22
The Between
London: A month later
The rules of psychological warfare are different for everyone. How far someone will go to demoralize and dominate their opponent is dependent on their level of commitment. Their desire and need to win—to make their enemy suffer.
When violence runs in your blood, the compulsion to kill is an inherent part of you. It’s intimate and unruly; a lover possessed with only one feeling, one yearning, stopping at nothing to obtain the lead.
For Grayson and I, those lines are blurred more than usual. We can just as easily commit murder as we can make love. Both give us a climactic satisfaction and completion in possessing the other.
Love and murder. The same innate emotion fuels both.
“Dr. Noble? Did you hear me?”
I look up and tuck a loose wisp of hair behind my ear. Warden Marks stands before me in all his lanky, scarecrow glory. “Yes. I’m sorry. I was just thinking we’ve come full circle.”
His smile is sardonic. “We have. Thank you for this.” He holds up the file that contains my final patient evaluation for Cotsworth Correctional Facility. “I know saying these past few months haven’t been easy for you is a gross understatement—”
A tight smile rims my mouth.
“—but you’ve fulfilled your obligation to the facility in my book,” he says. “I’m happy to sign-off on the early release.” He takes a step toward the elevator and pauses. “Where are you planning to go, by the way?”
I glance around the floor at all the partially packed boxes. “I’m taking a few weeks off, then I have arrangements on the west coast.”
The warden nods solemnly. “A change of scenery could be good. Well, good luck, London.”
I see Warden Marks out, then give Lacy the rest of the day off. With the commitment to Cotsworth fulfilled, and my clients referred to another psychologist, there’s nothing left to do but pack.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Lacy asks as she grabs her bag.
I shake my head with a sigh. “I can handle the last bit. You should get a jump on your paper. No excuses.” I eye her severely, then smile.
Once the floor is empty, I relish the silence, taking my time packing up my office.
Any normal, sane person may feel apprehensive about being left alone in the place where she was previously attacked by a deranged FBI agent—but my questionable sanity isn’t the reason why I’m daring the fates.
It’s monotony.
Nearly four weeks have passed since I last set eyes on Agent Nelson, and every day I wonder if it’s going to be the day that he comes for me. The waiting…the not knowing…it’s insufferable.
I’d rather he jump out at me from a dark corner than continue in this morbid limbo.
I toss a box on top of my desk and start clearing off my bookshelf.
The announcement of my practice officially closing released this morning. So if the agent has been lurking on the sidelines, now is the time to strike.
Only the doubt that he’ll make any attempt weighs heavily in my steps as I move around the office, the room becoming bare, empty. The job not taking nearly as long as I thought.
I seal up the last box, the harsh sound of tape stretching away from the roll a final note in my life here. I tear the tape and smooth it along the edges of the box, lost in thought.
Grayson has yet to make contact.
After his violent escape from police custody, he apparently fled Maine. I can only speculate as to how it happened, the reports biased and muddled and not having near enough facts. Three officers were injured during the escape, but only superficially—and with the state I left Grayson in, I’m truly surprised there were no fatalities.
I can envision Grayson using my key to unlock the holding cell. Alarmed cops rushing the hall. Shots fired. Batons and Tasers confiscated and used against the officers. A bloody trail in Grayson’s wrathful wake.
He’s never been capable of extreme emotional outbursts before, but then, I’m not sure if it was reactive or deliberate. Meant to intimidate Nelson.