Without Remorse

Dr. Noah had tried to get her to go up them in their last session together and she’d freaked out and quit after only four steps. Her heartbeat sped up even looking in the direction of the staircase. She’d stopped her sessions with the good doctor not long after.

What if she had a meltdown on camera? She’d look like a nutso freak who—

I don’t like to be kept waiting. Talk to me as you go up the stairs. I want to be with you every step of the way.

Sloane exhaled loudly. Goddammit, she needed a new roof.

Breathe. Remember your breathing patterns. Count to ten. Empty your mind.

Twenty-five hundred bucks. Just think how much roofing equipment that could buy. Visualize the roofing equipment. All that pristine tar… or shingles… or whatever the hell they used to fix a roof. Visualize the nice new carpet the money could buy. That velvet pile carpet cost a little more, but even looking at the pictures online had made her want to sink her toes in it.

Two and a half thousand dollars to face her fear. Okay. She could do this. Time for some exposure therapy, bitch.

She filled up her lungs with a new breath and walked toward the camera. She pasted a bright smile on her face and hoped the client couldn’t see how shaky she was as she went to pick up the camera from where she’d placed it on the fifth stair.

“I really don’t go up here much,” she said. Maybe if she kept talking, it wouldn’t seem so scary. “There’s been some water damage up there recently, so I stay downstairs for the most part.” That at least sounded like a more logical explanation than I’m afraid of the second floor.

Crawl up the stairs. Keep the camera on yourself.

Crawl. The guy was probably into dominance and humiliation games, but the thought of crawling up the stairs actually calmed Sloane down. There was less chance of falling that way. And even if she did come upon a rotten stair, her body mass would be more spread out so she’d have a much better chance of—

Ping.

She looked down.

I said I’m tired of waiting. Do it now or I won’t give you the second half of the tip money.

Screw it. She couldn’t let herself overthink this or she’d never get up the damn stairs. She reached up and set the camera down several steps above her. Then she crawled toward it. For a second, she couldn’t speak. The only noise was of her denim-covered knees brushing against the thick carpet of the stairs.

Sloane was tempted to close her eyes. But no. She had to be professional. A client was watching. So she bit the inside of her cheek and crawled all the way to where she’d set the camera.

Elation fought with terror. And she’d only made it up about six stairs. Still, that was two more than she’d done with Dr. Noah, and her breathing passages hadn’t closed up in panic yet. So… win?

She reached out and grabbed the camera, extending her arm to set it up three more stairs. Then, heart beating in her ears so loud it sounded like a conga drum, she crawled toward it again.

Oh shit. What was she doing? Why did she think she could suddenly do this? Who was she fucking kidding? There was no way. Absolutely no fucking way—

Breathe. Just breathe. She closed her eyes and exhaled so loudly she was sure it was caught on the GoPro’s microphone but she didn’t care. She had to find her center, as Dr. Noah called it or she’d crap her pants before she made it even halfway up the stairs.

She did her counting. She visualized her calm, safe place. Curled up with Ramona. Safe. Nicholas sitting on the couch beside her. Warm. Secure. She counted to ten again.

These steps were safe. There wasn’t any water damage to them and Nicholas had gone up and down them more than ten times this week. They’d barely even creaked and he was as big as a linebacker.

She opened her eyes and crawled the few steps until she’d reached the camera. Then she repeated the process. Moving the camera. Crawling toward it. Then again. Moving the camera. Crawling.

She only had to stop and do her breathing and visualizations one more time before—

“Oh my God,” she whispered. She was almost there. The next time she placed the camera, she set it at the top of the stairs.

Almost there. Almost there—

She scrambled the last few feet and then she was on the landing at the top of the stairs. Quickly she moved so that her back was against the wall, heartbeat pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

She felt like whooping and shouting. She’d done it! She’d actually made it upstairs.

She didn’t dare look back at the stairs. Or how far below the first floor was.