Every Single Secret(59)

He pushed aside a stack of papers, retrieved his iPad, and unlocked it. He tapped at the screen a few times. I watched, bleary eyed and zoned out, until something occurred to me. Something wonderful—I’d just watched him tap in his passcode.

I closed my eyes. Pictured the screen. Saw the pattern his fingers had traced.



5 3 5 3


Easy. No way it was his age. Cerny had to be in his mid to late sixties, at least. Maybe it was someone’s birthdate—May 3, 1953. That seemed more likely. Possibly his. Possibly the woman’s whose silk blouses were hanging in the wardrobe upstairs.

“I’ve talked with her recently,” the doctor said, interrupting my thoughts. He pushed the iPad away, but the screen still glowed. A page of notes. Glenys’s last session, possibly. “Everyone here at Baskens is accounted for. No need for concern.”

The image of Glenys leaning out her bedroom window flashed in my head. “I’d just like to know where she is. For my own peace of mind.”

“Well, that’s solicitous of you.” The doctor picked up a pen, inspected it, then put it back down. “But she’s probably in her room, reading or perhaps napping. Maybe talking with her husband.”

“I thought I heard the two of you arguing. Earlier.”

“Daphne . . .” Heath said.

Cerny fixed me with an inscrutable look. “She’s my patient, Daphne, not yours.”

“I’d like to know if she’s okay,” I said. “That’s all.”

Cerny’s gaze stayed on me. “We have a policy, and we were very clear regarding it. I understand, though, growing up the way you did, you probably associate the idea of policy with the legal system . . .”

I flinched. Nice shot, Doc.

“But I can assure you,” he went on, “it’s in everyone’s best interest.” He sat back, lacing his fingers. “Daphne, I need you to understand. My patients are all here for counseling, primarily because they’re encountering obstacles in their lives they cannot manage on their own. In other words, everyone here is struggling.”

He enunciated the word precisely. Like that had anything to do with what I asked. Like I didn’t know what the hell the word meant.

I put a hand on the chair and pivoted myself toward the door. I felt the rush of the room readjusting itself around me, just a split second later than it should have.

“Did you put something in the juice?” I asked.

Cerny pursed his lips. “Do you feel all right?”

“Yes,” I mumbled. “Just a little . . .” My mind drifted, then swung back to Glenys. “I was just concerned she might’ve left, that’s all. Have you had time to watch any of the tapes? The surveillance tapes of her and her husband, from the time in their room? Maybe something happened when she was up there?”

Heath sighed. He was losing patience with me, I could tell.

“Daphne, I can assure you, everyone here is safe,” Cerny said. “You are safe.”

He was missing the point. It wasn’t my safety I was concerned with. It was his lie about the additional cameras in our room. The Sinatra music. The goddamn dead birds strewn across the grass.

I was concerned about a woman who might be missing, but he wasn’t listening. No one was. I pressed my fingertips to my temples. Confronting him in my impaired state was useless. I’d wait until I had my wits about me. When I felt myself again, I’d figure out what the hell was going on.

I propelled myself toward the door, spotting the row of car keys hanging on the hooks. I’d done some minor shoplifting in my day, at the Flash Foods, after school. All the girls at the ranch did it. I was pretty good, too. Just a quick reach and a sprint to the door . . .

I could make a run for it. Pick any car and drive down this mountain. They couldn’t stop me, not if I was smart about it. I could drive down to Dunfree, even, hunt down Luca or Dr. Teague. Bring the police into it, if I had to. A sense of well-being washed over me—or maybe it was power. I was only here because I chose to be. I could leave anytime. I was in charge of my life, not this grinning, Mr.-Al-looking bullhorn of lies.

I turned to face Cerny. “You said you wanted to know what else Heath said? During the nightmares?”

He stilled. “Ah, yes. But we can discuss it later, when you’re feeling better.”

I eyed the doctor, then Heath. I had their full attention now. I lifted my eyebrow just a fraction, hoping Heath would get my message—Two can play this game, Doc—then closed my eyes, as if conjuring up the memory. The reality was, I didn’t have to. I remembered every time Heath had cried out in his sleep. Every scream and roar and whimper that had woken me.

Break the mirror . . .

Cerny stared at me, and a delicious frisson of superiority went through me. Whatever game he was playing with Heath and me—and with Glenys—he wasn’t going to win. I sure as hell wasn’t going to give him any more information until I figured out what he was up to.

He may have looked like Mr. Al, but he wasn’t my fucking father.

I cleared my throat. “One time—and I remember it very clearly—one time he said . . .”

I could’ve sworn Cerny’s pupils dilated in anticipation.

“He said, ‘I have no pity.’” I looped my hand through Heath’s arm, gripping his bicep. I could feel him staring down at me.