23. Alex
The rain hammered softly against the tall windows of my study. The room smelled like whiskey, and the faint smoke from the fireplace burning low near the wall.
Dr. Laurent sat across from me in one of the black armchairs, his back straight, his leather notebook resting untouched on his knee. He always looked calm like nothing in the world could shake him. It used to piss me off when I first started seeing him years ago.
Now I just ignored it.
The session wasn't being recorded. It never was when he came here.
That had been my condition from the beginning.
No assistants. No office. No recordings.
No files with my name sitting in some clinic cabinet waiting to ruin me someday.
Before our first private session, I'd had my lawyers draft an NDA so brutal it probably scared him a little.
Twenty-seven pages. Enough legal pressure to bury a person alive financially if they talked.
He signed it anyway.
Most people always did when enough money got thrown at them.
I leaned back in my chair slowly, glass of whiskey hanging loose in my hand while the fire cracked softly behind me. The ice clinked against the glass when I tilted it slightly.
Dr. Laurent watched me carefully, "You've been avoiding the question for forty minutes," he said finally.
I gave a dry laugh, "Have I?"
"Yes."
I looked toward the dark windows instead of at him. Rainwater crawled slowly down the glass in crooked lines. The whole house felt too quiet tonight.
I rolled the whiskey glass slowly between my fingers, "She really thinks she's a good person."
The words came out flatter than I intended but they still left something bitter in my mouth.
Mr Laurent watched me carefully from his chair, "Do you disagree?"
I finally turned away from the fireplace and looked at him, "She built her first energy plant when she was twenty-one. She was young. She wanted to prove she could run Van Alen Energy without her mother," I said. "Wanted something big enough to make investors take her seriously."
I walked slowly back toward the bar cart and poured more whiskey into my glass.
"She partnered with a mining company in Eastern Europe," my jaw tightened slightly, "Rare earth extraction for battery production. Lithium processing, cheap labor and cheap land."
Dr. Laurent's expression stayed neutral, "She cut corners?"
I let out a humorless laugh, "She signed off on waste storage tanks before the environmental reports were complete."
The therapist frowned slightly now.
I took a slow sip of whiskey, "The chemical runoff leaked into groundwater six months later."
"She knew?" he asked carefully.
"She knew there were risks," I nodded, "The engineers warned them the lining in the holding reservoirs wasn't strong enough long term. The area flooded during heavy rain seasons," I shrugged one shoulder, "Replacing the material would've delayed production almost a year."
"And that would've cost millions."
"Hundreds of millions."
Dr. Laurent leaned back slightly in his chair, "What happened after the leak?"
I looked back toward the fire again, "The village nearby used groundwater wells. At first it was livestock getting sick. Then skin lesions. Organ failure. Kids getting strange blood disorders."
I paused briefly.
"Then the cancer started."
The therapist went still. I remembered the reports vividly. Images of children sitting in hospital beds I made for them because I didn't want Helena to destroy more lives. Villagers protesting outside locked factory gates. Women crying into cameras holding photographs of dead relatives.
"They found heavy metal contamination in the water supply," I continued, "Cadmium. Arsenic. Industrial solvents from the lithium processing waste. Over two hundred confirmed deaths in three years," I shrugged slightly, "Probably more."
Dr. Laurent stared at me carefully now, "And Josephine?"
I laughed again, "She buried it."
The therapist's face hardened slightly, "She knew people were dying?"
"She knew the contamination existed. The company lawyers handled the rest."
Dr. Laurent folded his hands together slowly, "Do you believe she intentionally wanted those people hurt?"
The question irritated me instantly, "No."
"Then what do you believe?"
I stared at him for a long second, "I think she learned from Helena that success matters more than damage."
The therapist nodded slowly, "And yet," he said carefully, "you still hesitate with her."
My jaw tightened again because that was the problem. If Josephine had been a monster, this would've been easier but every time I walked into that room upstairs, I kept seeing two different people layered on top of each other.
The woman who poisoned villages to protect her empire.
And the little girl who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms because she thought I could protect her from monsters.
"So you think she deserve what you're doing to her?"
"I still don't... that's the problem," the words left my mouth flatly. I rubbed a hand slowly across my jaw, "She used to follow me everywhere," I muttered.
Dr. Laurent stayed quiet, letting me talk.
"She was always behind me. Always asking questions," a strange feeling twisted low in my chest, "I used to carry her around the estate because she hated the dark hallways. She thought monsters lived in the walls."
"And now?"
My jaw tightened slightly, "Now she looks at me like I am one."
The fire popped softly behind me. I stared at the flames for a long time.
"I thought it would feel different."
Dr. Laurent leaned forward slightly, "What would?"
"This."
I gestured vaguely toward the house around us, toward the locked rooms upstairs where Josephine was.
"This..." I said flatly, "I thought it would fix something."
"And did it?"
I went quiet. That was another problem. No matter how much I hurt her, the relief never came.
I remembered every second in graphic detail. The chains. The starvation. The fear in her face. The way she curled into herself every time I walked into the room now.
I should have felt satisfied.
Instead, every time I left her room, something ugly sat heavier in my chest. I didn't think I could feel guilt anymore but something close enough to irritate me.
"She cries," I said quietly.
He watched me carefully, "And?"
I frowned slightly, "I don't know."
That was the truth.
I genuinely didn't understand what was happening inside my own head anymore.
