Page 12 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“I’ll be fine. I really think it’s time I handled my own life,” Caitlyn had replied, and Dr. Wade had tried and failed to hide her skepticism.

“We all need help from time to time,” she’d assured Caitlyn. “Even shrinks like me.”

“Maybe I should go into psychology, give up graphic design and websites,” Caitlyn had responded as Dr. Wade handed her a short list of names which Caitlyn had subsequently lost. And now she could use one of those damned head doctors. Badly.

Her mind wandered back to the night before.

How could she have lost track of time last night?

Why had she blacked out?

What had she done?

Where the hell was Kelly? Even if she was out of town, surely she would have called home to pick up her messages . . . right? Why hadn’t she called back?

Because she doesn’t want to talk to you. Figure it out, okay? Your sister’s avoiding you. And do you blame her? Every time you call it’s always a problem, always some new crisis, you’re always in trouble.

The voice in her head seemed to scream at her from every corner of the bathroom. Don’t you get it? She’s sick to death of hearing about all the things that are wrong in your life, sick of being your support, sick of you!

No, that wasn’t right. Kelly was her twin; her identical twin. They were closer than anyone in the world. Kelly was just busy, that was it . . . Sweating, ignoring the frantic beating of her heart, Caitlyn splashed cool water over her face.

“Get a grip,” she said to her reflection as she blotted a towel to her cheeks and forehead. “Pull yourself together. Right now. You don’t have the l

uxury of falling apart.”

Oscar whined and scratched in the garage.

“I’m coming,” she called, tossing the towel aside and taking deep breaths as she made her way to the door. She had to get some help. Had to. Before she cracked up. She opened the garage door and Oscar shot in, turning in tight circles at her feet. “Come on, I’ll take you for a walk, okay?” she said to the whirling dervish as he yipped and made a fool of himself. “Calm down a sec.” She ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. “I’ve got a couple of things I’ve got to take care of. You can help.”

With Oscar trotting behind, she hurried up the stairs to her office, flipped on her computer, located the phone number for Dr. Rebecca Wade and dialed quickly. On the desperate and off chance that her shrink had returned. Or had left a forwarding number. Or a recording referring patients to one of the colleagues.

Caitlyn’s palms began to sweat as the phone rang. Be there, she silently prayed as a disembodied recorded voice advised her that the phone number had been disconnected and there was no new number. “Great.” She set the cordless in its cradle and chewed on a fingernail. How long had Dr. Wade said she’d be gone? Three months? Six? Indefinitely? Wasn’t the doctor heading west to L.A.? Or was it San Francisco? Why couldn’t she remember?

She glanced at her calendar and frowned. When had she had her last appointment? None in June. She flipped back the page to May . . . no . . . or had she neglected to write the appointment down? Cradling her head in her hands, she tried to think. What were the names of the other shrinks Dr. Wade had given her, or even other doctors in the old house that had become an office building where Rebecca Wade had practiced? Wasn’t there a Dr. Nash or Nichols or Newell, something like that, some other doctor she could call? But as she stared at the telephone, Caitlyn knew she couldn’t just pick a name out of the air or run her finger down the Yellow Pages. She needed to meet and make eye contact with any potential psychologist or psychiatrist. She had to trust whoever it was completely before she told them about her life. Her weird life.

Oscar let out a soft yip, and she glanced out the window. Through the leafy branches of a sassafras tree, she spied a police cruiser turning into the alley next to her property. Her heart dropped. Now what? She hurried across the hallway to her room with its stripped bed, wet carpet and missing curtains. Oscar trotted after her and cocked his head as she peeked through the French doors to the verandah, where she watched the police car roll to a stop near her trash bins at the back of the house. This didn’t bode well . . . not at all. Again she glanced at her bedroom. Would they want to see it? Had she destroyed evidence?

Of what?

She swallowed hard. Two officers climbed out of the vehicle. From the passenger side, a tall, lanky man with dark hair and an even darker expression emerged. The driver opened her door and stepped into the shaded parking strip, and for a second Caitlyn thought she knew the slim woman with spiked platinum hair and wraparound sunglasses. But that was nuts.

As the woman officer scanned the house, Caitlyn ducked behind the wall, not wanting to be caught staring. Just like a criminal in an old film noir. She was acting paranoid. As if she really did have something to hide. Get over it.

But she couldn’t stop the hammering of her heart, and she noticed that she’d missed a smudge of blood on the door casing surrounding the closet. Great. Just . . . great. Oscar was growling and as Caitlyn reached down to pick him up, she noticed the bandages on her wrists with their hint of red soaking through the strips of gauze. Self-consciously she tugged at the long sleeves of her T-shirt, hiding her wounds, knowing instinctively that she didn’t want the prying eyes of some cop to see the red marks or the tape at her wrists.

Not that she had anything to hide.

Except for the pints of blood that were smeared all over your bedroom.

So she’d bled a little. Or a lot. Suffered a nosebleed. Even tried to slice her wrists. So what? It wasn’t a crime and this was her house, her private spot in the world.

Yeah, then why are you so paranoid?

Because of all the blood . . . so much . . . how did she do that and not know? Too much alcohol? Another one of her blackouts where time slipped past way too fast? Please, God, no. Not that. Whatever had happened. It was creepy. Damned creepy. And the possibility of self-mutilation was terrifying.

The officers had rounded the house, and as Caitlyn moved to her office she saw they were at the gate to her front courtyard. So much for hoping they were paying a visit to the neighbors.

You know better, don’t you? They’re here because of the mess in your bedroom. They’re here because of something you did. Somehow they know what happened. And you don’t.

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