Reap The Whirlwind
Book 2 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 7
The next few days saw me plunge back into depression, even darker than before. Nothing Aidan said could lift me out the dark miasma of despair that I sunk deeper into with every passing day. Even Laura's commands fell on deaf ears.
For the first time in my life, I found myself contemplating suicide. Even worse, the idea wasn't at all as repugnant as I'd always imagined it would be. It held a certain alluring charm, a promise of escape, of no more pain and confusion.
I didn't dare mention it to anyone, but, as each day passed, I grew more and more obsessed with the idea of killing myself. I'd never asked to be gay, and I damn well didn't want to be gay. My family had disowned me, my best friend hated me, I'd lost my job — what did I have to live for? It seemed like the perfect solution.
I even drew pictures of the various methods I was considering. One showed me seemingly asleep on the bed...until you noticed the empty pill bottles lying next to me. Another showed me hanging from a noose tied to the fire escape. My personal favorite, though, was of me in a pool of blood with my wrists laid open. I'd meticulously drawn in minute details of severed veins and sliced flesh.
Friday morning dawned gray and miserable, which perfectly matched my mood. I decided it was the perfect day to bring one of my sketches to life.
Who would even miss me?
I waited until Aidan left for class, then pulled my sketchbook out of the closet where I'd been hiding it and tried to decide which scenario I liked the most.
I immediately discarded the hanging one for purely practical reasons. I didn't know how to tie a noose, and, while I was sure I could find a tutorial online, we didn't have any rope. Besides, my Internet research had said it didn't always work and was a painful way to die even if it did.
After checking the medicine cabinet, I had to forget the OD method, too. The strongest thing we had was cough syrup and some mouthwash. I somehow doubted they would do the job. On the other hand, if by some miracle they did work, at least I'd have nice breath when they found me.
That left me with slashing my wrists. I was morbidly pleased, since a bloody death appealed to the dark romantic side of me.
I sorted through our knives, disappointed to realize we didn't have many to choose from, and what we did have were all too dull to cut through hot butter. How did Aidan do all that cooking without a decent knife?
I needed a sharp knife. It needed to be quick and deep, before I lost my nerve. I finally chose one that felt marginally sharper than the rest. It would have to do.
But where to do the deed?
My bedroom? I liked the idea of being found on my bed, but it would make such a mess.
Maybe the kitchen? It would be easier to clean, but Aidan loved cooking, and it seemed kind of rude to ruin his space like that.
The bathroom? The bathtub was the classic choice for good reason.
The thought of a note went through my head, but considering the circumstances, I didn't think one was necessary. Those involved would know why, and no one else needed to know.
Then I thought about writing up a will, but I didn't have anything worth leaving to anyone. I also wasn't at all sure I was of sound mind at the moment, and I was pretty sure that was a requirement.
Finally, I ran out of stall tactics. It was now or never.
I walked to the bathroom, pulled back the shower curtain, and sat down in the tub. The porcelain surface was cold against my skin. The bottom of the tub was still wet from Aidan's morning shower, soaking through my boxers.
None of that would matter in a few minutes.
I took a deep breath, placed the edge of the blade against my wrist...and froze.
I couldn't seem to make myself do it.
Suddenly, the tears came. I hadn't cried since Dad confronted me in my office, but it was as if a dam had broken.
I couldn't even kill myself right.
I was still in the tub gripping the knife, sobbing, when I heard the front door shut.
What was he doing back so soon? I couldn't let him find me like this!
I scrambled to get out of the tub, but my foot slipped and I fell hard, my head bounced off the back wall and the knife skittering from my hand.
"Will?" Aidan called again, closer now.
I grabbed the knife and pushed myself to my knees.
"Are you okay?" He appeared in the bathroom door. "Did you fall—" he stopped cold, his eyes locked on the knife in my grip. "Oh, my God, Will...what are you doing?"
I stared at him in horror.
"Will, hand me the knife," he said softly as he took a slow step toward me.
