Page 4 of In Death, Love Survives

TWO

Wolfe

Nova .

Well, this is very interesting to overhear.

Dr. Khaki Pants with no spine is pleading with the woman doctor in the other room, trying to get her to see him as a good guy. Only he sounds like a wounded animal instead of her superior.

I lightly chuckle.

From the sound of it, this Nova doesn’t care about his opinion of her practices. Witnessing this dynamic is going to give me some entertainment while I’m stuck at Roper State.

Nova .

A powerful name that I believe means something akin to “new.” Maybe like the dawn of a new day. It tastes somewhat dangerous as it rolls through my mind.

The name feels like a treacherous yet warm day that would surely electrocute me if given the opportunity.

Maybe electric is the word I’m looking for to describe it.

It does make this even more interesting.

There’s still some indistinguishable chatter happening between the two of them. I try to get a little closer without making this correctional officer with me concerned.

The sound of a chair screeching backward is loud.

“Dr. Owens, if you don’t respect the prisoners’ time, then how do you expect them to respect you?” she asks.

Touché, Doctor.

If I could give her a slow clap, I would, but I feel like Officer Walls here wouldn’t be a fan of that.

As I continue to wait to meet with this Nova, I can’t help but continue to listen in on this conversation. She’s on a roll.

There’s no doubt in my mind that this correctional officer should be telling the doctor that I’m outside, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s probably just here for a paycheck, like everyone else I encounter in the system, or this is a regular occurrence between the two doctors that he’s used to.

That’s fine.

I’ll be out of here before I know it, all in due time.

When I was told I needed to meet with the head of the psychiatric unit at Roper State, I knew what they were after.

To the staff, I’m the elusive Wolfe Walker who finally got charges to stick to him, and this time, it’s homicide. Not a great look for me, but it did the job that the cops have wanted for a while—to have me locked up.

The problem with this case is that there was no evidence to suggest I was the murderer. Simply a jury of my peers who knew about my long history and the tall tales told about me saying I did it.

The lack of proof is probably the only reason why I wasn’t sentenced to death and, instead, given time in prison. Even more surprisingly, I didn’t get life in prison with no option for parole—I have twenty years with the possibility for parole sooner than that.

None of it fucking adds up if you ask me.

Corruption at its finest.

Twenty goddamn years for a crime I didn’t commit.

That’s not to say I’m not a criminal because I am. Not that I’d be an open book about my history, but hell, I am one.

This just so happened to be the time they got it wrong.

My attorney is working on appealing my case, which means, for now, I have to go through the motions of being a prisoner at Roper State Penitentiary.

Today, I’ve already been through the wringer, but the last person I have to meet with is Dr. Nova Fletcher. I’m a bit surprised to be meeting with her on the day of my arrival. In any other prison where I’ve served time, it’s never been a priority.

I have a feeling Dr. Fletcher has Dr. Khaki Pants wrapped around her finger, which is why it’s so important here.

“Dr. Fletcher, please see me after your last examination,” Dr. Owens says. Hurried footsteps start heading in my direction.

He jumps back slightly as he opens the door to find me there.

“Officer Walls, what is he doing waiting out here?”

“I was waiting for you and Dr. Fletcher to finish up,” Walls answers.

“Please send him in immediately,” Dr. Owens says before storming off.

It’s clear as day that Dr. Owens has a little thing for the defiant Dr. Fletcher. I wonder if she realizes it yet or not.

Day one, and I’m already learning so much about the dynamics at play here. Now to sweet-talk Nova a bit and get out of this therapy or pill pushing she’s about to do.

A chair scrapes across the floor in the room where she’s waiting.

“Go ahead,” Walls says.

He indicates for me to go into the room.

“Not joining me? I’m a good time,” I taunt.

He looks at me blankly.

Alright, not someone to joke with. Got it.

“Dr. Fletcher doesn’t like anyone to disrupt the privacy needed between patient and doctor.”

Another interesting tidbit.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep her waiting,” I drawl out.

“Don’t mess with her, Walker.”

“I wouldn’t dare. I just got here, remember?”

Walls suddenly looks as if he wants to kill me right here and now.

Another scenario I find interesting .

It’s against everything in him to let a convicted murderer like me go in without him there to protect the lady of the hour.

I give him a fake salute as I head into the office.

As I walk into the room, Walls shuts the door behind me. I grin, knowing I got under his skin like that.

