Page 5 of Leave No Trace
‘I was about to say the same thing to you,’ said a voice behind me.
Swiveling, I found Dr Mehta arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Working. Am I supposed to be at a meeting?’ I panicked, pulling my phone out to double-check the schedule.
‘I assumed you’d be taking some sick time, not submitting incident reports at three in the morning and preparing for your sessions the next day like nothing happened. Come on.’
She nodded toward the exit and we headed to the opposite side of the building, where the medical ward and the administrative offices were located.
‘How are you feeling?’
Wary of the direction we were taking, I shrugged. ‘Fine.’
‘I’ll be sure to note your expressiveness in my comments.Speech therapist ironically unable to communicate in more than monosyllables.’
We both laughed and then she got serious again.
‘I’m terribly sorry about what happened.’
‘Really, I’m fine. I don’t need rest or medical attention. And hey, you said you were looking for any response, right? So that assignment should be listed with full credit in my next review.’
‘The assignment isn’t over yet.’
‘What?’ I stopped walking and Dr Mehta paused a few paces ahead of me, waiting for me to catch up, until it became obvious I wasn’t going to move. Finally, she gave in and turned around.
‘He’s still unresponsive. Every staff psychologist has attempted communication this morning and they get nothing. You’re the only person in this building he’s had any reaction to.’
‘So, I get to be his personal punching bag?’
‘In the version I heard,hewasyourpunching bag the last time you two met.’
‘That’s not the point. I didn’t think you promoted me to the position of brawler.’
Dr Mehta paced back in her tirelessly calm way. ‘You said you didn’t need any rest. Now was that true or are you trying to overcompensate for a self-perceived but nonexistent weakness?’
Sometimes it was irritating having a psychiatrist for a boss. I shook my head, trapped. ‘I’m good.’
Dr Mehta smiled and swept an arm toward the medical ward doors in front of us. ‘Let’s do a little experiment, shall we? He’s fully restrained.’
I took a deep breath to center myself and followed Dr Mehta into the ward and all the way down the corridor to a private, high security room with an orderly posted outside.
Straps held Lucas to a hospital bed in the center of the room and handcuffs encased his wrists and ankles. He faced away from the door. There were no pictures in the room, no color, and no windows, just the smell of antiseptic and the sound of another patient moaning down the hallway. I drew closer to the bed where his leg was elevated in a sling. An ice pack covered most of his thigh, but the rest of his leg was exposed, revealing a network of scars.
‘Hello again, Lucas.’ Dr Mehta crossed the room to stand in his line of sight. ‘I’ve brought another visitor, this time an old friend of yours.’
There was no movement from the patient, so I walked around and stood next to Dr Mehta. From this angle I could see his face and was surprised by a fresh cut along the outside of his temple. Had he hit his head, too? Without thinking, I took a step closer. His eyes flickered up to mine and held.
No one in the room spoke. We stared at each other, unblinking, without expression. This look was nothing like the connection Eliza made with me earlier and a moment passed in which I had the unreasonable feeling that Lucas Blackthorn knew me, that he could’ve found my neck among hundreds of exposed throats. I lifted my chin, refusing to look away. Finally, he dropped his eyes and a flush of something crossed his features.
He opened his mouth experimentally and then spoke in a low, hoarse voice clearly unused to dialogue.
‘Does your neck hurt?’
‘Yes.’ I set my jaw.
He considered me, as if memorizing the exact shade of red on my skin before making his next effort at speech. ‘Sorry.’
