“These are the tappers,” Carla said, gesturing to the device on the table between them. “Bilateral stimulation. They’ll alternate vibrating in your hands: left, right, left, right. It helps your brain process while you’re accessing the memory.”
Maddox picked one up. It was plastic, lightweight and slightly warm from sitting in the sun from the window. Strange that something so simple could supposedly help with eight years of guilt and pain.
“We’ll start by establishing your safe place,” Carla continued. “Somewhere you feel completely calm and secure. You can return to it any time during the session if you need to ground.”
“Zeus,” Maddox said immediately. “In our backyard, early morning when it’s quiet.”
“Good. Close your eyes and picture it clearly, details and all.”
Maddox let her eyes fall shut. The image came easily: Zeus lying in a patch of sunlight—his head on his paws, completely relaxed—the grass slightly damp with dew, birds just starting to wake up. Peace.
“Hold that,” Carla said. “Feel it in your body. That’s your anchor.”
Maddox breathed into and let the imagined calm settle through her shoulders.
“Now,” Carla’s voice was gentle but firm, “when you think about Titan’s death, what number would you give your distress? Zero being none, ten being the worst you can imagine.”
Maddox opened her eyes. “Eight, maybe nine.”
Carla nodded, unsurprised. “And when you think about that memory, what does it make you believe about yourself?”
The words came automatically, carved deep after all this time. “I killed him. It’s my fault.”
“And what would you prefer to believe?”
Maddox's throat tightened. "That I...followed protocol. That it wasn't my fault." Saying it out loud felt wrong, the guilt was so ingrained she couldn't imagine not carrying it.
"We'll work toward that," Carla said. "Take the tappers. When you're ready, I want you to bring up that memory—the moment you gave the command, what happened after. Just notice what comes up. You don't have to explain it to me unless you want to. Just let yourself be with it while the tappers are going."
Maddox took both paddles, one in each palm. Her hands were shaking slightly.
"You can stop any time," Carla reminded her. "You're in control of this."
Maddox nodded and took a breath. The tappers started, first a gentle buzz in her left hand, then right, then left again. It was rhythmic, almost soothing despite the strangeness.
She recalled the memory.
Maddox was no longer in Carla’s office but in the desert. It was late afternoon, everything gold and brutal. Heat radiatedin waves off the sand, off the buildings, off the vehicles they’d arrived in. The air tasted like grit and diesel fuel.
Intel said insurgents were using the compound for weapons storage. It was a standard clearance operation; she’d done dozens of them.
She looked down and saw Titan beside her, panting in the heat but focused and waiting for her command. The building stood ahead—two stories, concrete, windows blown out. It could be empty, could be full of hostiles. No way to know without entering.
Protocol was clear: Send the K-9 first. She’d given the hand signal and command, and then Titan had gone.
The memory sharpened, becoming visceral. She could feel the weight of her kevlar vest, the rifle in her hands, the sun searing the back of her neck. She could hear her own breathing, too loud in her ears.
In front of her, Titan had moved fast, confident. He’d reached the entrance then disappeared inside.
The tappers kept alternating. Left, right, left, right.
She’d waited and counted the seconds, watching the doorway.
The explosion had been massive, not just sound but pressure and heat. The ground beneath her boots shook with the force of it. She’d run toward it. Someone had tried to stop her, but she’d torn free, sprinting across the open ground with her ears ringing and smoke everywhere.
She’d found him lying in the rubble.
The tappers continued their rhythm.
