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She waited a few seconds, then pushed herself to standing. “Okay, then, but just so you know, you can always talk to me or Miss Lindley.”
The school psychologist? Oh, geez. “Don’t need to,” he said, feeling his back muscles tighten.
“Fine. Just as long as you know. Now, maybe you can help us sort out the mess with the security cameras. As I understand it, the problem lies in storage of the data on the computer. Mr. Tallarico has already started looking at it.”
Oh. So he wasn’t on his own. No surprise. But too bad. He would love to have some time alone with the school security system.
As Mrs. Walsh rounded the corner of her desk he noticed for the first time the newspaper folded neatly near her in-basket. Suddenly he understood.
She’d read the article about his uncle being murdered, about his mom being charged. Just like Tori Suzuki. Great. Of course, the vice principal would think it messed him up. That’s why she brought up the school psychologist.
As if that was ever going to happen.
No friggin’ way.
Patient: “I lied. I lied to everyone.”
Therapist: “That night?”
Patient: “Yes. And now. I’m lying to them now. To my friends. To Luke.”
Therapist: “Tell me.”
Patient, worried: “I’ve never told anyone. I’ve tried, but I couldn’t. I can’t. I still can’t.”
Therapist: “Let’s go back. To that night in the processing plant.”
Patient: “I don’t want to.”
Therapist: “It’s your decision.”
Patient, voice tremulous: “Okay. I will.” A pause. The patient visibly shudders. “I’m here, now. In the cannery. It’s dark; so . . . dark. I think I smell fish . . . no, just the river. Wet. Dank.” The patient concentrates, eyebrows knitting. “People are here but I can’t see them, just hear them. Lots of them. Guns going off. And firecrackers. Someone’s laughing. But I’m scared. Luke! I need to find Luke. Before it’s too late.”
Therapist: “Too late for what?”
Patient: “Before someone else finds out!”
Therapist: “Finds out what?”
Patient, frustrated, voice cracking: “About my lies. To him. To my parents. To my friends. To everyone. But mainly . . . mainly to him.”
Therapist: “Where are you, in the building?”
Patient: “I’m walking, my gun in my hand, but it’s dark. So dark. I can’t see. People are running. People are laughing. I hear someone climbing the ladder, the rungs ringing, and then . . . and then . . . I shoot.”
Therapist: “And then what?”
Patient, agitated, eyes wide, nearly frantic: “And then Luke falls! He’s been hit! There’s blood everywhere. Oh my God! He can’t die. He can’t! I need to talk to him, I need to explain . . . I have to save him!”
Therapist: “And can you?”
Patient, in a panic: “No! There’s too much blood. Luke! Luke!”
Therapist: “Let’s come back now.”
Patient, determined: “No! I can’t leave him. I won’t!”
Therapist: “It’s time. You’re returning.”
