LONDON
I’ve unpacked every skirt from my suitcase. A pile of black and gray slacks litter my bed as I try to unearth a wardrobe that won’t tempt me, or Grayson, to think about today’s session.
A mock laugh falls from my lips. I toss a pair of old slacks into the open luggage. Session. So that’s what I’m calling it. Allowing a patient—a very sick patient—to maul me in my therapy room.
I zip the case closed with a curse.
I’ve been attracted to patients before. As I admitted to Sadie, I’ve dealt with transference plenty…but never at this level. Never with this much intensity and temptation. And I have never submitted to those temptations; never allowed to happen what transpired in my office today.
I close my eyes and fall to the bed. My skin still tingles, still feels heated from his touch. I was more than tempted to stay lost in that moment of ecstasy, to risk too much…and that’s the danger. That’s why I’m leaving early for New Castle. To put six-hundred miles between us and get this trial over with.
My cell vibrates on my nightstand.
I frown at the phone before I roll over and grab it. “Dr. London Noble.”
“Yes, Dr. Noble. This is Attorney General Richard Shafer. Do you have a moment to talk?”
I sit up. “I do, yes. How can I help you, Mr. Shafer?”
“I just wanted to extend the proverbial welcome mat, and make sure you received the material I had my office forward you.”
I clear my bangs from my eyes. “Thank you. I did, though I didn’t realize you’d be heading up the prosecution yourself.” My laptop rests at the foot of the bed. I pull it toward me and flip the screen open.
Honestly, between completing Grayson’s evaluation and our sessions, I have not looked at the evidence. Another psychologist would argue I’m subconsciously avoiding, unable to cope with the probable outcome, and that could be true.
As the Attorney General proceeds to elaborate on why he’s heading up this case personally, I look over the evidence. They have their own expert witness; a local therapist specializing in the criminally insane, who is testifying that Grayson will be a danger in prison. To himself, and to others.
I scoff.
“I’m sorry?” Mr. Shafer interjects.
“I appreciate your convictions in this case,” I recover, “but having expert testimony attest that Grayson Sullivan will be a dangerous incarceration? Mr. Shafer, with all due respect, he’s spent over a year in prison with no disciplinary write-ups. He’s been a model inmate.”
The lawyer clears his throat. “Yes, a model inmate…in solitary confinement. With no interaction with other prisoners. New Castle Penitentiary doesn’t have the funding that Maine has, I’m afraid, to provide Sullivan with the kind of monitoring he requires.” A beat. “You’re the chief psychologist in your field. Your opinion is testament in trial murder cases…”
My back tenses. Be wary of people who compliment too soon, before they even know you—they’re lowering your defenses in preparation for the strike.
“And it was you who proclaimed that one cannot prove rehabilitation without first testing a subject in an unregulated environment.”
And there it is. He’s done his homework.
“So you can appreciate the state’s hesitancy here. Sullivan is simply too untested, too much of a risk.” He releases an audible breath. “And then there are the families, Dr. Noble.”
“What about them?”
“Did you know that the Supreme Court only just recently overturned the ruling to have capital punishment banished in Delaware? Primarily in anticipation of this case. That speaks volumes, doctor.”
“It speaks to fear and ignorance, Mr. Shafer. Sullivan is not, in my professional opinion, a threat to anyone on the inside. That structured environment lacks the chaos he desires to stabilize in the world.”
There’s a lengthy pause before he continues. “As a psychologist, I’m sure you understand the need for closure. These families deserve and need that closure.”
He’s set in his views. Nothing I say now or on the stand will change that. “I have the deepest sympathy for the families. I always strive to convey that during trials.”
“But this is your final stance.”
I square my shoulders. “It is. I would be doing a disservice to my profession, otherwise.”
“I understand. Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Noble. Safe travels.”
The line clicks dead, ending the call.
I set my phone aside and glance at the manila folder that holds Grayson’s evaluation.
Regardless of my personal feelings, professionally speaking, having a patient put on death row is a heavy burden for any doctor to bear. The weight of Grayson’s trial rests on my shoulders, his life hangs in the balance. This second attempt to sway me by the prosecution proves that.
With the Attorney General personally seeing that Grayson is put to death for his crimes, the scales of justice won’t tip favorably for him.
I open the folder and start my revision. My fear of loving a man capable of such atrocities can’t stand in the way of what I inherently believe is right.
Soon, Grayson will be incarcerated far away from me. I’ll never see nor speak to him again. What is there to fear?
The sounds of my nightmares come to life as I enter Cotsworth Correctional Facility. I stand before a barred door as a guard sweeps a handheld metal detector over my body.
“Clear.”