His movement snapped me out of my shock at being discovered. "No! Stay back!" I pressed the knife against my skin so hard it finally broke the skin. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my wrist.
Aidan's eyes bulged. "Don't!" he shouted.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Why shouldn't I kill myself? What do I have to live for?"
"You have your whole life ahead of you. You're only eighteen. I know things are bad right now, but this isn't the answer." As he spoke, he inched slowly closer to me.
"Then what is the answer?"
"I don't know, Will, but I promise this isn't it. I'll help you figure it out, though. I know someone who can help. He's my professor. I think you should talk to him."
"A shrink?"
"He's a psychiatrist, a good one. I think he can help."
"You think I need to be fixed, too."
"No, I just think..."
"No!"
"Please think of all the people you would be hurting."
"Like who? My parents? I'm not even welcome in their home anymore. My best friend? He doesn't want anything to do with me."
"What about Laura? Or me? I care about you, Will." He'd gradually crept closer until he was now within arm's reach. He stretched out his hand and looked at me pleadingly. "Please Will, don't do this. Give me the knife. Right now, all you can see is the darkness, but there is light, I promise. I promise you, Will."
As he spoke, I could feel whatever was fueling me drain away. The knife slipped from my fingers with a clatter, and I crumpled slowly after it, my body wracked once more with enormous sobs that seemed to originate from the depths of my soul and shudder their way through my whole being.
Aidan was at my side in a flash. He snatched the knife and threw it into the hall, then climbed into the tub with me, wrapping his arms around me while he gently rocked me and I sobbed into his shoulder. I felt his tears mixing with my own, and I knew he was hurting with me, sharing my pain. It somehow made it that much more bearable.
"I'm getting blood on your shirt," I blubbered.
"I don't care," he said gently, then lifted me up like a small child and carried me to my bedroom where he carefully laid me down on the bed. "Don't move." He ducked from the room but quickly reappeared with a dish towel which he wrapped tightly around my wrist.
"It's not deep. I'll get a bandage, and you'll be fine," he said.
Then, he retreated to the hallway where he flipped through his phone and made a call, all while keeping a wary eye on me—as if I might run at any second. He spoke in low tones that I couldn't quite make out, not that I tried all that hard. I was deeply exhausted.
After he hung up, he picked me up again and carried me back to the bathroom. There, he sat me on the toilet and turned on the shower. I didn't even protest, I was so wiped out. I felt as if I had been turned inside out, beaten, and then turned right side out again.
He turned back to me, picked me up once more and placed me under the spray, boxers and all. The cold water hit me like a slap in the face, but even with the bracing chill, he still had to practically hold me up. By the time he managed to turn off the water, he was as soaked as I was.
He wrapped me in a thick, fluffy towel before lifting me yet again to carry me back to my bedroom. He laid me on the bed, then turned to pull some clothes out of the dresser, laying them out next to me while dripping the entire time.
"Think you can get dressed while I change?" he asked gently.
I nodded, and he left. I slid out of the wet boxers and pulled on the dry pair he'd set out, then obediently started dressing, feeling somewhat like a little kid but not really minding all that much.
Aidan returned in a dry outfit much quicker than I would have thought possible and helped me finish getting dressed.
"Let's go," he said as we finished.
"Go where?" I asked meekly.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Then let's go."
Aidan's car pulled to a stop in an area clearly marked 'No Parking' in front of a small, one-story building in a far corner of the Pemberton University campus. Over the door was a wooden sign declaring it to be Hamilton Hall. I'd toured the school with Laura and Joey before I decided to take a gap year, but I didn't remember this unassuming hall. Like most of the other buildings surrounding us, it was faced with red brick and white trim, but this one was obviously a later addition and not part of the original layout.
Aidan jumped out of the car and came around to open my door. "Come on."
"Why are we here?" I protested weakly.
"Follow me," was all he said.
I climbed out and followed him through the front door and down a short hallway to a solid wood door bearing a brass plaque engraved with the name Dr. E. H. Wohler.
