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Rory didn’t miss a beat, grabbing his crutches and hauling himself up. “I’ve got a file you might want to look at.”
“Don’t go to any trouble,” she started, but he sent her a silencing glance.
He retrieved a laptop from a nearby workstation and handed it to her. “Your pointman was supposed to check this out and give it to you. You can access the SFI intranet to file reports, share data, that sort of thing. No web access, but it’s yours for whatever you need. You’ll find copies of the classified reports in a folder marked with the date. These aren’t on the intranet, only this laptop and mine.”
Accepting it, she felt the tightness in her chest loosen a fraction. Another part, however, squeezed at the thought of going down this road.
He pulled a manila envelope from his desk drawer and tossed it at her. “Your new identity. It’s still malleable and you can fill in the backstory in more detail any time. Enjoy.”
Would she ever be able to feel normal if even her very name was different?So much to process.
She pointed at his coffee, the third refill she’d gotten for him. “Drink that before it gets cold. I hope my assistance today was helpful.”
He sent her off with a grunt that seemed to pass as “good job.”
After depositing the laptop in her room, and reviewing the documents that contained her new identity, her next stop was Beatrice’s office.
She didn’t burst in this time, going through the chain of command and waiting until Connor, Beatrice’s office manager, told her she could enter.
Inside, the head of SFI motioned her to a chair.
“I need an office,” Vivi said.
Although she hadn’t offered to talk to Sloane, Beatrice instantly sat up straighter. “The only one I have empty isn’t much. At the new SFI, things will be—”
Vivi stopped her with a raised hand. “I’m not staying with you permanently. I’m doing this for Sloane, and for you, but no one else, are we clear?”
Beatrice’s lips quirked as if hiding a smile. “Whatever you want.” She stood and grabbed her cell. “Let’s go see your office.”
She was right, it wasn’t much, but the corner workspace had a window overlooking the street and a door she could close when necessary. Good enough. “Needs paint, a desk, and a file cabinet.”
At Beatrice’s request, Connor had accompanied them. He tapped on his computer tablet. “What color, what type, and what size?”
Vivi imagined herself in the space, the way it would look inside her mind palace. “Pine green, a corner desk with lots of drawers, preferably white and as big as you can get.” She didn’t even know what that would be used for, but it would seem familiar, and maybe the set up would trigger her brain to remember that day.
“Roger that,” he said, and with a nod from Beatrice, turned to go.
“One more thing,” Vivi called after him. “I want a nice espresso machine, and a set of mugs. Nothing skimpy. Diner size with good handles.”
He disappeared and she and Beatrice strolled around the small space. “Do you need a couch, or a couple visitor chairs?”
Nice try. She was not going to get sucked into seeing patients. “No, but I would appreciate one of those playmats, like you have in your office. Construction paper, crayons, a few new toys that Sloane hasn’t seen before. Dolls that resemble you, Cal, and her.”
Beatrice peered out the door, as if she wished Connor would return and make a new list. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“I’m going to ask things of you that you’re not going to like.”
Beatrice returned her attention to Vivi. “Like what?”
Parents were usually the reason children were screwed up. Didn’t take a Ph.D. to know that. “Have you considered that it’s something you or Cal are doing that is causing these nightmares?”
“Of course. I have a daily tracker and I keep account of everything she is exposed to so we can compare that to when she has them.”
“Good. I’d like to see those records.” She studied a scuff mark on the wall, scrutinized the ceiling. She could hang a bird cage from it, or get a standing one. “I assume Cal suffers from PTSD, as do many of your employees.” She was still considering going to that peer support group meeting. Processing what had happened to her in prison was going to take time, and while she was no hero like he and the others, being able to share her story with them might help. “Is it possible he’s had an episode that scared her?”
Beatrice’s face blanched. “Cal would never hurt our daughter.”
“I believe you, but it’s one of the ugly areas I have to look into. If you want answers, Beatrice, I have to explore every possible avenue.”
