Page 24 of Over the Edge

“I understand your reluctance to revisit that, but to best help you I need to have a sense of what happened. You don’thave to go into great detail. An overview of the situation would suffice.”

“Okay. I’ll try.” Linking her fingers, Lindsey launched into a topline of the story she’d told Detective Tucker.

Dr. Oliver jotted a few notes as she talked but otherwise gave her his full attention, as usual.

“So you were in close physical proximity to the killer.”

“Yes. At one point, three feet. All I could see was their legs, but I was terrified they’d s-spot me.” An echo of the mind-numbing fear that had clutched her as she huddled under the island swept over her again. “I knew I could be seconds away from death.”

“Like last time.”

“Yes.” She took a sip of water, holding the bottle with both hands. “I mean, how many people encounter one life-and-death situation, let alone two? The whole thing was surreal. Like lightning striking twice.”

“Yet you survived both experiences.”

“With major fallout.”

“Aside from dealing with the lingering shock anyone would experience after the situation you described, tell me your biggest concern.”

“I’m not certain.” She chewed on her lower lip as she pondered the question. “I guess ... I guess I’m scared because this person is still out there. What if they find out I was in the kitchen? That I saw them?”

“Have you been publicly named as a witness?”

“Not that I know of. But what if that information leaks?”

Dr. Oliver sat back and tapped his pen against the edge of his notebook. “Let’s apply logic to this. From what you said, you weren’t able to tell the police anything that would help them identify the person. Even if that person finds out you were there, they know their features were masked. Is it possible your concerns are overblown?”

As always, Dr. Oliver was the voice of reason.

“Yes. And the left side of my brain accepts that. The right side, however, isn’t convinced.”

“Then let’s focus on the right side. Tell me about the dreams you’ve been having.”

“They’re strange and disjointed, with elements from both of the events I experienced.”

“Again, not surprising. In the mind, trauma is trauma. Events that evoke similar emotions can meld together. Tell me how the dreams have played out.”

Lindsey relayed the bizarre sequences that had kept sleep at bay for the past three nights. Shook her head. “I told you they don’t make sense. I mean, why would I put the guy’s scarred hand from the grocery store in South Carolina with the boots I saw at—” A vague image flashed through her mind, and she halted. Tried to bring the fuzzy picture into focus.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” She knitted her brow. “For a second, I thought I was remembering a detail about the killer’s boots—or overshoes—but now it’s gone.”

“It wouldn’t be unusual for details to begin to emerge as the initial shock subsides.”

“That didn’t happen with the South Carolina situation.”

“Every case is different. Or it could be that what you think you’re remembering is only part of your fabricated dream, with no basis in reality.”

She forced up the corners of her mouth and tried for a teasing tone. “Are you telling me I’m beginning to imagine things?” That was a scary thought.

“No. I’m suggesting it’s important to realize that trauma can mess with the brain.” He set his notebook aside. “In times of turmoil, routine can restore a sense of normalcy. I’d recommend sticking with your usual schedule as much as possible for the immediate future. Are you still rowing twice a week?”

“Yes—weather permitting. I didn’t row last week, but I’ll keep going as long as I can until it gets too cold on a regular basis.”

“And you’re running?”

“Every day I don’t row. But I didn’t do either this weekend. Other than church, I stayed home and locked the door.”

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