Page 43 of Into Pitch

Plague enjoys influence more than pain. Alex talks about influence like it’s a natural concept.

Could also be a coincidence.

Plague frames pain as data. Alex framed my trauma as data points we can work with.

Oh my god, I am going insane. This is beyond rational at this point.

But the instinct is there, it’s growing larger and larger with each very weak connection.

His fucking words though, the way they echoed outside of that room with just a slight difference. But it doesn’t feel like an accident. It was the exact word Plague had used when he pressed me into that mirror and told me to keep opening for him.

A cold wave washes through me and my thoughts start racing now, connections snapping together faster and faster. How Alex knew about Pitch culture without me explaining. How he didn’t ask what Plague looked like or pushed for information. How he never asked me how I got out.

Because he already knew.

I feel dizzy and I press my palm flat to the table, breathing hard.

The invite from the guy Imogen had been dating was from the same clinic Alexander works in. Could it all just be a weird coincidence, or am I dead on the money?

I feel insane.

But what if Plague had followed me out of Pitch? What if he had set the perfect trap and the free therapy was a part of his fucked up game?

My knee is full on bouncing now, damn near shaking the bus as I exhale pained. My hands shake as I scroll to the patient portal app, fingers fumbling as I log in. There is only one way to know for sure, and if I don’t put it out there then I will just stress about it. It’s either a yes and I know, or a no and we have to move on awkwardly.

I find Alex’s name and click on it, pulling up the messenger that I’ve never once used.

What if it is him, though?

Rage surges up from the deep, hot and wild enough to cut through the worry. If it is, then he sat across from me and listened. He asked me about my mother, and Heath, and Peter. About Plague.

What if I never escaped Pitch, just found it in a different form?

“You fucking bastard,” I snarl, and my fingers slam into the keyboard. I don’t even care if I’m wrong at this point, if I’m drawing conclusions that make no sense to anyone but me. It’s too close to home and my gut has never steered me wrong, and right now it’s screaming at me.

Sadie: I see you, Plague.

Four words is all he gets.

I hit send and the message delivers instantly.

Then I wait for the fallout.

The portal notification arrives just like any other. The small banner in the corner of my screen chimes in a way that I have long past learned to ignore. A standard piece of administrative noise in a day full of them.

I almost dismiss it without reading, until I see her name.

My hand stills over the mouse, and it isn’t excitement that moves me at first. It’s recognition that has nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with inevitability. I click on the message and it opens up in a sterile little window, black text on a white background.

Sadie: I see you, Plague.

I lean back into the chair, reading the words once more before folding my hands behind my head. Letting satisfaction settle into my bloodstream like a drug.

A soft laugh leaves me before I can stop it, too pleased with my little fox.

It’s about fucking time.

I glance at the clock in the corner of the monitor, it’s late enough now that the other offices have gone dark. The building now hollow and empty, the way I prefer. The receptionist has gone home and the last of the interns have fled. The only light down the hallway comes from the security lamp near the front desk and the soft glow spilling from my open office door.