Page 13 of Rescued By Midnight
Therapy continues for another forty minutes. Question after question about what my kidnapper did or didn’t do, how I might have tempted him, whether on purpose or by accident.
“It’s all right, dear. You can tell us the truth.” Miriam’s sickly-sweet encouragements clog my ears, my throat. They stick in my teeth like toffee.
“I am telling you the truth. He never touched me or looked at me like that.”
Sometimes I thought he wanted to, but he never did. Even when I was naked, his gaze was dispassionate. I felt more like a sister to him, or a pet, than a sexual being.
Finally, Elder Wattle sets me free.
I step out of his office and onto the sun-bleached church campus, struggling to breathe.
That wasn’t therapy. Therapy was when I went to grief counseling, after my parents died. It’s supposed to help, not harm. I feel harmed, violated. I’ve lived it again, only worse—with their judgment.
Brayden will be here to pick me up soon. I hurry to another building and try to find a sliver of shadow to stand in. There, beneath a metal sign outlining the seven levels of Seven Blessed Days Church, I pull my phone from my pocket.
A search for grief counseling + Inderjit brings up his full name, and the name of his practice. When I dial, I expect to be sent straight to a messaging system. However, a woman answers. “Sharma and Crowne Counseling. How can I help you?”
“I’m…looking for therapist recommendations. I’ve been to Inderjit’s grief counseling group before, and I need someone to talk to.”
“Hold on just one second.” Her tone is warm, comforting. Why does that make me want to weep?
The phone gives a soft tone, and then I hear him. Inderjit. His voice is also warm, like he understands what I’ve been going through before I can even tell him. “Hello, this is Inderjit Sharma.”
“Inderjit, this—it’s Alice. Alice Meeks. I don’t know if you remember me?—”
“Alice. I remember you. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you’re alive. What do you need?”
“Counseling. Therapy. Something…not with my church.”
“I understand.” He pauses a moment. “I would love to work with you, but based on what I know of your experiences, I think you’d do better with someone more experienced in trauma cases. Can I recommend you to my partner, Cammie?”
“Sure, anyone.” It’s hard to push out the words. My throat feels full, like I need to cry. “But, I…I need someone fast.”
“I understand. We can get you started, and if for some reason you don’t feel comfortable with Cammie, I have more recommendations, as does she.”
“That’s an option? I can start with her and then, just, move on if I don’t like it?”
“Yes. Therapy is very personal. Your comfort and trust with your therapist are essential.”
Church therapy isn’t like that. It’s with Elder Wattle, or nobody.
I use my notes app to write down the information Inderjit gives me. When we hang up, I feel a thousand times better than I felt when I left Elder Wattle’s office.
There’s one more thing to do. I open up my text messages and find the message from Lincoln and Cody. I write back, I’ve missed you both.
Immediately after sending it, I consider un-sending it. If Brayden sees this, he’ll be scared for me. Disappointed.
Then again, Brayden fucked Jericha. I’m disappointed, too.
CODY - NOW
Jordan and Alexei bicker while looking over the photos Jordan took at her last stake-out. Jordan shakes her head of dark, curly hair as she points to one on the desk between them. “This is the motherfucking money-shot, comrade.”
“I told you not to call me comrade?—”
“Okay, enough.” I sit forward in my seat. “Alexei, she calls you that to piss you off. Stop taking the bait. Jordan, cut that shit out and find your top five images to share with the client. You have five minutes. If you can’t do it, I’ll let Alexei choose.”
It isn’t even high stakes. The client gets an entire flash drive full of images. We simply like to provide a few printouts for immediate recognition that the job is complete.