He steps aside, and a loud buzz precedes the clang of the door mechanism unlocking. The door slides open, and I force my feet forward, propelling myself into the prison. I tuck my folder under my arm, thankful that this section of the facility isn’t near the general population, where the catcalls used to welcome me.
I’ve requested a private session with my patient before his trial. The warden had no qualms in granting me that privileged access.
I’m led to another barred door, where a second guard swipes a keycard to gain entry. The door opens to reveal Grayson on the other side. My heart leaps to my throat, the whoosh that fills my ears momentarily disorienting.
I wasn’t expecting him to be here already. I wanted more time to…prepare. I step inside the room and turn to the guard. “I won’t be needing you. Thank you.”
He gives me a disdainful look, then glares at Grayson. “I’m required to be within seven feet of him at all times. I’ll be posted right outside this door.” The guard adjusts his belt, making a production of arranging the Taser he has at the ready.
Once we’re alone, the door closed, barring us together, I face my patient. Within the heavily guarded confines of this room, he’s not mandated to be shackled to a restraint bench, but his ankles and wrists are cuffed and chained. He’s seated in the center, his hands hung between his legs. Watching me.
The space between us feels tenuous, the air too thin, the distance too easy to close.
“There are no cameras here,” he says. “No one watching. If you thought that would keep you safe from me.”
I lay the folder on the table, the only shield I have. “I know we’re alone. I requested as much. But being here…I’m held more accountable for my actions.”
He smiles. “Didn’t take long for the guilt to set in. Huh, baby?”
I adjust my glasses, ignoring his baiting comment. “I’ve come to see you today, not as a doctor, not for our last session, but as a woman to tell you that this—whatever this is between us—is over. It got out of hand, and maybe that’s my… No, I’m the professional. The fault lies only with me. I was unethical, and what happened yesterday…it was inappropriate.”
His smile stretches, meeting his cool blue eyes. “Inappropriate? I hardly think that expresses it. It was fucking shattering. You want romance, go find yourself a nice little do-boy. But you don’t want that—I tasted what you crave. I can feel it in you now. That dark obsession that twists you, makes you mine. ”
I brace my hands on the edge of the table. Loving him will send me right over sanity’s edge. I have to be free of this, of him.
“At the trial, I’m going to advocate for clemency, Grayson. Taking into account the abuse you likely suffered as a child, along with the conditions of your upbringing, you had an ideal—that is textbook—environment for the development of a psychotic disorder.”
“Is that your professional or personal opinion?”
“Both. With the proper medication and counseling, you may be able to assimilate a normal life.”
“A normal life…behind bars.”
“Of course.”
“That’s downright sadistic. And you claim you’re nothing like me. Why don’t you neuter me in the process? That would be less cruel, and far less torturous.”
“I’m not sure what else you want from me. That’s all I have to offer in way of helping you.”
“I want you. You’re my doctor. So be my fucking doctor.”
“That’s not possible. I’m only here as a courtesy before trial. After my testimony, you’ll never see me again.”
He bounds to his feet. My reaction is delayed, recalling too late that he’s not completely restrained. I step backward as he moves toward me.
“Grayson, this is over.” I hold up my hands. The ankle shackles slow his advance, but don’t stop him.
“It’s never over.” He positions himself between the door and me. “For this to be over, one of us has to die.”
Fear snatches my breath. “Let me leave.”
“We both can’t carry your secret around, London. That is, unless we can work through it during our sessions.” He traces his knuckles down the curve of my breast.
“What are you talking about?” I have to angle my head back to meet his eyes. The closer he gets, the smaller I feel in comparison.
He cages me in against the wall. “It might be difficult for small towns to be open-minded enough, to be objectionable about one of their own. No one wants to think a killer hides among them.”
My back flattens against the brick as he towers over me.
“But you knew the truth, and you did what you’re so good at doing. You lied. You’ve been lying ever since. Even to yourself.”
I swallow. “I’m going to scream.”
“Go ahead,” he dares. “I’ll snag the first reporter interview I can to announce that your father was a monster that you put down.”
The air in the room is sucked out. The florescent lights flicker and buzz, my breaths too loud as I gasp past my constricted lungs.
He licks his lips, his body pressed close to mine. “The puzzle pieces were all there…they just needed to be linked together.”
“You’re mad. You’re delusional. You’ve built an alternate reality around me that is as far from the truth—”
His lips capture mine, silencing me. The kiss is hard and carnal and raw. I moan into him before I brace my palms high on his chest and push, breaking away.
“I wanted to taste the lie on your lips,” he says. “Tastes bitter. Nothing like that sweetness I experienced yesterday.” Then he backs farther away, allowing me to breathe and straighten my blouse.
