Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“Feel better?”
“Yes, Dr. Weiss.”
“Ethan,” I correct her. “When we’re on this side, anyway. Clear?”
“Clear, Ethan…” She looks up at me. “Have you ever done that with any of your other patients?”
“Never.”
Before I can make the mistake of keeping her out of the cameras’ sight for too long, I help her down and lead her toward the hall.
“I’ll meet you back on your side,” I say, whispering.
She nods and walks in view of the cameras.
I pull on a T-shirt and catch up to her in the kitchen.
“Thank you for helping me with my wound, Miss Pretty,” I say.
“You’re very welcome, Dr. Weiss.”
“Let’s push tomorrow’s morning session back by two hours so you can catch up on your sleep.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Heavier rains attack the roof. She looks unsure of what to do—like she’s tempted to run back to my side or suffer alone.
“I have some noise-canceling headphones,” I say. “Would you like to borrow them for the rest of your stay?”
“Yes, please…”
I walk over to the living room coffee table and pull out the drawer. I hand them to her and she smiles.
“Thank you very much.” She starts to walk toward her room.
“Quick question, Miss Pretty.”
“Yes?”
“After all the time you’ve spent in prison so far, you’ve never had to deal with walking outside on a stormy day?”
“High-profile convicts get the least amount of outside privileges, Doctor.”
“I see.”
“Good night, Dr. Weiss.”
“Goodnight, Miss Pretty.”
21
SADIE
Day Eleven
My body is still on a high from last night, and I can’t help replaying the feel of Dr. Weiss’s fingers inside me. His mouth against my skin.
Unfortunately, from the look on his face as he walks into our morning session, the feelings aren’t mutual.
He hasn’t said a word to me.
Hasn’t even looked my way.
He’s still wearing a T-shirt from hours ago, and although the nurse stopped by and professionally addressed his larger wound, he’s still wearing the fabric of my pillowcase around his arm.
I lean back in the metal chair and wait for him to start.
“Hmmm.” He finally sits across from me, finally looks up. “Are you familiar with the truth serum experiment?”
“I’ve heard it doesn’t work.”
His lips curve into a half-smile, sending a familiar fluttering in my chest.
“Most doctors in my field would agree with you,” he says, “but the way I handle it here is quite effective, and it ensures that I extract nothing but the truth from my patients.”
“I could’ve sworn the truth serum experimentations were only for your worst patients.”
“It is.” He leans forward and flips a box open, revealing a collection of glass vials. The liquids all bear a different color—pale blue, airy pink, grass green, and a crimson red.
“You’ve already given me permission to use them if things on the outside with your case get dire, and…” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for me to catch his drift.
“How long will I have to be under?”
“As long as necessary,” he says. “It’s in your best interest to let me administer the first dose tonight.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He shuts the box and tucks it under his shoulder. Then he abruptly leaves the room.
What the…
I wait a few minutes, assuming he left to put the box away and will return soon, but the next thing I hear is the clicking flames on our gas stove.
“Is that the end of our session?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Okay, well…” I look over the chessboard. “I’m still waiting for you to make the next move in our game.”
He keeps his back turned to me, bringing a tea kettle to a screeching boil.
Even the cameras seem confused at his sudden coldness. From the wall, they inch their heads closer to him instead of me.
He pours two cups before turning around. Looking at me, then the cameras, he mumbles something I can’t quite catch. Something that makes them slink back into their positions on the wall.
“There’s something I can’t quite understand about you.” His voice is terse. “Something you need to make clear or we’re going to have a problem…”
I swallow, waiting.
“I was reading through your interview transcripts this morning,” he says. “There’s no mention of Shadow Man in any of them—not even ones with your lawyer, so it’s time for you to officially cut the shit…You said that you arrived to the scene and the victims were already dead?”
“Yes.” Same answer as always.
“Then you had to have crossed paths with the person who did commit this.” He looks deep into my eyes. “Timeline wise, even if you weren’t involved, you had to have caught a glimpse or known who the real killer was.”
This room suddenly feels ten times smaller.
The cameras softly click in succession, like they always do when they’re adjusting their microphones to make sure they catch every syllable in my response.
“I guess I should make it a question.” He looks impatient. “Why would you take the fall for a complete stranger?”