Page 109 of The Silent Patient

“Wedged in the back of the painting, in the top-left corner of the frame. It was jammed in tight.”

So that’s where she hid it, I thought. The back of the painting that I hated. The one place I didn’t look.

The inspector stroked the creased, faded black cover and smiled. He opened it and looked through the pages. “Fascinating. The arrows, the confusion.”

I nodded. “A portrait of a disturbed mind.”

Inspector Allen flicked through the pages to the end. He started reading from it aloud:

“‘… he was scared—of the sound of my voice.… He grabbed my wrist and stuck a needle in my vein.’”

I felt a sudden rising panic. I didn’t know those words. I hadn’t read that entry. It was the incriminating evidence I had been looking for—and it was in the wrong hands. I wanted to snatch the diary from Allen and tear out the pages—but I couldn’t move. I was trapped. I started stammering—

“I—I really think it’s better if I—”

I spoke too nervously, and he heard the fear in my voice. “Yes?”

“Nothing.”

I made no further attempt to stop him. Any action I took would be viewed as incriminating anyway. There was no way out. And the strangest thing is, I felt relieved.

“You know, I don’t believe you happened to be in my neighborhood at all, Inspector.” I handed him his tea.

“Ah. No, you’re quite right. I thought it best not to announce the intention of my visit on the doorstep. But the fact is, this puts things in rather a different light.”

“I’m curious to hear it,” I heard myself saying. “Will you read it aloud?”

“Very well.”

I felt strangely calm as I sat in the chair by the window.

He cleared his throat and began. “‘Theo just left. I am alone. I’m writing this as fast as I can.…’”

As I listened, I looked up at the white clouds drifting past. Finally, they had opened—it had started to snow—snowflakes were falling outside. I opened the window and reached out my hand. I caught a snowflake. I watched it disappear, vanish from my fingertip. I smiled.

And I went to catch another one.