Aidan knocked and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door. He ushered me into a room so small that, if you sat on the provided sofa, your knees would almost touch the wall in front of you. It looked like someone had commandeered a supply closet for their waiting room. A pleasant looking, slightly plump middle-aged woman with short, tightly-permed graying hair sat at a desk behind a half-wall that served as a counter. She looked up as we entered.
"Hi Cheryl," Aidan said. "I called Dr. Wohler earlier. He's expecting us."
"Yes, go right in," she said. She had a pleasant voice to match her pleasant appearance.
I balked slightly at that point, but Aidan took me gently but firmly by the arm and pulled me along past Cheryl to a closed door, where he knocked again. A male voice invited us in.
When Aidan opened the door and we stepped in, the room actually took me by surprise, even in the shape I was in. The difference between the sad, cramped lobby and this large but cozy space was night and day. The harsh overhead fluorescent lighting had been replaced with lamps spilling pools of warm light. Thick oriental rugs covered the industrial grade carpet, and, instead of a worn institutional couch, there were two inviting brown-leather armchairs facing a large wooden desk.
A man was standing behind the desk waiting expectantly for us. He was on the short side, not much taller than I was, with a receding hairline, kind eyes behind a pair of dark-framed glasses, and a neutrally pleasant—if curious—expression. He wore a comfortably-worn gray tweed suit.
"Hello, Aidan, it's good to see you," the man I presumed to be Dr. Wohler said. "And you must be Will?"
I looked uncertainly at Aidan, wondering how much he had told Dr. Wohler.
Aidan and the doctor shook hands.
"Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Professor," Aidan said as he gently pushed me into one of the two chairs. He sat down in the other, and the doctor settled into his plush executive chair.
"It's really no problem. I always try to make time for my most promising student, and, besides, I just happened to have office hours this morning. You're lucky I had a cancellation on my schedule, though." He said the last part with a small smile. "I just hope I can be of assistance. You said on the phone that it was an emergency?"
I turned a glare on Aidan, but he didn't even glance in my direction. "Dr. Wohler, can we have your complete confidentiality about what we're going to say?"
For a moment, the doctor looked somewhat insulted, then he glanced at me, and an unspoken message seemed to pass between him and Aidan. He nodded, "Of course, as you know, any information that should come out while we are talking is held in complete confidence."
Aidan turned to me now. "Can I tell Dr. Wohler what's going on?"
I thought for a moment, then nodded my consent.
He proceeded to succinctly outline the events leading up to my depression and my attempted suicide that morning. It took far less time than I would have expected.
When he finished, Dr. Wohler sat for a minute tapping his chin with one index finger, his expression unreadable.
"Thank you for that, Aidan," he said finally. "I'm sure it's very helpful for Will to have you here supporting him. Will, would it be okay if we spoke alone for a few minutes? I won't ask Aidan to go far — he can wait just outside — but I would like to ask you a few questions and I'd like you to answer them without any help this time. Is that okay?"
I looked to Aidan, who nodded encouragingly, so I also nodded.
After Aidan had slipped quietly from the room, Dr. Wohler pulled a small device from a drawer and sat it on his desk. "Would it be alright if I recorded this? I find I can focus on you better if I'm not taking notes."
"Yes," I answered in a small voice.
He pressed a button on the device, then turned his full attention to me.
He began asking questions, and he seemed to have an endless supply.
How long have you been feeling this way?
Can you describe your mood on most days?
Have you noticed changes in your sleep, appetite, or energy levels?
Are you having trouble concentrating or making decisions?
Do you feel hopeless, worthless, or guilty?
Have you ever had thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life before today?
How often do these thoughts occur?
Have you made any plans to act on these thoughts?
Do you have access to means to harm yourself (e.g., firearms, medications, etc.)?
Have you ever attempted suicide before?
Have you ever been diagnosed with a mental health condition before?
Has anyone in your family struggled with depression, suicide, or other mental health conditions?
Do you use alcohol or drugs?
