Page 27 of Bad for Me

With my heart lodged in my throat, I begrudgingly climb into the SUV. As the door slams shut behind me, I send up a prayer that Bernard is still alive.

13

BERNARD

I makeit to my feet just as the sound of the front door slamming shut reaches me. My legs wobble and the room spins. Groaning, I reach out and catch hold of the edge of the dining room table to steady my knocking knees. There’s a terrible throbbing in the back of my head. When I reach up and touch the spot, I wince. As my hand comes away, I note the blood staining my fingers.

Shit.

“Dad!” The sound of thundering footsteps running toward me pulls my attention away from the blood.

Isaac bursts into the room a second later, his eyes wide and wild. “Fuck, are you alright? What happened?”

Whatdidhappen? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to replay the last few moments that I remember. There was the sound of a floorboard creaking. I had turned toward the noise and saw…

I swear violently. “Justin Chambers, my client, he was here! With a gun and… Wait—” I look past Isaac. “Where’s Mer?—”

“He took her!” Isaac places a hand on my shoulder. “He took off in an SUV with Meredith! We need to call the cops.”

He had a gun? That isn’t his MO. Then again, neither is attacking anyone. The breaking and entering is pretty on point though.

I nod, thinking quickly. “When did they leave?”’

“Just now.” He grimaces, his head shaking wildly back and forth. “He had a gun to her head, Dad. We need to do somethingnow.”

Brushing off his hand from my shoulder, I nod and take a steadying breath. “I don’t think he’ll hurt her. Justin is harmless but?—”

“Yeah well, with all the blood on the back of your shirt and hand, don’t hold it against me if I don’t believe you.”

I nod. “Grab your keys and meet me in the garage. We’re going after them.”

“And the police?”

“My phone’s charging in the kitchen. I’ll grab it and then we’ll call them on the way.”

Isaac nods. “Right, let’s go.”

* * *

Less than three minutes later,we’re peeling down the street, following the fresh tracks in the snow. There are only two sets of tire tracks in the street. One clearly when Justin arrived, and the second when he left.

We follow them out of the neighborhood and onto a main road.

“Where do we go from here?” Isaac checks the rearview mirror as he accelerates.

I’m thrown back in the passenger seat, but I don’t take my eyes off the road as I scan for any signs of an SUV. Thankfully, the streets are relatively clear thanks to truckloads of salt and efficient snowplowing, and there aren’t many people out. Streetlamps give the falling snow an orange glow, and what’s already on the ground is brown slush pushed up into tall mounts.

“He’ll go to his place. Here, take route two.” I reach up and rub my throbbing temples as I pull his client information up on my phone. When his address pops up, I type into the car’s GPS. “He lives in Severna Park. Best place to start is there.”

How can this be happening? We had Meredith right where we wanted her, and suddenly, she’s been ripped away. And by one of my patients no less. I wonder if this is some sort of karma. I don’t normally believe in such things, but this does feel rather vindictive of the fates. I create my path only for fate to come and fuck it up—using one of my patients to really rub salt in the wound.

While Isaac jumps onto the highway, I make a call to the police. When the operator gets on the line, I tell her about the break in and kidnapping. Once the details of the car and address to Justin’s house have been given, I hang up.

How didn’t I see this type of response in Justin? He’s been missing appointments, sure. Butthis? Off his medicine, he’s now become unpredictable. He’s never admitted to hearing voices, but he did talk to himself—a sure sign he was communicating with someone else inside his head. What would these voices say? To harm someone? My whole being shies away from that notion. It just doesn’tfeelright.

“Tell me about this Justin guy. Since when do you take such psychopaths?” Isaac’s grip on the leather steering wheel tightens as he breaks the silence that hangs between us.

“Justin’s not a psychopath.” I work to loosen the tension in my jaw. “He’s a man with a head injury that’s led to some unhealthy habits. I took him on as a patient because his sister was a friend of mine before she died. She was watching over him, but after her death, he must’ve stopped taking his medications…”

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