Page 110 of The Wicked

In the grainy footage, Congressman Mandell ground away on top of a pretty young blonde. Although her eyes were open, she seemed frozen, and light glistened off her cheek. She was crying. The camera was high up and to the side, and I’d bet my inheritance neither of the pair knew they were being filmed.

“Fuck.”

Deck caught Gracie a second before she hit the floor, and too late, I realised that we’d opened old wounds. Nine years ago, this had been her. We’d just taken a box cutter to suppressed memories, and pain was spilling out.

“Get off, get off, get off!”

She came to and began to struggle as Deck carried her to the couch on the other side of the room, and he nearly dropped her. I crouched at her side and tried to take her hand, but she smacked me away. She was shaking now, and she drew her knees up to her chest and squashed herself into the cushions, cheeks red, breathing hard.

Brooke knelt beside me. “I think it’s a panic attack.”

“What should we do?” I asked.

“I don’t freaking know!”

Okay, not helping. “Relax. Just relax and stay calm.”

I wasn’t sure whether I was addressing Gracie or Brooke or myself, but Gracie didn’t relax. No, she trembled harder.

“I could ask Dr. Google,” Aaron offered. “Unless anyone knows a real doctor? Should we take her to the hospital?”

I knew who to ask. I also didn’t want to ask him, but I had to. Quaking myself, I dialled Garrett Dorsey.

“Saralisa? Thank fuck. I mean, it’s great to hear from you. I was terrified you’d—”

“Has Gracie ever had a panic attack before?”

“Not for years. Why?” Hope turned to concern. “Is she having one now?”

“I think so? What do I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay.” I heard him suck in a breath. “Okay, donottell her to relax. It only makes her more agitated.” Oops. “Reassure her that you’re there and you’re not going anywhere. Then make her do multiplication.”

“Multiplication?”

“Like the times tables. It makes her focus.”

“Really? That’s….” Weird, but nothing about this situation was normal. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“I’m on my way.”

He hung up, and I took a bracing breath of my own. I could do this; I could.

“Gracie, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. What’s three times three?”

Blank stare.

“Three times three, Gracie. Can you help me with the answer?”

Finally, a small voice. “Nine.”

“That’s great, you’re doing great. What’s two times six?”

“Twelve.”

Instead of staring into the distance, she began to focus on me.

“How about four times eight?”

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