expertise she
loved
psychology, loved the unending search into how the human psyche worked.  And yet she was unable to convey any of her enthusiasm to her students.  Information, yes; passion, no. Her lectures were so dry she wondered how much of them her students actually absorbed; certainly none of them ever seemed to be listening.  Yet the harder she tried to make her discourses interesting the more she floundered on a sea of verbosity.

She shook her
head dismissively, putting the problem to one side; she would worry about it later.  Pushing problems aside for later resolution could also be considered her
forte
.

Kate was slightly above medium height
, but her weakness for ultra-high heels made her appear taller, as did her slender build.  Her appetite naturally inclined her towards plumpness but an unrelenting program of diet and exercise, both of which she loathed, kept her slim and even elegant in the slightly severe, tailored suits she favored.  Her hair was dark brown with a hint of natural red in its depths and, with her pale, narrow face set off by big hazel eyes and full lips, she made a striking figure, and one which turned heads everywhere she went.

She attracted attention
now in the form of the head of the History Department, Dr. Julian Symons, who hurried across the quad to catch up with her before she reached the door that led up to her second floor office.  Symons was an aging, would-be rake who delighted in his dubious reputation as a ladies’ man and who gave Kate the creeps, not least because she suspected that he started the rumors about his amorous adventures himself.  He was a short man and rather stout, given to wearing pink bow ties and silk shirts with his tweed suits, and just looking at him generally made Kate want to laugh aloud.  Not that she ever would; the funny little man really seemed to believe that he was a born lady-killer, and although she could never like him she hadn’t the heart to disabuse him of his delusions.

‘Katherine, my dear,’ he began in his high, nasal voice
, offering her a wide, patronising smile, ‘How delightful to see you!  For a
change
.  You’re becoming something of a recluse around here.  Why, I go days sometimes without spotting your pretty face. 
Not
the way to win friends and influence people, my dear.  To say nothing of winning
tenure
.’

Kate’s lips tightened and she pulled her jacket closed; he
did
appear delighted to see her, but she didn’t much care for the parts he was so pleased to see.  She nodded and, wishing that he would raise his gaze to eye-level just once in their conversations, said in a neutral tone, ‘Julian.’

He did eventually
look up from her breasts, which were in fact quite small and hardly demanded such close attention, and smiled at her slyly before saying, ‘I’m having a little
soiree
tonight and I was hoping you might grace it with your presence.  Badinage aside, we really don’t see enough of you, you know.’  His gaze dropped again and he said suggestively, ‘And I really
would
like to see more of you, my dear.’

‘The feeling is far from mutual,’ replied Kate dryly, partly irritated and partly amused by his elephantine attempt at flirtation
; he was like a reject from an old Carry-on movie, and impossible to take seriously.  In fact, so labored was his act that she occasionally wondered if he were secretly gay.  ‘College social life leaves me cold, I’m afraid, and although I’m new to teaching I’ve been here long enough for the idea of tenure to fill me with horror.’

Sym
ons raised his brows and cocked his head to one side, reminding her irresistibly of a sparrow looking for breadcrumbs, and looked at her in a pitying fashion.  College life –and particularly tenure- loomed so large in his own mind, in his own life, that he clearly didn’t believe her. 
Couldn’t
believe her; the college was the center of his universe.  His artificial and rather yellow smile never wavered as he said, ‘Well, come or not, just as you please.  Don’t let my importance on the faculty board influence you at all.’

‘I won’t,’ said Kate even more dryly
, and with complete honesty;
she
wouldn’t, though many would.  She flashed him a brief, perfunctory farewell smile and turned to go, whereupon he said archly, ‘Well, play hard to get if you must.  But remember; the faster the quarry runs, the harder the pursuers chase.’

Sym
ons meant it in a purely social sense but Kate’s past had left her highly sensitive to any hint of women being viewed as prey, and her smile vanished as she said in a tight, angry voice, ‘If you try pursuing
me
you’ll regret it, I promise you.  Stick to chasing the girls you teach who are desperate for grades.  And I do mean
desperate
.’

