Mr. Nobody(79)
I glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror. I’m going to have to make sure I keep our relationship purely clinical, because what he needs from me and the way he makes me feel are starting to scare me.
Thankfully, Graceford accompanies us back up to the ward and waits outside the open door to Matthew’s room.
“I think that’s enough for today. I’ll see you tomorrow, Matthew. Okay?” I keep my tone light but businesslike. There’s no time like the present to set boundaries. “We’ll do some more memory exercises in the morning, and if we don’t hear from Dr. Samuels by the afternoon we can perhaps try another trip then. If you’d find that helpful?”
He ignores my question, starts to unzip his jacket, then pauses. “I know it’s not my business, Dr. Lewis, but have you thought about going back?” he says seriously, the quality of his voice matching mine in coolness.
“Back?” I ask, confused. “Back where?”
“Have you thought about going back to your old house?” he explains directly. “Where it happened?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. What is he doing?
His gaze moves past me to the bustling corridor beyond the door, where Graceford waits. Is he worried she can hear?
Perhaps this is what he wanted to tell me on the beach. Is he telling me to go back to my old house? Is there something there, at the house?
He reads the confusion on my face and adds carefully, “I’m only suggesting it because it might help you. Sometimes the most terrifying thing is our own imagination. The not knowing. You know? The reality of what happened, whatever it was, will never be as bad as the stories our minds tell us. If you go back, Dr. Lewis, you might see that.”
I stare at him. What is he talking about?
If I go back I might see what exactly? I can’t work out from his tone if this is an instruction or well-meaning small talk.
But he holds my gaze, his voice low as he continues. “I bet as soon as you get through those gates, what happened will seem so much smaller. It’ll feel more manageable.” I remember what he did for me this morning, how he saved me, how profoundly safe I feel with him.
Is there something there, at the house, that he wants me to see? Or am I just imagining things again?
I give him a smile, trying to lighten the weight of the moment and draw a line in the sand. Enough for today. “Thank you, Matthew. But just to be clear,” I joke, “we definitely didn’t have gates—it wasn’t that kind of place.”
He hesitates, lost for a second before realizing I’m joking, then a flash of relief bursts across his face.
38
DR. EMMA LEWIS
DAY 13—TIME TO GO HOME
I get up early the next morning, slip straight into my running clothes, and let myself out quietly into the thick muffling snow. The air’s crisp and fresh and I pick up my pace as soon as I’ve pushed through the low hinged gate at the back of the lodge. I thought about going out the front entrance, but it’s too early to make small talk with the officer stationed in the car out there, Sergeant Greene. And I’m pretty sure he’d veto a morning run and I desperately need to clear my head before going back to work today or I’ll go mad.
He took over last night from Graceford, and aside from taking him out a coffee before bed, I haven’t said two words to him. He’s a higher rank than Chris and Graceford and he’s certainly less amenable. Chris was waiting with him when Graceford and I got back to the lodge last night. Apparently after that night the local police wouldn’t be able to offer twenty-four-hour protection, Chris explained. I guess Chris had told Sergeant Greene this news might be better coming from him. Inside, over tea, Chris explained my options: either I could head back to London and they could liaise with my local force on options going forward or I could leave tomorrow with the protected-persons unit, witness protection, if I felt a continuing threat to my safety.
“Are you joking, Chris?” I’d scoffed. “You seriously think I’m going to change my name again? Run away from this shit again? What about Matthew? I’m his doctor.”
Chris tried to be understanding but the facts had an inescapable harshness. “Okay, maybe the protection unit is a little extreme,” he admitted. “But you were attacked today. It was an attempt on your life, Emma. And the media are still at the hospital, and trust me, there are a lot of weird people out there. Maybe London is the best option. I don’t think staying on this job is a good thing for you or your patient at this stage.”
He didn’t stay long. I told him as he left that I’d think about it and make a decision soon.
I let my stride stretch out as I creak across the fresh snowfall, my feet and bandaged hands still tender from the basement glass two nights ago. As I find my rhythm my breath deepens, its reassuring huff and the dampened sounds of the forest working to quiet my mind.
So, do I stay or do I go?
Up ahead I see a worn path leading off the main track; it’s narrow and overgrown but bends back toward the lodge. I should stay close. I turn off and head into the denser wood, branches scratching and pulling, but I keep my pace.
Stay or go?
I think again of what happened to me yesterday—the attack, the anger that vile stranger had toward me. He wanted to take my life. He wanted me to die. I think of the chants and the pickets outside the hospital, and yesterday’s headlines. And I wonder in earnest if all of this was really worth it.