Page 44

~ brIDGET ~

I stood in the dark little closet behind the two-way mirror, numb and shaking, while Sam almost killed Jeremy.

Gerald stood at my side, cursing as we watched the entire shitshow play out. I didn’t know who to root for.

At first, every word out of Sam’s mouth would have made my heart leap and my faith in him get even stronger—but then Jeremy told him about the picture of him with my dad and he didn’t say it was faked. He didn’t ask what picture. No, he snapped and…

I almost ran out when Jeremy’s face turned purple. Almost ran into the hallway and to that room to confront him.

But then Sam finally let him go, and Jeremy was fucking smiling even as he struggled to breathe. Because he knew.

He wasn’t pretending. He knew he’d caught Sam out.

It was real. It was fucking real.

Something deep inside my chest tore.

It was like I stood outside myself, watching myself watch everything I believed in be torn apart.

“Bridget—” Gerald breathed and put a hand on my shoulder.

I shook him off. “Don’t fucking analyze me right now,” I spat through my teeth. But I knew he was doing it anyway .

Watch as the patient is confronted with the evidence that her husband is a liar and a manipulator.

Observe her acute stress response: Sweating. Tears. Trembling. Elevated breath rate. Distressed vocalizations.

Clinical notes state the doctor attempted to apply anti-anxiety medication, and the patient refused them because, quote, “That shit fucks me up too much.”

Initial treatment applications were wholistic: Isolation in a safe place, lack of stimulus, a glass of sweet tea to increase blood sugar, and a calm environment to aid the body and brain in processing and return to normal chemistry.

Two hours later the patient appeared calm. Careful examination of the problem and additional information from law enforcement indicated further analysis was needed.

Clinical notes state the Doctor advised against any further immediate stimulus, but the patient insisted because, quote, “If he’s a fucker, I want to see him fucked.”

Law enforcement suggested covert observation to allow the patient to glean additional information while remaining undetected and without risk. The patient was, at all times, under the care and observation of her primary mental health professional…

“Bridget,” Gerald said quietly, his hand soft on my shoulder. “Let’s go. This isn’t proof of anything except that these two should never be in the same room.”

“Are you sticking up for Sam?” I was so shocked I looked Gerald right in the eyes.

He shook his head, but also shrugged. “I don’t have a clue who’s right or which way is up. All I know is you need some time to process. And no more shocks. We should go—”

“I’m not leaving until I know,” I said through my teeth.

“Bridget, you’re shaking.”

“I’ve been shaking for two fucking years, Gerald.”

“Your heart—”

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t. I kept seeing those stars at the edge of my vision. And I’d felt it flutter more than once. But it wasn’t hurting. At least, not physically. Last year when things went bad, it started hurting .

Now my whole body ached because it appeared I was losing everything I thought I had. Everything I thought I knew. And the calmer I got, the more numb I became.

Weird how one piece of information could shift your whole world.

My memories looked different now.

Sam coming to me in the cabin, desperate to stay close. Bending over backwards to give me what I needed, even though his life was the one going to shit.

Sam telling me we’d get through this together and to hell with everyone else.

Telling me he’d get out.

Telling me I was the One.

Of course I was the fucking One, he was feeding me to my father. Who knew what arrangement they’d made?

All that talk of judgment, and Pearl-Clutchers, and the church, and Sam was lying to all of us.

Jeremy knew. He fucking knew. Of course he was scared and angry. Of course my resistance drove him crazy.

Of course Gerald…

Wait.

I turned my head to look at Gerald. “So, do you believe me now, about my dad? That he’s not harmless?”

Gerald sighed. “I never said he was harmless, Bridget. I said you needed to see that you were strong enough to face him. I still believe that. I still believe you’ll never be entirely free of his grip until you face him—but yes, I agree. This isn’t the time.”

I shook my head and he squeezed my shoulder. “You’re safe, Bridget. He didn’t do this. Don’t let your mind deflect blame.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

I gaped at him. “Are you saying Sam didn’t manipulate me?”

