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Her mother stood beside him. Her chest was puffed out, chin high, her face flushed. Blair stood there too. Wearing his pompous face.
“Mother?” Liv looked around at them. “Daddy? What’s going on?”
“Lord,” Amelia said. “You look like a hooker in that silly wig.”
Her father mumbled something inaudible, and stared at his feet.
“I’m sorry it came to this, Livvy, but you left me no alternative,” her mother said.
Hot anger flooded through her. “No alternative but what? To put me in danger for nothing? To put me through hours of hell thinking that Daddy was dying? You think you can actually justify that?”
“Try to calm yourself, Liv,” Dr. Horst soothed. “Your mother truly does have your best interests at heart.”
“As if.” Liv looked around. “I don’t see any policemen here. You didn’t take me seriously. Why am I not surprised?”
“Liv, please,” Dr. Horst said gently. “I promise that you will be absolutely and completely safe where we are taking you.”
“Taking me?” Alarm bells jangled in her head. She backed away. “No way. You’re not taking me anywhere.”
“I know you’ve had a terrible ordeal, Livvy, but it’s over now. And we’re going to see that you get the help you need,” her mother said. She grabbed Liv’s wrist, her long red nails digging in with nervous strength.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying!” Liv wailed. “I was attacked four days ago! A man tried to kill me! Sean saved me!”
“You see?” Her mother fixed Dr. Horst with big, imploring eyes. “It’s something like Stockholm Syndrome. She’s so broken down, she’s actually bonded and identified with her abuser. God, Livvy, just look at you. Bruises on your arms, your face. You’ve been beaten!”
“Mother, I told you—hey! What are you doing?”
“You’re right.” Dr. Horst had grabbed her arm, and was frowning at it. “Rope burns, knife cuts, hematomas. It will be necessary to document all signs of sexual violence for when you press charges.”
“Oh, dear God.” Her mother let out a theatrical sob of anguish.
“Press charges? Against who?” Liv stared wildly around herself.
“Oh, please, honey,” her mother said. “Don’t tell me you really believe these silly stories about an attacker. It’s just a fantasy, to justify your unhealthy obsession with that horrible man.”
Her jaw dropped. “You mean, you still think the bad guy is Sean? But I’m telling you right now that it wasn’t! Mother, listen to me—”
“What is this?” Her mother lifted the blond curls off her neck, and gasped. “Oh! God! Livvy? What has that person done to you?”
“A human bite.” Horst’s mouth tightened with distaste. “You did the right thing, Mrs. Endicott. We probably got her back just in time.”
“No. Wait. That wasn’t Sean. He didn’t do that. You’re all crazy.” Liv backed towards the door. “To hell with this bullshit. I’m leaving.”
She bumped into Blair, who had sidled around behind her. He looped his beefy arms around her waist, pinning her arms.
“Livvy,” Amelia said. “The police searched McCloud’s apartment, and guess what they found? Look at this. Just look, honey.”
“Let go of me!” she shrieked, struggling, but Blair’s arms were strong. Her mother came over with a folder, and opened it up.
“Look,” she said triumphantly. “Hundreds of photos of you, Livvy. They span years! This man has been stalking you for over a decade!”
Liv stared at the folder. Her mother leafed through the photos, displaying them in quick succession. Liv in college. In New York. Outside the library where she’d worked in Baltimore. Outside the apartment where she’d lived in Madison. She stared at them, stunned.
“See?” her mother said. “He’s obsessed, Livvy. Face the facts.”
Not. The pictures were startling, but she was almost immune to shock by now. Sean’s passionate interest in her was intense and unusual, but not criminally violent. Not crazy. Not T-Rex. She knew the difference.
She shook her head. “The man who attacked me was not Sean, Mother. You have to believe me. I’m not crazy. And neither is he.”
