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I want to smack that smug expression off of his face.
“What kind of question is that?” I snap back. “What kind of doctor would even ask something like that?”
In an instant, I know I’ve gone too far. Dr. Gillespie might be new, and he might be young, but he’s a professional employed by the facility that runs my life. He’s the one with the power.
And he knows it.
His whole face closes off as he points at my vacant seat. “Sit down, Riley.”
I don’t move.
The doctor raps his pen lightly against the top of his desk. “There’s still plenty of today’s session to go. Don’t make me tell you to take your seat again.”
His nasal voice goes sharp, straight to the point. There’s a threat in there that he doesn’t bother to hide, slowly reaching his hand out toward the old-fashioned handset phone perched on the right corner of his desk. With the press of one button, he could alert anyone in the asylum that I’m acting out.
I know exactly what will happen if I refuse to sit and he hits that button.
I have to listen. Last time I openly disobeyed one of the head doctors, they confined me to my room for three days with only my own distorted memories to distract me. They messed with my meds then, too. I got maybe six hours of sleep the entire time. I was a mess by the end of that suspension, though I can say I definitely learned my lesson.
So did my doctors. I got my blue pills back for that entire summer.
I sit down, though I’m not happy about it. Crossing my arms over my chest, I clamp down on my teeth so hard that it sends a shock of pain along my jaw. I fight to hide my wince. Dr. Gillespie sees it anyway.
Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, he sees everything.
To my surprise, his voice gentles as he says, “You made your point. You don’t want to focus on Madelaine today? That’s fine. I understand that. We have plenty of sessions ahead of us. We can table her for another time. Would you like that?”
So maybe he’s being a little condescending. Whatever.
“Yeah.” I force myself to relax, to let it go before the anger overwhelms me and my emotions take over. I’m still not over yesterday’s panic attack, either, and that’s clear. I shudder on a breath, making myself small as I lean back into my chair. I’ll regroup in a second, ready myself for round two in a bit. Just… just not yet. I shake my head. “Yeah, I would.”
“Okay. We can do that. I want you to know that I’m just here to help you, Riley.”
Ugh. Now he sounds earnest. Was I overreacting? Possibly.
With a shrug, I tell him, “I know.”
“Your sister is a delicate subject.”
Yeah, that’s putting it mildly. “Mm-hmm.”
“What about Nine?”
And, just like that, any gratitude I worked up because he was willing to drop Madelaine vanishes at that one syllable. Because Nine? It’s not just a number. Not to me.
It’s a man.
The Shadow Man.
I blink, try to come up with a way to change the subject, then decide my best bet is to play dumb.
“Nine what?”
“Not what,” corrects the doctor. “Who.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That was his name, wasn’t it? Your… childhood friend?”