Do you have a support system — family, friends, or others you can talk to?
What helps you feel better, even temporarily?
Do you have any personal goals or future plans that are important to you?
When he finally ran out of questions, he gave me a warm smile that crinkled his eyes. "Thank you for being so open and honest with me, Will," he said after a few seconds of carefully studying my face. "I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that you are experiencing a pretty deep depression. It sounds to me like it's environmental, brought on by the sudden changes in your life. That's the bad news."
He paused for me to take that in, then continued. "The good news is that depression is treatable. Since your depression seems to be primarily triggered by your present situation — along with some residual issues that you need to resolve regarding your upbringing — we can, most likely, work through it in some one-on-one therapy sessions.
"Before we can really delve into those issues though, I'd like to give you a prescription for some mild antidepressants, get you out of this funk, get you so you're thinking a little clearer. It will be easier to handle poking at sore spots once your depression is under control. How does that sound?"
I nodded hesitantly.
"Do you understand what causes depression?" he asked.
"My brain."
"Yes, it is a mental condition. Depression happens when the brain’s communication system isn’t working as well as it should. Brain cells — neurons — send messages to each other using chemicals called neurotransmitters. One of the most important neurotransmitters for mood regulation is called serotonin. You've probably heard of it before."
I nodded again.
"When there’s an imbalance in these chemicals, or when the brain isn’t using them effectively, it can lead to symptoms of depression, many of which you've been experiencing. But depression isn’t just about serotonin; things like genetics, stress, and trauma can also contribute. Treatment options like therapy, lifestyle changes, and sometimes medication, can help restore that balance and improve your mood over time. Is all of this making sense?"
"Yes," I said.
"Good. Now, I have a few more questions. I know it's a lot. Just bear with me. We're almost finished. This time, I want to narrow in on what happened this morning."
Without waiting for a response this time, he launched into a second barrage of questions.
Can you tell me what happened leading up to the attempt?
What was going through your mind at the time?
Did you believe you would die, or was there part of you that hoped to be stopped?
What made you decide to stop?
After the attempt, did you feel relieved, disappointed, or something else?
Do you still feel suicidal now?
Have the thoughts gotten stronger or weaker since the attempt?
Do you have a plan or intent to try again?
Do you feel safe right now?
What would make things feel more manageable for you?
The second round of questions was harder for me to articulate, but I tried my best. When we were finished he gave me a smile.
"You're doing great, Will. And again, I appreciate your candidness. I'm going to be honest with you now, too. I am a little concerned for you. I think you're probably what I'd classify as a medium risk, which makes this a little harder. If you were at high risk, I'd have to seriously consider hospitalization for stabilization.
I started to panic and it must have shown in my face, because he held up a calming hand.
"Steady there, Will. I don't believe that's the best option for you right now. If we don't go that route, however, we'll need to create a safety plan."
"A safety plan?"
"Yes. Think of it as a way to head off another attempt to harm yourself, but you'll have to make a commitment. I'll help you identify warning signs that you are at risk again. We'll come up with some coping strategies you can use when you're feeling suicidal. I'd like to make Aidan a part of the plan, if you are both willing, because a crucial part of the plan will be contacting trusted friends when you are in distress. I'll also give you a crisis hotline in case he isn't available in the heat of the moment, and, of course, you'll have my contact information as well. Does all of that sound doable?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation. I would have agreed to just about anything to avoid being hospitalized.
"I'm glad to hear it. Then, for this next part, is it okay if I bring Aidan back in? I'd like him to be a part of formulating our plan."
"Yeah, that makes sense."
He pressed a button on his phone and spoke into the receiver, "Cheryl, could you send Aidan back in please?"
When Aidan was seated beside me again, Dr. Wohler said, "You were right to bring Will here, Aidan. We've had a good talk and we've concluded that he is depressed, which I'm sure comes as no surprise. Now I'd like the three of us to work on a plan together, if you're willing to do that."
Aidan opened his mouth to reply, but Dr. Wohler held up his hand again.
