Page 22 of Never Lie
I shut the bedroom door behind me and make my way slowly and carefully down the spiral staircase to the first floor. I’m not sure exactly what to do down here. My best bet is to find a book to read. That has the best chance of putting me to sleep.
I bypass all the bookcases filled with texts about the workings of the mind and head straight to the one in the back—the one stuffed with novels. Of course, that’s the bookcase that also concealed the doctor’s secret hiding place. I scan the rows of books for the second time. There are plenty of intriguing titles. There’s no shortage of things to read.
But once again, my eyes are drawn toThe Shining. Even though I know it’s not a real book. Or maybe that’swhyI’m drawn to it.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.
Almost against my will, my fingers go to the spine of the book. After a split-second hesitation, I pull it out the same way I did before, and once again, I hear that click. The bookcase shifts.
The hidden room is now open.
It’s easier the second time, especially knowing that Ethan is sound asleep upstairs and won’t walk in on me. I pull the door open and immediately find the cord for the light switch with my hand. The single bulb flickers on, revealing once again the rows and rows of cassette tapes.
Given how well organized this room still is, I have a feeling the police never found it. If they had, it would probably be in disarray. But all the tapes are meticulously arranged. Going back ten years, with the most recent dates about three years ago.
Right before her disappearance.
It occurs to me that if the police had listened to these tapes, they might have discovered clues to help them figure out what happened to her. After all, it seems like she was still making recordings right until when she disappeared. Maybe the very same day.
As I examine the tapes, I figure out she has a labeling system beyond just the initials, session number, and date. She also color codes them. The first session seems to be labeled with blue ink, then all subsequent ones in black ink, and the final session in red. The pattern repeats over and over again. Except for one.
There’s a long row of tapes with the initials EJ on it that has a tape labeled in red—the last session—but then right after, the tapes resume with a date just a week later. So it seems like Dr. Hale had her last session with this EJ person, then started up again almost right after. And there’s no final session. The last tape with those initials has black pen on it.
That means she was still seeing this patient at the time of her disappearance.
I pluck the tape with the red marker off the shelf. Perhaps it’s a privacy violation for me to listen, but it’s not like there are any real names on it. And it’s not like I’m going to get any sleep tonight.
Chapter 13
Transcript of Recording
This is session 137 with EJ, a 29-year-old man suffering from narcissistic personality disorder. This will be our final session.
“Hiya, Doc. How are you doing?”
“I’m well. How are you?”
“I got you a present.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a bottle of Rustenberg Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s from South Africa, so it’s got eucalyptus notes.”
“Well, thank you.”
“I don’t know how much you know about wine pairing, but this is a wine you want to eat with steak or a dish that has a heavy buttery creamy sauce. It makes the wine earthier because it neutralizes the tannins.”
“I appreciate the tip. Please have a seat.”
“Yeah, sure, of course. I love this part, you know? Where I get to sit on your couch.”
“Yes. Listen…”
“It’s a nice one too. Real leather. You must make the big bucks, Doc. You probably don’t even need me buying you bottles of wine! And you don’t even take insurance.”
“Yes. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“About what? Insurance? I haven’t used that. My mom has been paying for all the sessions.”
