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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.”