"Before you agree, I want to be very clear that this is a big responsibility. I told Will that he's right on the threshold for hospitalization. That means he'll require a lot of support. I need you to be very sure you're up for that."
"I am," Aidan said confidently.
Dr. Wohler smiled. "Good. I wasn't trying to scare you, just making sure everybody knows what they are agreeing to."
He pulled open another drawer and rummaged around a bit before producing several small boxes. "Will, I'm going to send you home with some medication samples. This is a mild drug with very few side effects, and it's not habit-forming. You won't feel an immediate difference. It takes a few weeks to get into your system. If, by that time, this doesn't seem to be working for you, then I want you to tell me that. Our relationship will rely on you being honest with me. This may not be the right drug for you, but I promise there is a right one. This isn't an exact science, though, and we may have to try a few before we hit the right one. I'm betting this one will be the ticket, however. I've had a lot of success with it."
"What do they cost?" I asked, suddenly remembering that I was unemployed.
"These are on the house. As is this visit. Consider it a favor for one of my favorite students." He tapped the boxes. "If these work for you, we'll figure out a strategy for our next steps. Many pharmaceutical companies offer steep discounts or even free medication in certain circumstances, but I don't want you to worry about that right now.
"Now, Aidan, pay attention to this next part, please. You should take one of these a day for the first week, then two a day starting the week after that. I'm giving you a two-week supply. That's the earliest that you would start to see an effect, though it often takes longer. I'd like to see you again before these run out. We'll evaluate its effectiveness at that time. Still with me so far?"
"Yes," Aidan and I said in unison.
"Aidan, I addressed that to you because I'd like you to administer Will's medication until he's in a better frame of mind. Are you okay with that, Will?"
I frowned. I wasn't a child. I could take my own meds.
Dr. Wohler leaned in and caught my eye. "Will, do you trust Aidan?"
I thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."
"Good. I think you know that not too many roommates would go to this length for someone they've only known for a month. I'm asking Aidan to hold on to this medication because you're in a fragile state of mind right now. I don't think it would be wise for you to have them in your possession. I'm doing this for your safety. Do you understand?" He paused and waited for me to respond.
"Yes."
"Okay. Then, is that an acceptable plan for you?"
I nodded, feeling a little shaken.
He turned to Aidan. "Are you okay with that plan, Aidan?"
"I am," he answered, again with no hesitation.
"Excellent. Now let's talk about removing access to means. Aidan I know you understand that, but Will, that just means locking away medication, firearms, or, in this case, knives. This isn't meant to infantilize you or punish you. It's about keeping you safe. Does that make sense?"
"It does," I answered in a small voice.
"I'm glad. Aidan, Will said there are no firearms in the house, and I'm giving you his medication, but will you do a sweep of the house when you get home and remove anything you think could pose a threat to Will's safety?"
"Absolutely."
"Very good. Now let's talk about some strategies for when — and I do mean when — those feelings start to arise again."
The three of us talked about some coping strategies for me to try if I started feeling overwhelmed or suicidal again. Then Dr. Wohler said, "There's one more thing I want you to do for me before you go, Will. I'd like you to make a covenant with Aidan that you will not hurt yourself before talking to him. Can you do that?"
I looked down at my lap and nodded somewhat hesitantly.
"Can you say it out loud?"
I looked up, startled.
"Look at Aidan and say it, please. Tell him that you promise not to hurt yourself without talking to him first."
I slowly turned my head until I was looking into Aidan's piercing green eyes. I saw myself mirrored in them, looking like a deer caught in headlights. I focused on the twin images of myself and forced the words from my mouth. "I promise I won't hurt myself without talking to you first," I whispered hoarsely.
"Good!" said Dr. Wohler. "Thank you for making that pledge. Aidan, take care of him, keep an eye on him, and call me if anything comes up that you can't handle. He probably shouldn't be left alone for a few days. Do you have some friends to help out?"
"We'll be okay," Aidan said with determination. I was glad someone was confident.
