I mean, seriously, how many times could I confirm the same shit?
“And the other man that was there that night. Was he still in the room?” she asked.
Trying to shove my hands into my jean pockets, I scowled. Why were they so small? Who could actually use these?
Looking up, I caught her stare and yielded with a small sigh. “No, Derrick was already gone. I don’t have any idea how she knew him. They seemed about the same age, but I never knew them to be together. They were close, like old friends, and he was my mentor. He taught me how to use a sword and defend myself. I straight-up asked her if he was my dad. She told me he couldn’t be. And for the eight hundredth fucking time: He. Didn’t. Kill. Her!”
A worried look had set into her expression—the kind that said I should be in a padded room. “Anna, I know you had a bond with this man, but we have to consider all of the options.”
I rolled my eyes. “You mean the only option the FBI could come up with? Fine, but I’m done doing this. I don’t care if Sasquatch himself sends me to court-ordered therapy again, I’m not coming back.”
But we both knew that was a lie. The court documents cited that if I missed more than one session in a row I could be recommended for inpatient treatment.
Silence stretched between us. Her glasses clinked on the table where she placed them, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Anna, just a few more questions and I’ll tell them you’ve been cleared so you can skip the last two sessions. I know the questioning has been relentless, and I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. A murder and a kidnapping are enough trauma for any one person. The whole town was shaken by what happened. The fact that no one was ever caught is causing a lot of discord behind the scenes.”
So, torturing me was the solution? Being cleared from therapy was a pretty big carrot to dangle.
“Fine.”
The corner of her mouth tightened, and for a moment, her expression became glassy before she picked up her spectacles and placed them on her face again.
“Do you know why your mom didn’t want to tell you about your dad?” she asked.
My neck ached from sitting as I experimented with angles to lessen the intensity whilst still avoiding Michelle. “She seemed to think that it would put me in danger.”
“Were you? In danger?”
A hollow laugh escaped my lips. “Apparently.”
“What about before that? Was anyone ever sneaking around? Any phone calls you heard her talking on?” she pressed.
I shook my head. “She didn’t have a cell phone. The only person she ever trusted was Derrick. My mom trusted no one, and I mean no one. The mailman couldn’t deliver packages to the door. But Derrick? I don’t know. They had a weird relationship. I sensed she had feelings for him, but they never seemed to be anything more than friends, if that.”
A hollow ache was forming in my chest. I’d wanted them to be more than that. I wanted a family photo on the mantle. Movie nights where we all sat on the couch and ate popcorn. But that never happened.
“Do you think she had a credible reason to be afraid?” she asked.
Shifting uncomfortably, I shook my head. “I mean, now I do. But back then? No. I thought she was paranoid. Maybe something happened to her as a child, I don’t know. It never felt rational to me—her fear. I know she was trying to protect me, or at least I thought she was. But from what, I have no idea.”
I took a breath, but it didn’t come easily. It was like a half-breath—the kind that doesn’t give you enough air. The kind that makes your chest hurt.
“Have you had any more hallucinations? Minor ones or ones like you had that night?” she asked.
Black stretches of shadows crept like claws across my field of vision. Shuddering, I shook away the feeling of emptiness before it took hold of me. The candle flickering into flames of its own accord crossed my mind fleetingly before I buried it deep, along with the many other oddities about my life.
“No, nothing.”
Michelle’s glasses lowered as she tilted her head down, watching me closely.
I didn’t yield. We weren’t going to talk about that. Or anything else.
“You said a few more questions, and you’d sign off on my sessions,” I said, my voice hard.
Her lips pursed. “Yes. One more question, and I will. The missing year. Has anything come back? Anything at all?”
For the first time, I truly considered her question. It had been three years since I went missing, with no explanation of how I vanished or even came back. A whole year with no memory of it, and the last two I’d been back here in Watauga County.
I wished I was holding back, but there was nothing—the entire year after that night was gone. Not a wisp of memory remained. Like no time had passed.