Gerald’s expression was grim. “I’m saying… Sam may also have been manipulated, we don’t know. What I do know after thirty years in this career is that sometimes we need to process and think and watch things play out a little before we make decisions. There’s obviously a lot more to this story and we can’t figure that out now. Let’s talk when you’ve had some time to process. This is all happening too fast. We shouldn’t even be here.”

“I needed to be here,” I muttered. “I needed to see this.”

But the truth was, even though I didn’t feel like I was about to split apart at the seams like I had a couple hours ago, I did feel like I was in freefall.

Nothing I had thought for the past six months appeared to be true.

I couldn’t trust anyone. But most importantly, this was the second time in a row that I was learning I couldn’t trust myself. First the serial killer, now this?

I turned back to the window and Gerald and I watched silently as Jeremy caught his breath and stumbled out of the room. I would have been worried about him, but he was smiling.

He was so fucking smug.

Rage burned in my gullet, and not just because I’d thrown up several times today. But I was pushed off balance again by memories, snippets from that testimony today.

Abusers who exploit their victims, creating dependence and an inability to think independently.

Was that what he’d done to me?

Had Sam controlled me when I didn’t even know it?

Or had my father manipulated us both?

Was this Stockholm Syndrome?

Was my father the hostage-taker?

How could I ever know when nobody told me anything except what they wanted me to think?

How did anyone in this world ever know what was true?

When Sam had backed off after that attack he’d apologized. He’d looked afraid.

Because this was assault on an officer and he’d go to jail for that? We all knew Jeremy provoked him, and with that video… no one was pressing charges on this.

“Do you think Sam’s dangerous?” I asked Gerald suddenly. “Like physically?”

Gerald huffed. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

I frowned. “Do you think he’s dangerous to me?”

Gerald sighed. “Bridget, right now I am far more concerned about risks to your mind than your body. ”

“But—”

“No, Bridget. I’m not digging into this with you now. You need time. You need to think. You need to process. Nothing you’re thinking right now comes from a place of logic or rationale. You brain is deep in trigger response and anything you think or feel is likely a product of your body’s fight to survive.”

“But… I’m calm.”

“You’re in shock.”

“But I’m calm.”

“Bridget, you’re numb. It’s not the same thing. Your body is shutting down your normal, biochemical responses because your stress response was so extreme your system is in overload. I am far more worried about the fallout when you genuinely do reach calm, than whether or not you’re going to get kidnapped by Sam tonight. And we know Jeremy won’t let Sam or your dad close to you.”

Jeremy opened the door and stepped into the small space to join us. Towering over me, and still inches taller than Gerald who wasn’t short.

“He’s running scared,” he said hoarsely, but he smiled.

And I hated that he was delighted that Sam was scared right now.

And I hated that I hated that Sam was scared.

I was supposed to hate Sam. The fact that I didn’t… that meant the Doctor had been right… right?

My head spun.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jeremy flatly. He winced and rubbed his throat.

“He’s strong,” he rasped. “But I’ll be fine.”

“Are you pressing charges?” I was really careful not to give any hint of what I wanted his answer to be.

Jeremy scowled and shook his head. “If we win this case, I don’t need to.”

Alarm coiled through my chest. “And if we don’t?”

“We will.”

I nodded, but nerves fluttered in my belly. Jeremy wouldn’t press charges? If he thought he had even the barest chance of nailing Sam on assault he’d do it because it would put Sam away whether we won this case or not.

Why would he take that chance ?

“Is it… I mean, would it hurt your case because you provoked him?” I asked as blandly as I could. Jeremy frowned for the first time since he walked into the room.

“This wasn’t me trying to bait him so I could charge him, Bridget. This was so you could wake the fuck up and see his true colors. You’ll notice when our priest was cornered he didn’t pray his way out of it,” he said dryly. Then he pinned me with a gaze. “I don’t care what he does to you when he’s being nice, that guy is violent.”

And I knew he was right. At least on the surface, but…

My head spun again and I sucked in a breath. Some of my thoughts must have shown on my face because Jeremy grew stern.

He took hold of my upper arms and leaned down into my face. “Bridget… please,” he said softly. Calmly. Not angry. “Wake up. Think about what you just saw. You married your fucking father.”

My breath rushed out of me because that hit hard.