The room moves like it’s tilting and I feel a wave of nausea wash over me. I wasn’t sure if it was the turn of events or the drugs pumped into my system.
“No,” I hiss immediately. “That’s not-” My words tangle together incoherently. “I remember-”
I take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly to regain some composure. “I was helping her. I was getting her out.”
The man who I assume is a doctor nods again, like I’d confirmed something he already knew. “Everleigh Genovese.”
My head snaps up. “No-”
His expression doesn’t change as he jots down some notes again.
“What the fuck are you writing?”
A chill runs down my spine as he glances up to look at me again.
“We’ve had this conversation before. Don’t you remember?”
He exhales a breath, continuing, “Every time you’re brought to me, you say the same things.”
I shake my head, “Then why aren’t you listening? This isn’t right!”
“She testified, Mr. Lawson,” the man replies, voice still maddeningly calm. “She told the authorities everything. How you stalked and tried to kidnap her. She was very frightened of you.”
“That’s a lie,” I shoot back, the words tearing out of my throat.
He shakes his head before lifting the page, throwing itover the back of the clipboard. He then stands, walking over to me in a sophisticated manner.
The world goes quiet as he points to an image with his pen that was taped to another paper.
“You know her. Yes?”
Brunette hair. Snow like skin. Green eyes. It was her.
I didn’t respond to him.
“That girl is Everleigh Genovese andyouwere sentenced here for the part you played in her father’s murder.”
A bitter laugh escapes, “No. You’ve got the wrong person. I never did anything to-”
“You were found with a puncture wound along the side of your neck,” he says. “Barely missed your carotid and you lost a significant amount of blood. You were comatose for the first week due to that. That’s probably why your memory is fragmented.”
My hand drifts up on instinct, but it doesn’t go far with it being strapped down to the armrest.
“Ms. Genovese’s boyfriend then proceeded to show up to the scene and was able to disable you enough,” he points to the scar “to call the police.”
I have too many thoughts running through my head to think clearly. I remain staring forward, allowing the doctor to continue to explain things.
“You were deemed unfit to stand trial due to the memory loss and obvious injury,” he adds.
I sigh, “So that’s it?” I question. “I just snapped?”
He hesitates.
“No,” he shakes his head. “This all seemed to be very pre-mediated after the police investigated the case.”
“Pre-meditated,” I repeat back to him, “You’re saying I planned it.”
“They found messages on your phone.” He taps the clipboard with the pen. “And from what I’d seen, you’d been tracking her movements for months, close to a year, if I remember correctly.”
