“Good morning Edith” I said trying to be as cheerful as I could be in a place like this. “Morning Derek, Dr Edwards will be with you shortly.” I sat down and wondered what was going on behind those closed doors. I feel like she holds tiny pieces of peoples souls and I don’t know if I am comfortable with that.

“Derek, morning! Come on through”.

I sit down in a chair that I have come to know so well over the past couple of weeks, I have memorised every detail of every painting on the walls and I know where every knickknack belongs on each shelf. Some days it is easier to talk into the painting then to look into her eyes and explain what happened. With a comforting smile she begins “Derek I feel that there is a lot that we still need to deal with. So today I would like you to take me back to the beginning. I want you to work through every event on that day. Let’s work through it slowly, try recall your feelings throughout.”

Before I said a word I stood up and closed the blinds on the window next to me and slowly sat down again. On the opposite wall there is a painting that I don’t understand, it’s just brush work and different colours splashed everywhere. It creates a mesh of expensive lines. I look longingly at the painting and strangely I know how the painting feels, the day I was about to relive was a day full of Gods brush strokes of chaotic colours, mainly red.

“It started as a normal day Doctor, I went through to work as usual. As a fire fighter you always know that you may be faced with extremely difficult and dangerous situations. I have been in this job for years and that awareness of potential tragedy is always there, but we must still approach every day with a sense of hope, a sense of ‘this is just another day at the office and if I do what I was trained to do, then I can help avoid tragedy.”

“Do you still believe that, Derek?”

Belief, what a concept, I brushed her question off. “The department was particularly happy that day, we had our annual fundraiser coming up and everyone was very excited. It’s our chance to show off a bit and bring our family and friends in to witness the good work we do. I remember sitting having my morning coffee and thinking that my life feels balanced. It’s amazing how you can feel so balanced and stable until something pushes you, pulls you, rocks your world and tears you apart.

At about 11h00 that morning a call came through, when I heard the address I experienced the first crack in my world. It was my apartment block, I went numb. My brain raced through everything, what day was it? Where was my wife? Where were my children? Through my panic I realised that it was Thursday, my wife was at work and my children were at school but there was no time to phone them and warn them, I had to just get there. In the organised chaos as we were preparing to go, my chief instructed me that I need to stay at the station, my emotional involvement would be dangerous for everyone.”

My focus shifted to the bookshelf, I couldn’t continue the story. My eyes scanned the shelf, looking for a title that I recognised, maybe if I find it I can change the topic. That wasn’t going to work, the doctor quickly noticed my hesitation and asked “How did you react to this instruction?”

“At first I was so angry, how dare he? This was the one fire that I should be at. This was my home, I needed to save it. I felt like the squad just had go quickly, they needed to go and save my life. I wanted to just shut my eyes and only open them when it was all over. I made my way to the communications room and sat behind the radio controller. If I couldn’t be there, I was still going to be involved. I needed to know what was happening.

When the squad arrived at the apartments, the initial report wasn’t promising. The fire had spread to the second floor and access was not easy or safe for the team. Panic gripped me. I was in over drive, I was shaking and scared. My mind kept seeing my families’ faces, was I sure that they were not there? I paced behind the radio controller, waiting for some news on civilians in the building. The report came through saying the first floor was secured and the second was busy being searched. I think I was holding my breath. The next report sent a second crack through my core, the squad believed that there were civilians on the second floor but the fire was too strong and it was blocking all access points. A tear rolled down my face. For a split second I was frozen. Then instinct kicked in and I grabbed my gear and headed home. I had to be sure.”

I didn’t want to continue with the story, was it not enough that I had to go through this in real life, why did I have to relive it? So I stopped talking, I leant forward and faced the therapist. For a moment we just looked at each other, I think she understood. She pitied me. She changed the topic ever so slightly. It’s like the break between rounds in a boxing match, a minute to breathe before the next round of punches hits you in the face.

It was irrelevant small talk and she soon brought me back to the point, she shifted in her chair and said: “help me Derek, help me get you back to work so you can help others. Finish your story, you gathered your gear and you were on your way home…” I interrupted her and mustered my strength to finish what we had started. “Yes, I was on my way home, I drove on automatic as I knew that route so well. I have never driven so fast in my life but at the same time so carefully. I only had one thing to do that day, my goal was to make sure that my family was safe. As I arrived on the scene, I pulled my safety gear on and ran towards the fire. I was stopped by my chief. He wasn’t letting me near it. As tears rolled down my face I asked him to fill me in then, were there in fact civilians on the second floor? My floor, did he not understand, my home, my family. He grabbed my shoulders and told me that yes, there were civilians on the second floor. I shoved him to the ground, I had to get up there and I had to see.”

My heart was racing now, my hands clenched tight and for the first time in the weeks that I have been here I felt the tears roll down my face. I had to tell her.

“I started running towards the building, I looked up at the second floor and there it was. There was a face in the window.” I broke down. My therapist knelt beside me, she took my hand and we sat in a silence that was only interrupted by my sobbing.

Once I had stopped crying she moved back to her chair. I had to finish this… “There was a face in the window. I needed to get inside. I went through the door and into a wall of smoke, into a warzone filled with flames and the screaming of the building. As I approached the stairs another fire fighter grabbed me and screamed “We have to go, we have to get out of here!”; he pulled me back through that wall of smoke and out the door and as we moved through the door, the bottom of the second floor caved in.”

Our time had run its course, she handed me a tissue and gently told me that she is going to request more sessions. I stood to leave and said “the face in the window is a face I will never forget. It was the face of my son. He had come home early from school. I will always see that face, in every window, in every flame and in every dream. I lost my home, I lost my son, my will to live and my world. Being haunted has nothing to do with spirits but with memories. His face, that beautiful face in the window, will always haunt me”. As I started walking out, I opened the blinds and I saw my son staring back at me, I looked at him and I looked at my therapist and wished them both farewell.