Page 17 of Blade

“Didn’t Jolene tell you?” Artis asks.

I shake my head. “Tell me what?”

The flesh around Westin’s mouth begins to pull up at the corners. The smile that is so familiar, and yet I see it now through a different lens. I see it for what it is.Condescension.

“Oh yes,” he says, tilting his head. “I’m still here!”

I look at Artis, but his eyes are fixed on the doctor.

“You still work with Dawn’s skaters?” I ask, feeling my feet on the ground. Finding my bearings.

Westin explains that he’s never left. He was here before I arrived, so, he laughs, that makes it over two decades, andhow about that!

I remember the first day I saw him at The Palace. Walking from the offices in the arena, across from the snack bar. He was right behind Dawn. Indy followed behind them both, her head hung low. Face red. I was standing next to Kayla on the ice.

I remember what Kayla said. The exact tone of her voice and what it implied about this man.

“Mindfucker.” And then. “Poor Indy.”

Westin keeps talking as this memory plays.

“I’ve been seeing Grace for several months,” he explains. “She’s working on the quad.”

I steel my face as my heart pounds and the blood flushes to my cheeks.

“Let’s sit down,” he says, leading us into the living room. He knows the way. He’s been here before.

At the kitchen, he stops, smelling the coffee.

“Can I get you a cup?” he asks us.

I remember this about him. How calm he always seemed. How he normalized whatever it was we told him. Whatever it was that had happened. And the things he told us. About our fear, and what to do with it. How to channel it.

Fear into rage. Rage into action. Fight—not flight or freeze.

Christ.

Artis and Westin carry their white coffee mugs into the living room. Mine sits on the table, and I find my seat in the chair that faces the doorway. Westin and Artis sit on sofas, facing the window, facing me.

We used to call him Dr. Fear. That thought now fills my head as Westin continues with his casual chitchat, acting as if no time has passed since we last sat together in a room. As if I haven’t rid myself of this place and the damage it did, and then gone on to help dozens of children out of situations like the one Grace is in.

“They say we’re getting a lot of snow. Maybe six feet.”

“That never stopped Echo before,” Artis chimes in. “The plows will clear the roads.”

Westin agrees. “Right—and the two of you are making the rounds. A couple of detectives.”

“If we had time, I’d recommend hiring someone,” Artis says. “I know a few guys. But with the storm ...”

“Of course.” Westin nods. “I’m sure you two can handle it. First stop—Avery Hall? A stroll down memory lane, right, Ana?”

Mindfucker.Still at it.

I draw a long breath, nod, smile. “I’m afraid there’s not much time for strolling.” Like Grace last night, I dig my toes into the carpet.

“We need to speak to Shannon Finch.”

“Indeed,” he says. “I have to say—I found the video quite shocking. I’m curious to see if Shannon can provide more context.”