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“We have questions,” Cole said.
“A bunch of them,” Freemont said.
“I’ve already told you everything I know.”
That was the previous day, when Quincy had been so groggy with painkillers and grief that she wasn’t sure what she had said. But she covered the basics. She was certain of that.
Yet Freemont glared at her, his eyes bloodshot and weary. His suithad seen better days, the cuffs frayed. A yellow splotch of dried mustard marred one of the lapels. A ghost of lunches past.
“That wasn’t a whole lot,” he said.
“I don’t remember a lot.”
“We’re hoping that you might be able to remember more,” Cole said. “Could you try? Just for me? I’d really appreciate it.”
Leaning back into the pillows, Quincy closed her eyes, searching for something else she could remember from that night. But it was all a black stew, turbulent and dark.
She saw before: Janelle emerging from the woods. The flash of blade.
She saw after: Running through the forest, the branch whacking her face as rescue appeared on the horizon.
The in-between, however, was gone.
Still, she tried. Eyes and fists clenched, she swam through that mental stew, diving under, searching for the tiniest memory. She came up with only fragments. Glimpses of blood. Of the knife. Of His face. They didn’t add up to anything substantial. They were lost puzzle pieces, giving no hint of the complete picture.
“I can’t,” Quincy finally said as she opened her eyes, shamed by the tears threatening to slide from them. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”
Detective Cole patted her arm, his palm surprisingly smooth. He was even more handsome than the cop who had saved her. The one with the blue eyes who immediately rushed to her side yesterday after she cried out that she wanted to see him.
“I understand,” Cole said.
“I don’t,” said Freemont, the folding chair beneath him creaking as he shifted his weight. “Did you really forget everything that happened the other night? Or do you just want to forget it?”
“It’s completely understandable that you do,” Cole quickly added. “You suffered a great deal.”
“But we need to know what happened,” Freemont continued. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Confusion clouded Quincy’s thoughts. A headache was coming on. A light, pulsing pain that exceeded the angry pinch of the IV needle in her arm.
“It doesn’t?” she said.
“So many people died,” Freemont said. “Everyone but you.”
“Because that cop shot Him.” Already she had decided to never speak His name. “I’m sure He would have killed me too if that cop—”
“Officer Cooper,” Cole said.
“Yes.” Quincy wasn’t sure if she already knew that. Nothing about the name was familiar. “Officer Cooper. Did you ask him about what happened?”
“We did,” Freemont said.
“And what did he say?”
“That he was instructed to search the woods for a patient reported missing from Blackthorn Psychiatric Hospital.”
Quincy held her breath, waiting for him to speak that patient’s name, dreading it. When he didn’t, a warm rush of relief coursed through her.
“During the search, Officer Cooper heard a scream coming from the direction of the cabin. On his way to investigate, he spotted you in the woods.”