"Good. Then, Will, I'll see you in two weeks."
The next few days went by in a blur. Aidan was almost always with me, and when he wasn't Laura was. Once, Gabe even spent a tortured hour trying to make conversation while I stared dumbly at the television. But most of the time it was Aidan who watched over me. He even started sleeping in my bed—chastely, of course. As far as I could tell, he never strayed from his side of the bed.
At first, I thought the constant attention would be suffocating, but, in reality, I found it comforting. It was nice to know someone cared that deeply.
When the next Monday arrived, Aidan stayed home from school again.
"You can't keep missing classes for me," I protested.
"I've made arrangements with my professors. Everything is under control. Don't worry about it."
So I didn't. While I wasn't feeling any huge difference from the medication just yet, one benefit seemed to be that things felt a little duller, less sharp, or maybe just not as important. Then again, maybe that was the whole point of the meds.
We settled into a nice, comfortable routine, and I slowly began to feel better. It wasn't a huge dramatic shift, but I could feel the black curtain of depression begin to lift. I saw Dr. Wohler again, like we'd discussed, and he was pleased that the medicine seems to be doing its job. He got me a prescription that Aidan filled, again insisting that I not worry about it, and we continued on.
As I improved, Aidan started to return to his classes. He claimed he hadn't fallen behind, but I noticed he was doing a lot more work at home. Or maybe it just seemed like more work since he did it almost entirely in the living room where he could keep an eye on me.
The only downside of my rising spirits was that my restlessness rose right alongside it. I was unemployed, didn't have classes to keep me busy like Aidan did, and I was quickly running out of streaming shows to watch.
One of my coping strategies we'd developed with Dr. Wohler was to work on my art, so I threw myself into new drawings and paintings. I wasn't sure any of them were actually good, but it was a good distraction.
I was working at my drawing table one evening with Aidan sitting nearby, as usual, supposedly reading, but he was at my elbow if I so much as sighed. I needed a reference for some trees in the sketch I was working on, and I knew I had drawn some from life last year. They were in a sketchbook, which was in a box of stuff in my closet.
The second I moved to go get it, however, Aidan was on his feet.
"What do you need?" he asked.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not an invalid, you know. I'm capable of getting things for myself."
"I know, but I can get it for you."
"You don't have to."
"But I want to. What do you need?"
"It's a particular sketch book in a box of sketchbooks in my closet. It'll be like looking for a needle in a haystack if you don't know what you're looking for. I'll get it."
"No, I've got it. What color is the cover?"
"Brown. The same as all the rest of them."
"Then what sketch are you looking for?"
I sighed. "It's some trees. Birch trees. A stand of them."
"Okay. I can handle that," he said, and headed for my room, or our room, I guess, since he was still sleeping in my bed.
When he hadn't returned after several minutes, I began to get antsy. "Did you find them?" I called without looking up from my sketch.
"What are these?" he asked quietly from directly behind me. The closeness of his voice caused me to jump, and I spun around to see what he was talking about. He was holding one of my sketchbooks, the one I'd used for my suicide fantasies. I'd forgotten they were even in there.
"They were...from before," I said softly.
Looking at them now, I felt a strange horror, as if someone else had drawn them. It seemed impossible that they had come from my mind and my hand.
Aidan ripped the pages from the book with such a sudden, savage motion that I jumped again. He angrily shredded them one by one, then gathered all the tiny pieces and carried them into the kitchen. I followed behind, unable to look away. He tossed the paper into the sink, opened a drawer, pulled out a box of matches and lit the pile on fire.
A chill ran down my spine as I watched the flames lick at the shreds of paper, eerily illuminating his tight-lipped expression. The fire burned out quickly, leaving only a blackened pile of ash that Aidan washed down the drain.
The whole episode bothered me more than it should have. I just couldn't forget the look on Aidan's face. I was done drawing for the night.
We ended up going to bed earlier than usual, and I was extra glad for Aidan's presence in my bed that night.
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