“But you didn’t. You survived. You’re a survivor. You could have bled to death in that cabin, but you ran through the rain and mud and you flagged down a car to help you. That’s why you’re alive.”
“I don’t feel like a survivor. I feel like… like a mess. I can’t sleep. I can’t even hold down a job.”
“That’s what you’re here for. To get better. This is just the beginning.”
“If they had caught him, I could move on. But every time I close my eyes, I imagine he’s at my window. Watching me sleep.”
“The key word is ‘imagine.’ He’s not really there.”
“You don’t know that! After all, I’m the only one who can identify him. I’m sure he wants me dead.”
“You can’t think that way. You’re safe now. If he were going to find you, he would’ve done it already. This is an impulsive man.”
“I’m going to lose my mind, Dr. Hale. It’s all I can think about. Every time I get into my car, I feel like he’s following me. As I was driving here, I was sure he was in the car behind me.”
“But you know that’s all in your head.”
“I don’t know that. You don’t know that. For all you know, he did follow me here. Maybe he’s waiting outside right now. Maybe the second I open the door to your house, he’s going to kill us both.”
“Do you know how unlikely that is?”
“I…”
“Listen to me. You cannot let this psychopath control your life. You are here to get better. Your family cares about you and that’s why they sent you here.”
“But I’m not getting better.”
“This is just the beginning. You’re going to get better.”
“Dr. Hale…”
“I promise you. You will get better.
Chapter 11
TRICIA
Present Day
I get about forty minutes into the tape when I realize that I’ve been down here for too long. Like me, Ethan is notoriously slow in the bathroom, but even he has got to be done showering and dressing by now. Any minute, he’s going to come down here looking for me.
I lost track of time. There was something about Dr. Adrienne Hale’s voice that was simultaneously hypnotic and powerful, as she advised the young patient featured in The Anatomy of Fear, whose friends and fiancé were murdered by a maniac in a cabin in the woods. When she says, You will get better, it’s like the voice of God himself saying it. No wonder she was such a respected psychiatrist. No wonder so many people struggling with major trauma came to her for help.
Sure enough, footsteps grow louder on the stairs. I quickly eject the tape and pop it back in the case. I shove the cassette into one of her desk drawers seconds before Ethan pops his head into the office.
“There you are!”
I force a smile. “Here I am.”
He cocks his head to the side. “You weren’t nosing through her desk drawers, were you, Tricia?”
“No, I wasn’t,” I answer truthfully.
I hurry out of the office before he can try to figure out what I was doing. He is standing right outside, his hair still damp from the shower. I notice immediately that he isn’t wearing the dress shirt and slacks that he had on when we left the apartment. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans bunched up at the ankles and a Yankees T-shirt.
“Where did those clothes come from?” I ask.
“Oh.” Ethan tugs at the collar of the Yankee shirt. “I found them in one of the drawers in the bedroom. I hung up my shirt and pants, and I’ll put them back on in the morning.”
The T-shirt and jeans didn’t belong to Adrienne Hale. They’re too big for Ethan even, and therefore, far too big for the psychiatrist’s petite frame. But they were in her drawer, so I’m guessing they belonged to her boyfriend. Luke.
“You might want to change before you go to bed too,” he suggests. “There are tons of sleep clothes in the other drawers.”
What’s worse—wearing the clothing of a dead woman or wearing the clothing of the man who killed her?
“That’s fine. I’ll just sleep in my bra and underwear.”
“Suit yourself. Do you want to come upstairs now?”
I look down at my watch. It’s getting late, and with the snow still coming down hard, we have little choice but to spend the night here. The idea of it creeps me out more than I thought it would. But we have to do this.
I can do this.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go upstairs.”