The Drowning Child

Gary turned to Ruddock. ‘We can give the others the lowdown over dinner.’

‘I appreciate it,’ said Ruddock. ‘Thank you for everything today.’

14 (#ulink_98f15eb7-ad20-5a39-baeb-ecc3e0bf4eea)

Astor’s was a grim and grubby hotel on I-5, a ten-minute drive from Tate PD. Ren and Gary checked in, and were given rooms next door to each other.

Hmm.

Sylvie Ross better be miles away.

‘Ren,’ said Gary, as she was about to open her door. ‘Keep your phone close by. Dr Lone will be calling you in ten.’

Ren froze.

‘Take his call,’ said Gary. He went into his room and closed the door.

Nice, Gary. Nice.

Ren opened her door with a nudge of her shoulder and walked in. Her stomach tensed.

Indian Burial Ground.

She put her bag on the floor, undressed, and crawled on to the bed.

Fuck Gary if he thinks I’m going to take that call. Fuck him. That’s the last time I’ll open up to him if I’m struggling. Asshole.

Ren’s cell phone rang, Lone’s name flashing on the screen.

Ugh. She picked up. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi, Ren,’ said Lone. ‘Gary suggested I give you a call. I heard you had a difficult morning.’

‘I did not have a difficult – fucking – morning. People were gathering for a search, and it was just … how the crowd was moving … it was closing in on me and I felt a little overwhelmed. Honestly – it lasted for about two minutes. That was it. I appreciate the call, but I’m fine.’

‘I haven’t seen you in a couple of weeks,’ said Lone. ‘I’m glad we’re able to speak.’

‘Yes,’ said Ren. ‘But I’m in Oregon to concentrate on work right now. It feels selfish to be focusing on me. I have a job to do.’ She sucked in a breath, and it didn’t feel like enough.

‘It might help to talk,’ said Lone. ‘It might be a good way to begin this case … to reduce your anxiety.’

He doesn’t think I should be doing this job.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I’m hundreds of miles away and having this conversation over the phone and …’

‘Maybe that’s what it’s going to take,’ said Lone.

I don’t think so.

‘Are you still having intrusive thoughts about …’

I want to scream.

‘… events at Safe Streets?’ said Lone.

Yeah – thanks for clarifying.

He waited.

Please just stop. Stop. Stop.

‘And are the thoughts still—’

Are you kidding me?

‘I’m sorry …’ What can I fucking say?

‘You need to be able to talk about this,’ said Lone.

Ren let out a breath. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘let’s talk briefly about this monumental horror that I can do absolutely nothing about, because it is in the past. So I can’t go back, I can’t go forward—’

‘All you can ever do is one day at a time.’

Sweet Jesus, why does that always sound so depressing?

‘Small steps are all you can take at a time like this,’ said Lone.

What is wrong with him? Why is he talking in clichés?Have I become a cliché? Traumatized law enforcement officer …

‘I’m just not a small steps kind of girl,’ said Ren. ‘I feel that taking small steps would give me plenty of time to see that dark pit up ahead that is waiting to swallow me. I feel that taking small steps means prolonged dread, and this achingly slow passage of time.’

I feel. I feel. I feel. FUCK feeling.

‘The future is not a dark pit—’

‘Well, the present is a pretty dark pit and a year ago – when this would have been considered “the future” …’

‘You can’t live your life expecting doom,’ said Lone. ‘We spoke before about catastrophic thinking.’

FUCK catastrophic thinking and magical thinking and all adjectival thinking.

‘Well, if I had spent more time expecting doom,’ said Ren, ‘maybe I could have been prepared. I could have prevented what happened.’

‘Ren, you couldn’t have prevented it.’

‘I’m sorry, but that’s not true.’

‘It is,’ said Dr Lone. He waited. ‘Ren, you need to start thinking about facing the reality of what happened.’