Page 23 of What's Left of Me

Aziza and Angel arrived about twenty minutes later, and she immediately asked me what I wanted to do.

“I’m still willing to talk to him.”

She nodded. “How do you want to do this? How would this be comfortable for you?”

A rush of warmth flowed through me at her concern. “Here’s fine; they can all stay.”

She went to speak with the agent and informed him of my choices.

“I won’t have anyone interrupting this interview, Dr. Bakir.”

“You do it Phoenix’s way, or not at all, Agent.” There was a bite to her words. “No one will interfere as long as you’re respectful and don’t upset my patient. If he says stop, this ends. Do you understand me?”

“Fine.” There was no hiding how angry this made the agent, but no one seemed to care. I knew he was just doing his job, though, so I vowed to be nice regardless of how uncomfortable this would be for me.

“Mr. Briar. I’ve had a long talk with Dr. Bakir, and she explained what you’ve remembered, she was also able to obtain some information that likely explains why we’re here to speak with you.”

I nodded. “You want me to listen to some voices?”

“That’s right.”

“If at any time you want to stop, say the word.” Noel gently tapped my leg.

I glanced at Noel. There was a determination in his gaze, one that said he wasn’t going anywhere, and if I wanted to stop, this would be done, no questions asked.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Agent Rose removed a small recorder from his suit jacket. “Now we don’t know things he said to you, and we didn’t knowhis name when we made these recordings, otherwise we’d have requested them to say that.”

I shuddered just thinking of hearing his name coming through the tiny speaker.

“We had each of them say the same few lines. We didn’t want anything derogatory to hurt your healing process, so we simply told them to say their name, age, and favorite color. Hopefully, that will be enough.”

His finger hovered over the Play button, his eyes on me. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

The first voice was definitely not Adonis. Too nasal. “Raymond Klemons, thirty-five, orange.”

I shook my head.

Next, deeper, but not right. “Donald Beggers, forty-one, red.”

I shook my head again.

“Lane Moran, fifty-two, blue.”

“One more,” the agent said.

“Hank Zaffy, thirty-two, black.”

He sounded a lot like Adonis, but I couldn’t be sure. There was that haunting timbre in his tone, and he sounded the right age, nothing nasal.

“Is that him, Nix?” Hazel implored.

“I don’t know. Maybe. He sounds the closest.”

Agent Rose slid the recorder back into his pocket. “It’s at least enough to pursue further with him.”

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