Page 29 of Cry, Little Dove

“I’m Dr. Cain Morrow. You can search for my full name on the internet if you like. I’m a well-respected member of the medical community and advisor on countless ethics boards. I was head of surgery at the university hospital in San Antonio and I own half a dozen plastic surgery clinics across the South.”

“So you have an impressive career, but what does that have to do with this? With me?”

“If I wanna falsify a patient file, I can. Like this.” He snaps his fingers. “And nobody is gonna believe that upstanding Dr. Morrow would do such a thing. I don’t have a criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. And you haven’t seen the best part yet.”

He slides the last page out of the folder and grips my chin, tilting my head down. The dizziness from earlier returns with a vengeance. I can barely make out the letters between black dots obstructing my vision.

“Look at that, Erica! You namedme—your loving boyfriend and trusted physician—as your legal guardian if you have another one of your paranoid episodes.”

“No!” My shrill yell echoes beneath the high ceiling.

He taps the bottom of the paper. “Ain’t that your signature, darlin’?”

I squint. For a second, it feels like I’m falling. For the fraction of a heartbeat, I doubt myself, thinking I’ve lost my mind, but my body goes rigid when I realize what’s really going on.

“You forged my signature!”

“It wasn’t too hard. I copied it from your driver’s license. But the whole idea…” Pride crosses Cain’s face. “You gotta admit it’s a pretty neat plan, huh?”

My heart is about to burst out of my chest. “S-so if I call the police…”

“Now you’re getting it.” With that malicious smile on his handsome face, I expect him to sprout horns like the actual devil. “If you get the cops in here, I’ll show ‘em the files. If you run away, I’ll go to the cops myself and within a matter of hours, the entire country will be searching for you. After all, with these mental health concerns, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”

I can’t hear what he says afterward, his smooth voice background noise beyond the static filling my brain. Pressure compresses my throat like an invisible collar.

Cain doesn’t need chains or ropes to keep me as his captive, and there’s no way I’m ever getting away from him.

My brain makes a hundred decisions in a millisecond.

One moment, I’m sitting, helpless and lost. The next, I’m on the other side of the kitchen and my palm is wrapped around the smooth handle of the knife Cain used to cut the vegetables.

I don’t know when I got up and ran to the sink, but I’m pointing the shaking blade at him.

Cain is still by the kitchen island and turns to me, cocking his head. “What do you think you’re doing, darlin’?” He takes a slow step closer, and I back away until I bump into the counter.

“Stay where you are!”

“This doesn’t have to end badly, Erica,” he says, all sweet. It sounds like he actually cares. “Put down the knife. Don’t ruin the nice evening.”

“Nice evening? You’re delusional.” I screech a hysterical laugh. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

He breathes a drawn-out sigh. “I’m warning you, little dove. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”

Wow. Just… wow.

“Here’s what’ll happen,” he says, holding up his palms. “I’m gonna count to three and you’ll put the knife down.”

“Fuck off, Cain.”

“One.”

“Go to hell, curly.”

“Your voice has this adorable, outraged pitch when you call me that.” His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Two.”

“Suck a donkey dick.”

He laughs. “Three.”

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