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“Fancy coming across you two.”
Looking up, she blinked in surprise. Standing there at the table, smiling down at her, was Dr. Gideon Raithe. Dressed in all black with a stark white tie as usual, this time his clothing looked…well, it didn’t look casual. It was still a three-piece outfit, but the cut and the fabric made it look as if it were from the forties. It was dated. He leaned on the vulture-topped cane.
What an odd man.
I’m insane. Who am I to judge? She tried to make herself smaller and pulled her hands into her lap. Why did she feel like she had just been caught red-handed? “Oh—Hello, Dr. Raithe. Harry and I were just out for dinner.”
“You aren’t doing anything wrong.” He waved his hand. “And please, call me Gideon. I wasn’t aware you two were friends.”
“We live across the hall from each other,” Harry muttered.
Maggie glanced between him and Gideon. Harry was scowling, his arms folded across his chest. For the first time it occurred to her that Harry didn’t like the doctor very much. She wondered why. Most people don’t like shrinks. They just go to, well, like he said. Collect checks.
There was an awkward pause. She stammered then did the only thing she could think of to escape the moment. “Would you like to join us?” She winced and tucked her head. Turning so only Harry could see her, she mouthed “sorry, I panicked” at her friend.
Harry smirked and shrugged in response.
Gideon didn’t seem to notice the exchange. “Why, thank you! I was walking by and caught a glimpse of you two through the window, and I thought I might as well stop in to say hello and have a pint.” Gideon sat down beside her, leaning his cane against the wall. He moved gracefully, especially for someone who was probably a few inches over six feet and was fairly broad-shouldered. It was clear he really didn’t need the cane.
What was it for, then? Style?
He was clearly eccentric. The all black, dated, vintage-looking suit, the stark white hair, the silver rings on his fingers.
Silver rings. She hadn’t noticed them before. He wore several on each hand.
Bands of silver hovered around his wrists, suspended in the air as though gravity had long since stopped paying them any heed.
A claw. Fingers black and shining, stretching through the darkness. The points impossibly long and thin, like needles.
She joltedas someone touched her shoulder. It was Gideon. He pulled back as she jerked in surprise. “Forgive me, Marguerite”—he quickly corrected himself—“Maggie. You drifted off for a moment there.” His voice was quiet, the bass rumble of it carrying easily in the din of the restaurant.
Tears stung her eyes, and, leaning back in her chair, she swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m so fucking sick of this.”
“Take a deep breath. I know you’re frustrated, and you have every right to be.” Gideon’s voice dropped lower as he spoke to her, now barely audible. “I would be scratching up the walls if I were in your shoes. But you need to take this one step at a time.”
She narrowed an eye at him. “Were you really just walking by?”
He blinked. “Ah. Eh. Well.” He cleared his throat. “No.”
Now she was glaring at her friend. “Harry.”
The big man looked sheepish and shifted in his chair. “What? You were late, and I know how you black out, and I was worried, and I didn’t know who else to call. The cops wouldn’t…uh. Yeah. I texted him. Sorry.”
Sighing, she leaned back in her chair again and crossed her arms. “I’m all right.” It was a bald-faced lie, and she knew it. But, man, if she didn’t want it to be true.
“It has been happening more frequently, hasn’t it?” Gideon moved his chair closer to hers.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t move. But the twitch in her jaw gave her away. When Gideon sighed, she picked up her glass of beer and downed the remainder in one go. She put the glass down heavily on the table and went back to sulking.
Yes, she was sulking. She wasn’t proud of it, but there she was.
She was sulking so she wouldn’t cry again from frustration and fear.
“Why don’t I walk you home?” Gideon took out his wallet, pulled two fifties from it, and tossed them onto the table. “We should talk.”
“I have a session with you on Thursday.”
“I think we should talk now.”