Padding across the room, I’m focused on the floor for a moment before I still.

I’m greeted by two very toned, long, tanned legs. My line of sight travels up her body to see one is crossed over the other, covered in a tight skirt.

Legs have always been my weakness when it comes to women. A secret I’ll keep close to the chest in front of this pair.

Traveling up further, I see a buttoned-up shirt and long, wavy blonde hair around her shoulders. Dr. Fletcher has the end of a pen in her mouth as she looks at what has to be my file.

The bob of her head reminds me of somewhere else I’d like to see her head bob up and down on. My cock twitches in my pants imagining Dr. Fletcher on her knees.

Fuck.

I’m reminded that this woman and I are in two different places.

I’m not meeting Dr. Fletcher out somewhere in the great state of Montana. It’s not like she just stumbled into the local dive bar I own, lost and needing help from a stranger.

If that were the case, I would offer to buy her a drink and then go out and fix whatever car trouble she was having. She’d look at me hesitantly until she decided she was going to give in to the temptation.

“Mr. Walker?” she calls out, as if she’s been saying it for a while. I must have stopped walking on my way in.

As my eyes fix on the woman in question, I know I have to focus on leaving instead of running through different scenarios in my mind of how I wish we could have been meeting for the first time.

Gathering my composure, I straighten and keep walking.

“Wolfe.”

“Wolfe. I’m Dr. Fletcher.” I reach the chair opposite her. She appears uncomfortable that I haven’t taken a seat.

“Please, why don’t you have a seat?”

She smiles with hope swirling in her eyes that I might not be as bad as they say I am. Truthfully, right now, I want to tell her I’m not.

“Alright,” I answer.

As I look at the chair, I’m reminded that I’m in a jumpsuit, and she’s in a different kind of suit. My jaw clenches at the reminder that I’m not here voluntarily.

I plop down in the chair and spread my legs wide, letting my hands fall between them.

There’s a table between us, and we’re a world apart.

Taking in my surroundings, I notice there’s a cup on the table, closer to my side. Nothing else is on my end.

“What’s that for?”

She clears her throat.

“Water.”

“For who?”

“You.”

We’re staring at one another strangely.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Of course. Would you like any?”

I give her a small wave no.

“I’m good.”

“In that case, I’d like to get started if that’s alright.”

Not a question. A familiar tactic I’m used to using myself on the outside.

“Be my guest.”

She looks back down at the file.

“I start every session somewhat the same. To kick things off, can I please have your consent to record this session? It’ll be kept in the privacy of the medical unit.”

Sure it will be.

I scoff but nod to give the go-ahead.

“Can you please say it out loud?”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

She clicks it on and puts the device in the center of the table. As she settles back in her chair, I can’t help but find her utterly distracting.

“I usually like to hear about my patients’ medical backgrounds from their perspectives first, but it looks like you’ve never participated in any type of treatment plan.”

“That’s correct.”

“Not even therapy?”

“Nope.”

“Mr. Walker. I understand that psychiatric care can have a stigma attached to it. What I would like to do during this time is simply get to know you. If speaking with me has no benefit to you in the next fifty-five minutes, then we will no longer see each other outside of routine checkups. Can you agree to that?”

Dr. Fletcher watches me through her long, black eyelashes. As they flutter, all I can focus on are these honey-brown eyes that I can’t look away from.

Waiting for me to answer, her lips part, drawing me into them. They’re plump and pouty, perfect for what I’d like to do with that mouth.

She tightens her lips into a thin line, waiting. I look away from her mouth up to her eyes and realize she saw me staring.

Part of me thinks she really wants to be helpful. That’s not something I was expecting. The other part of me knows that even if I wanted her help, I couldn’t trust a staff member here.

This isn’t a fantasy I’ve created—this is my reality, no matter how bleak it may be.

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Her mouth twitches right before she regroups.

“Please, whenever you’re ready.”

I grip my hands tightly together as I debate what angle I’m going to take here. My palms feel sweaty the longer I keep them together.

I wasn’t prepared to talk like this today. Certainly not with this intriguing woman who’s here to cast judgment. I know she must have preconceived notions about who I am.

“How about we start with your favorite memory?”

My eyes snap to hers, not realizing I was looking at my hands intertwined together.

“What would you say yours is?” I counter.

She looks thoughtfully out of a nearby window. It has bars on it, which can’t give her the comforting feelings of a favorite memory.