Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91504 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
He sits there, twiddling a pen between his fingers. There’s something in his gaze, something that makes me tense.
“They said no, didn’t they?” I ask.
He sighs. “I’m sorry. I just heard back from the DA about an hour ago. A restraining order is a serious ask. It impinges on someone’s rights. So there has to be sufficient evidence. The DA said there wasn’t enough proof of a threat, and you said yourself that you’re not certain who was following you most of the time.” He sets the pen down and splays his hands. “I’m sorry. I tried. I wish I had better news for you.”
“But…” I worry my hands, bite my lip, look down at the fake wood grain of the cheap desk. “But I’m in danger. They are dangerous. Dangerous to me. Rebecca especially.”
The scene in my office plays on repeat in my mind. That smile. The gleam in her eyes, knowing she murdered Gabriel’s wife and got away with it. Knowing I couldn’t tell a soul.
“You have no proof, I’m afraid. Coincidences are not proof. The fact that she witnessed the accident doesn’t sit right with me, either. But there’s no evidence that she’s a threat to you.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry. Unless you have something more, there’s nothing I can do.”
I feel as though the floor has dropped out from beneath me.
I can’t keep living like this.
Day in and day out, looking over my shoulder. Feeling eyes on me, then turning quickly. And of course I can’t see them, because I live in New York, and there’s a whole city walking the sidewalks. It’s the easiest city in the world to stalk someone in.
“But she’s dangerous,” I repeat. Though even I hear the defeat in my voice.
Detective Green leans forward, hands clasped together. He looks right at me. “How are you so sure, Dr. McCall? Is there something you’re not telling me? I imagine you deal with all sorts of patients. What makes you sure this one’s a danger?”
I swallow. “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t.” Tears form in my eyes, helplessness washing over me.
The detective leans closer, lowers his voice, and touches a single finger to my hands, which are ice cold. “I won’t lie to you. I am suspicious of Rebecca. It doesn’t add up. She doesn’t add up. I did a little investigating after you came in, went over to the school Gabriel Wright works. It’s on record that something was going on between the two of them. Why wouldn’t Rebecca have mentioned on the night of the accident that she was having an affair with the man whose family she’d just watched get killed? I was the one who took her statement. She never even indicated she knew the guy.” He shakes his head and pulls back. “But there’s no evidence. Of anything. So…” His voice trails off, and silence settles between us.
He’s asking me to give him something. I can feel it.
And I could. I could tell him what Rebecca said. If I did, though… I squeeze my eyes shut. If I did, I could lose everything. My license, my job, my practice. I’d never work as a psychiatrist again.
I heave a sigh and get to my feet. “I guess I’ll be going.” I gather my sopping-wet jacket, clutch it in a single hand, and start to walk away.
“Dr. McCall, I’m sorry.”
I don’t reply. I just keep walking. I make it down the hall, through the door, and out to the entryway.
But I come to a dead stop when I see a woman. A mother. Maybe thirty years old. She holds the door open, reaching her hand to her daughter, a tiny version of herself. Both of them have blond hair, worn straight down. The mother’s face looks weary, tear-streaked. But the daughter, she’s maybe six years old, has a grin, wide eyes. She’s looking everywhere, clearly entranced to be at a police station.
I picture Gabriel’s daughter. She’ll never smile again. Never hold her mother’s hand again. Never get to experience the thrill of something new.
Rose was her name.
And Rose deserves better than this. She deserves justice more than I deserve my license, my ability to help people, which is of questionable value these days.
I turn on my heel. Go back to the man at the desk.
“Actually, I need to talk to Detective Green again. I forgot to tell him something.”
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Seriously.” Suddenly, I’m no longer a drowned rat, a crazy woman. I’m a woman who knows exactly what she needs to do, finally. And it feels good.
He beckons to the door, pushes a button, and it buzzes. “I’m sure he’s still in his office. Go on back.”
I stride down the hall to find Detective Green staring at a case file. Rebecca’s name is there, handwritten in black ink. It’s that case file.