Sym
ons’ smile vanished and this time he did not stop Kate as she entered the old building but stood staring after her, a savage look on his face.  He was not used to such treatment, was indeed used to being courted by very new, very junior staff like Kate, and he had come to view his invitations as tantamount to royal commands.  Although she did not realize it, Kate’s utter lack of interest in the college social scene gave her a certain
cache
among the other lecturers, resulting in her receiving invitations that similarly junior members of staff would have killed for but never received; Symons had not been kidding when he said that the more she ran, the harder she was pursued.

Kate marched angrily
up to her office, not relaxing until she was seated behind her ancient, leather-topped desk, as much annoyed at herself for losing her temper as she was at the silly little man for provoking her.  Then she thought;
Well, I guess I’m no longer invited to his party.  Sorry, SOIREE.
  She slammed down her briefcase, her lips a tight white line, but then she giggled, unable to help herself, at the thought of Symons’ expression if she now actually turned up at his party.  Somehow she doubted he’d be quite so effusive, or that future invitations would be forthcoming.  Oh well, it was no loss; to her Trinity was simply the place where she happened to be working just then, and she had no wish to involve herself in its hidden depths.  Nor had she any interest in tenure; her lack of the teaching gift was becoming so painfully obvious that she was in fact sorry that her one-year contract would hold her there until the following summer.

Besides,
even apart from lacking the teaching bug she didn’t much like the place; Trinity, like all Universities, contained two very separate personas.  One was the crowded and hectic but still beautiful old center of education which everyone in the outside world perceived.  The other, murkier facets of college life that only insiders saw were the rigid cliques, the petty jealousies, the bitter feuds and hatreds that lasted for years on end, and the tight, even claustrophobic social life.  If one did not mix with the right people one simply did not exist.  An elitist and somewhat childish view, but one which most of the faculty did not just subscribe to but regulated their lives by.

She was packing her notes into her case when she saw the Post-it stuck to her lamp,
no doubt left there by Sally, the secretary she shared with another junior lecturer, before she had left for her lunch.  It read;
The Director of Deacon House rang, would like to see you out there at 3pm if you can make it.

Kate
raised her thin, shaped eyebrows; why would the head of Deacon House want to talk to her?  She had heard of the place, of course, as had everyone even peripherally involved in the mental health field in Ireland; it had long been famous for its progressive approach to treating the mentally ill.  And for being the most luxurious and expensive private asylum in Europe.  It was the kind of place where she and her fellow students had dreamed of working, back when they were permanently broke and generally hungry, still struggling towards their degrees.  But as she had only been back in Dublin a couple of months, after an eight-year absence, she had no idea who the current director was, or what he could want with her.  Her books, of course, had brought her a modest amount of fame in her own little circle, as well as less modest royalties; perhaps the current director had heard she was back in Ireland and wished to offer her a job?

It se
emed the only possible scenario, and the prospect of being back in private practice immediately excited as well as frightened her.  She hadn’t had a patient since... well, since the Incident.  That was the way she always thought of it; as The Incident.  And generally in capital letters.  She closed her eyes to help shut the sudden crowd of hurtful memories out of her mind; perhaps a new patient was exactly what she needed.  After the Incident she had gone into retreat, living on her then meager savings and Peter’s far from meager earnings whilst she wrote her first book on psychology.  Not a textbook; she had wanted to de-mystify the workings of the human mind and make the whole subject more accessible to the average person, while at the same time avoiding the kind of trite psycho-babble filling the self-help shelves in every book shop.  She had wanted to show why people become the way they are, how a human personality develops, and how and why people react to different situations.  And she had succeeded. 
How
she had succeeded.  Her book had been a hit, particularly in the USA, and had led to her being offered her present post in Trinity.  It had also filled her coffers; she was not rich but in these recessionary times she was also well clear of the poverty line.