Page 3 of Breaking the Dark

Amber finishes talking, and Jessica hesitates before responding.

“Have they had some therapy? In the UK, maybe?” Jessica ventures. “Like some CBT or something?”

“No.” Amber Randall sounds exasperated. “Nothing like that. Trust me, I’m a therapist, I would’ve known. And they would have told me. And why would they, anyway? They’re perfectly normal kids.”

“Did something happen? A trauma?”

“No. Listen. Jessica. Please stop trying to provide rational explanations. If there were a rational explanation for it, do you think I would be sitting here now talking to you? And another thing—their skin. Both of them had the usual kind of teenage complexions before they left, and Lark, she had this tiny scar, just above her eyebrow, from chicken pox, and since they got back, their complexions are just—they’re flawless.”

Jessica winces. “Maybe the air in England is purer?”

“No, Jessica. No. The air in England is not purer. They have not had CBT. This is…look. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” Amber Randall stands and grabs her shearling coat. “Maybe I should just find someone who—”

“What do you want from me?”

She lets the shearling drop. “I want you to go to England and find out exactly what happened when they were there this summer.”

Jessica recoils slightly. “You want me to go to England?”

“Yes.”

“You should know that I don’t have a passport.”

Amber widens her eyes at Jessica and sighs. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously. Nobody ever took me anywhere I needed to use one.”

“My God. You have a birth certificate though, yes?”

“Yes. I have a birth certificate.”

“Well, we can sort that out for you, then.”

Jessica blinks. “I have a lot going on.”

This isn’t entirely true. Jessica just finished a case two days ago and has precisely nothing going on.

Amber nods, as if sensing the closing of a deal. “I can pay you your hourly rate and more. Plus a healthy retainer.”

Jessica narrows her eyes. She has $128 in her bank account right now.

“Let me think about it.”

Amber sighs. “Please don’t think about it. Just do it. I can’t live like this for another minute. It’s killing me, this sense that I’m living with…strangers. Are they even my children? And if they’re not my children, then where are they really, and what’s happening to them?”

A moment passes and then Jessica feels it, the soft, sickening release of acquiescence. “Fine,” she says. “Okay. I’ll do it. But I’ll need the retainer up front. Like now.”

“How much?”

Another moment passes and Jessica says, “Five thousand.”

Amber’s eyes flash slightly at the realization that she is being ripped off, but she smiles and says, “It’s a deal. It’ll be in your account by this afternoon. Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss strategy.” She casts her gaze briefly around Jessica’s office. “Come to my club. The Finch. East Twenty-Seventh. Ten a.m. And you might want to…” She gestures vaguely at Jessica’s T-shirt.

“I have clean clothes, yes, thank you.”

Jessica closes the door behind Amber Randall a minute later and keeps her body pressed against it until she hears the whiz and click of the elevator and the hum as it descends to street level, and then she slides down to her haunches, drops her head into her chest, and groans.

What the hell has she just agreed to?