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He’d thought the fucker was done with him but Llew wasn’t quite out of hearing range when he heard the bastard fire his kill shot. “Well I guess my wife doesn’t have to worry, since Llew here prefers to rape little boys. You guys be sure to watch your sons.” The curses and insults faded as he got farther away.
Llew found a large oak in the wooded area and squatted down behind it; one hand braced on the large trunk, while he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. His fucking hands were out of his control again. He should’ve thought about putting some of his important numbers on speed dial or that voice recognition thing Leslie told him about.
“Shit, shit.” Llew shakily hit the end button and tried again. He finally got all ten numbers right and hit send. He dropped down to his knees and put his back against the tree. The numbers blurred when he looked at his watch, and he blinked to try to get them back into focus. Hell. He only had thirty-five minutes left of his lunch hour. Maybe he shouldn’t go back. But how would he pay Ms. Pat’s rent? His bank account wouldn’t hold up without a regular paycheck coming in. Llew tried to take a few deep breaths, but they weren’t coming. His body ignored his commands to remain still.
“St. Bride’s Correctional Facility, what department?” the bland female voice asked.
“T-treatment P-planning.” Llew coughed at the ache in his throat, the tightness in his chest. He couldn’t fucking breathe. It felt like forever but it was actually just a couple seconds later when another female voice came on the line.
“Treatment Planning.”
“Yeah uh, this is inmate 5024—” Llew stopped immediately. What the fuck was he saying? “S-sorry. I mean this is Llew Gardner. Is Dr. Jackson in today?”
“Sure. Hold one moment.”
Llew spit next to him, his mouth tasted like someone had pissed in it. He searched in his brown bag for the bottle of water, and ended up spilling most of it by the time he got the top off and the bottle up to his mouth. I can’t fuckin’ do this. I can’t. I gotta move. He thought about leaving Shane and Ms. Pat; the only two people who had shown him an ounce of real kindness, and it made his stomach cramp into a painful ball.
“Llew. How are you, son?” Dr. Jackson said, cheerfully. “I was going to call your brother’s house this weekend and see about you.”
Silence.
“Llew? Llewellyn.”
Silence.
“Talk to me, Llew. What’s going on?”
Llew gulped but choked on the air he tried to take in.
“Breathe, Llew. What’s happening? Where are you? Do you need me to send someone?”
“No.” Llew gasped. “No. I’m at work, Doc. He, um. One of the s-supervisors.” Llew hacked and choked again. “He called me a… a… he said I raped little b-boys and everyone should watch their s-sons.”
“Jesus Christ. Okay, Llewellyn; listen to me. Let’s breathe first.” Dr. Jackson dropped his voice to that easy, calming tone he used whenever Llew had his panic attacks. “We talked about this, Llew. Deep breath in.” Llew remembered these exercises, and he let everything fade away but the voice on the other end of the line. He inhaled. “Listen to my voice. Imagine you’re here with me for a minute. Exhale. What’s happening to you now is but a moment in your life. Inhale. You survived eight years in here by doing it one moment at a time. Exhale. Those men you work with don’t know you, Llew. All they’ve seen is a court transcript or a fabricated newspaper article. Inhale. There’ll be an opportunity for you to prove yourself, but it won’t happen overnight. Exhale.”
Llew followed that pattern for the next couple minutes while Dr. Jackson told him an mindless story about how he missed his wife’s parents’ anniversary dinner because he was working on a case, and he’s been sleeping on the couch for a week. Dr. Jackson had told Llew every piece of advice he knew to give. Now he’d do breathing exercises with him and tell him stories to take his mind off his current situation.
“Llew, I heard you’re in Henderson now.”
He was finally breathing normally and was able to respond. “Yes.”
“I know a therapist out there that specializes in post-release clients. Her office is only about forty-five minutes from there.”
“I don’t need any more therapy, man,” Llew grumbled.
“Oh, yes, you damn well do. Now give me your number. I’m gonna tell her to call you.” Dr. Jackson’s demand brooked no argument. This was why he was in the position he was in. He could handle his patients like no one’s business. He didn’t let anyone bullshit him or tell him how to do his job. But he cared so damned much, so much that he’d get in the dog house with his wife if it meant helping someone who felt like they had no choice but to take their own life if they had to spend another day in prison.
