Page 55 of Under Fyre

“You going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

He’s silent for so long. I’m sure I already know the answer.

“You asked me the other day why I’m doing this.” His voice changes. Becomes deeper, rougher. “Why I’m fixing you.”

I say nothing, just tighten my hands over my chest. The cab is freezing cold and Fyre doesn’t seem interested in turning up the heat. Guess his dog will overheat or something.

I glance at him and then do a double take. He’s frowning at the road ahead, and I’m guessing it has nothing to do with shitty driving conditions.

“I’ve been helping people like you for years,” Fyre says.

“Yeah, at the college,” I say, prompting him to get on with it.

His smile isn’t friendly. “Not teaching. Healing.”

Oh right. I watch him carefully, my stomach churning uneasily as I try to figure out where he’s going with this. But Gideon Fyre has, and probably always will be, an enigma.

I don’t think for a moment I’ve grown close enough to try to understand him. I can just hold on and hope he knows what the fuck he’s doing.

“My first patient was a rape victim I’d read about in the local paper.”

A stone the size of Arrow’s head sinks into my belly. I sit, paralyzed, while Fyre slowly unravels and discards everything I thought I knew about him.

“Her name was Geraldine. She was thirteen.”

Was?

My skin grows cold. I hug myself tighter, until breathing becomes difficult. Fyre’s concentration is focused solely on the road. The truck weaves down the road, its snow tires doing a surprisingly good job of gripping the icy slush we’re plowing through. Tree trunks soldier past us, straight and rigid, their lower halves bristling with thin, dead branches. But above us, the spruces sport great boughs heavy with snow. Some even drip lethal icicles.

It all goes past in a blur, my gaze on Fyre and everything else out of focus.

“She’d tried to jump from a bridge. But she survived, albeit with several broken limbs and a punctured lung. I went to go see her in the hospital. She was so doped up she didn’t even know her own name.”

“They let you see her?”

Fyre brushes off my question with a shrug. “Hospital security is a joke.” He inhales deeply, then carries on talking. “After they released her, I made contact with her parents a few times. Told her I was a therapist. That I wanted to help. They immediately agreed, but she was stubborn...although not as stubborn as you.”

I frown at him, but keep quiet. I’m not going to derail him unless I smell bullshit again.

“We had several counseling sessions. She had PTSD, like you, and was severely depressed after the attack. But we worked through her trauma using exposure therapy. It sickened me to hear what he’d done to her. How malicious his assault had been. But it’s part of the process, and I accepted that. I knew I was helping that young girl recover. To rebuild her life.”

A tire skids, the truck veering to the left. Fyre stops talking, his hands white-knuckled as he fights for control. Arrow sways left and right, bumping shoulders with Fyre and me. But she doesn’t seem in the least disturbed.

As soon as he has the car under control, Fyre cuts his eyes to me. “Seatbelt.”

I fumble with the belt as I clip it into place, blinking hard as I will my heart to stop pounding.

“We made outstanding progress. I’d already discussed extending our sessions to only once a month. Geraldine was...” Fyre’s voice drops away. “She was such a success.”

Was, was,was.

Saliva thickens in my mouth. “What happened to her?”

Fyre’s lips curl into a smile as he lets out a bitter huff. “Her rapist had been out on bail for months. Maybe he decided the evidence was too damning, and didn’t want her testifying in court. Who knows? Whatever his reason, he decided to come back for her.”

“No,” I murmur, putting cold fingers over my mouth.

“He followed her home from school. Broke in. Overpowered her. He was a big man, and she was—”

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