He takes his seat again, his gaze never leaving my face. “All those missing girls. Did you see them? Witness their torture? How long were you a part of it before you decided to kill your father?”
The walls of the white room waver in the corner of my vision. Red seams the edges. I seal my eyes closed. The ink on my hand burns. I cup my palm, rub at the searing flesh. “Three months.”
A sense of relief crashes over me with the admission. The pressure in my head eases a fraction. I open my eyes. I expect to see the arrogance on Grayson’s face, having stripped me down to my black and tarred marrow, but he’s somber. Looking at me with a frightening wonder in his eyes.
“Lucky for you the coroner was a drunk. Couldn’t tell the difference between peri- and postmortem injuries. That car crash didn’t kill your father. He was already dead when you decided to take out a tree.”
I glance at the door, anxious. “Nothing you have is fact.”
“It doesn’t need to be. The speculation alone will be enough to destroy you.”
He’s right. An investigation into my father now, with advanced technology and police procedures, may prove that he was the Hollows Reaper. A bogyman rumored to have stolen young girls in the middle of the night. What mothers told their daughters to keep them from roaming town.
“What did he do with the bodies?”
“What did you do with the bodies?” I counter.
A brutal smile slants his face. “I buried them, of course.”
My hands tremble. My family home is still in my name. I kept an abandoned house with a dead garden and barren cornfield. Rotting down to the foundation. I own the deed to a graveyard.
“You should tell the families where their loved ones are located, Grayson. The court would be more prone to clemency if you did.”
He cranes an eyebrow. “I will if you will.”
I push off the wall. Shove my hands in my hair. “This is crazy. I won’t be threatened.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving.”
“No. We’re not done.” His features harden. “Come here, London.”
All I have to do is bang on the door. I glance between Grayson and the door, and fear riots through me. How big of a disaster could Grayson create out of my life?
I walk toward him slowly. “Turning my life into a media circus would get you off, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s tempting—” he grabs my waist and hauls me to him “but I have bigger things in mind.”
“Let go—” I wriggle off his lap.
“I need to know how you felt,” he whispers. “In that moment. When you killed him…how did it feel? What did you use?”
Stunned, I stare down at him. “You’re a monster.”
“I’m your monster. Tell me, and you’ll own me. Completely.” He strokes the side of my hand. The rattle of his chains forces my eyes closed. Memories awakened. “You want to tell me.”
My body tense, he expertly guides the confession forth. My mind clicks off, like a switch he can toggle at will, and I allow him to pull me down against him. I straddle the man who threatens everything. My freedom. My morality. My sanity.
“A key,” I whisper with trembling lips. “He wore a key around his neck. To a dark basement cage where he kept them. I tore it free and drove it into his jugular.”
His fingers softly brush my hair from my eyes, remove my glasses. His gentle touch a stark contrast to the hardness I feel beneath me. He’s aroused.
“What did you feel?” he asks. His mouth hovers near mine, tasting my desperate breaths.
“I felt…free,” I admit. “Disembodied. Like I could do anything.”
“You can,” he coaxes. “It’s in your nature.”
A sharp pain thorns my chest. No. My internal alarm sounds, signaling my departure from reality. I attempt to stand, but he anchors strong hands to my thighs. The feel of him so hard, so wanting, pressed to my most intimate body part. Desire burns away any grasp I had on reason.
I shake my head. Force my glasses on. “We don’t get to do anything we want. There has to be boundaries, rules.”
He touches his forehead to mine. “We can make our own.”
My hands glide over his forearms. Tenderly feeling the scars he wears outside that match my inside. It’s intoxicating, the way he seduces my pain away, as if we really do command our own world.
No pain.
I’m here with him, and it would be so simple to fall all the way. Just let go. No hiding, no shame. He found me. He discovered my vile secret, and it excites him, what it could mean if I’d only release the string tethering me to a life so binding.
But that’s the trade. I risk losing what makes me human. Pain is human, and it means I still feel.
“No. I’m not damning myself again.” I break his hold and stand, backing up until my shoulders hit the wall.
“I’m not giving up,” he says, but he doesn’t pursue me. “We were designed for each other. Don’t you feel the pain when we’re apart? Don’t you want it to stop?”
I swallow. He’s too inside my head; I have to get away. “Guard.”
“You’re mine, London. We can dance this violent dance until we bleed each other dry, or we can surrender. Your choice. But I will have you.”
“That monster born of sin and death died in a car wreck. She’s gone.”
“Then it’s my mission to resurrect her.”
I pound on the door until it opens. I throw myself through the doorway, past the guard and his questions, and out into the open. The fresh air douses my heated skin, but the pain latches on to me, driving a searing iron into my back.
I scream.