"I spent years thinking about this," I muttered. "Years imagining her suffering. Imagining Helena suffering through her," my grip tightened slightly around the whiskey glass, "But when it actually happens..." I trailed off.
Dr. Laurent tilted his head slightly, "You hesitate."
The words irritated me immediately, "No."
"You do."
"I could kill her whenever I want."
"But you don't."
I looked at him sharply.
Dr. Laurent simply smiled, "She's vulnerable and completely dependent on you. Starving. Isolated. Terrified. Yet you keep pulling back right before permanent damage."
A muscle jumped in my jaw, "She's useful alive."
"Is that really the reason?"
I stared at him for a long moment before looking away again. Because no matter how much I wanted that answer to be true-It wasn't. I drained the rest of my whiskey in one swallow.
I stood up abruptly and walked toward the fireplace, rolling the empty whiskey glass slowly between my fingers.
"She looked at me last night," I said quietly, staring into the flames, "And for a second..." I frowned slightly. "For a second she looked exactly like she did when she was little."
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
"And I can't stop thinking about her smile over a fucking piano," I muttered. "And suddenly all I could remember was this tiny kid dragging blankets into my room because she was scared of thunderstorms."
Then Dr. Laurent spoke softly behind me, "You don't hate Josephine."
I laughed once, shaking my head, "Don't do that."
"You hate Helena. And Josephine reminds you of both the damage and the comfort."
I turned toward him slowly.
He held my gaze calmly, "You were both children inside the same abusive house," he said quietly, "Your brain separated Helena from Josephine years ago even if your anger didn't."
I stared at him then shook my head once, "No."
But the denial felt weak because I knew I couldn't do it, I couldn't be like them, no matter how hard I tried.
──·??·──
Josephine
──·??·──
The new chain was shorter.
I noticed it the second I tried to walk to the window.
The metal snapped tight before I could even reach the end of the bed, jerking hard against my ankle. I stumbled forward with a gasp, catching myself on the mattress before I hit the floor.
The chain rattled loudly behind me.
I froze.
Slowly, I looked down.
The old iron cuff was gone. This one was darker and thicker. The edges dug deeper into my skin, leaving angry red marks around my ankle. There was no room to twist my foot anymore. It sat tight against the bone like it had always belonged there.
A small sob left my throat. I sank down onto the edge of the bed and touched it carefully with trembling fingers. Cold metal pressed against warm skin.
He changed it. The thought made my stomach turn. He had come in here while I slept. I tried not to think about that part too hard. I pulled weakly at the chain again anyway, even though I already knew what would happen.
My shoulders sagged.
"No..." I whispered.
I rubbed my face hard with both hands and tried to think. Tried so hard to think. My thoughts kept slipping away from me like fish in dark water.
Okay.
Okay.
He said the chain only gets shorter.
That meant... that meant if I made him angry again, it would get worse.
My chest tightened painfully, I looked toward the locked door then back down at my hands, then at the chain.
I couldn't stay here.
I couldn't.
The thought of waking up in this room every day until I forgot what sunlight looked like made panic crawl up my throat so fast I had to stand up again.
"No," I whispered, pacing as far as the chain allowed. "No, no, no-"
The links dragged behind me with every step. I started talking before I even realized I was doing it.
"I can fix this," I muttered quickly. "I can-I can explain it to him. I was little. I didn't know-"
I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and kept walking in tiny circles beside the bed.
"He knows that," I whispered desperately. "He has to know that."
But then I saw it again.
The stick.
The little boy curled in the cage.
The blood.
My stomach twisted violently.
I stopped walking.
"I hurt him," I whispered.
The words echoed softly through the room. I pressed both hands over my mouth hard enough to hurt.
"Oh God..."
Tears burned my eyes again. I remembered his crying now. I remembered laughing. My knees nearly gave out.
"No..." I whimpered against my palms. "No, I didn't-I didn't understand-"
But part of me had, that was the worst part. I remembered the feeling of Mom praising me. I remembered liking it. The memory crawled over my skin like bugs. I started pacing again faster now, dragging the chain sharply across the floor.
"Okay," I whispered frantically, "Okay, but people forgive things. People forgive childhood things all the time. Right?"
I looked toward the door like he might somehow answer me.
"He just-he needs time."
I grabbed onto the idea anyway.
"Yes," I said quickly, nodding to myself too fast. "Yes. I just need to apologize properly."
That had to be it.
I hadn't apologized correctly.
I stopped pacing and stared at the floor while my mind raced.
What did you even say for something like this?
Sorry I tortured you as a child?
Sorry I helped destroy your life?
The words made me feel sick. I pressed trembling fingers against my lips.
"No, no, that sounds horrible..."
I started pacing again.
"What if I kneel?" I whispered aloud. "He likes that. Maybe if I kneel and just tell him I understand now-"
My chest tightened painfully.
"I do understand now," I whispered.
The hose.
The cold.
The chain.
The crawling.
My eyes squeezed shut. Maybe this was what he wanted. Maybe he just wanted me to understand how it felt. The thought hit me so hard I stopped moving completely.
And if that was true...
Then maybe there was an end to this.
Hope flared so suddenly inside me it almost hurt. I spun toward the door.
"I get it!" I blurted out to the empty room. "I do!"
My voice echoed back at me. I rushed closer until the chain snapped tight again around my ankle. I barely noticed the pain.
"I understand now!" I shouted toward the door desperately, "Alexander, please-I understand what we did to you!"
I swallowed hard.
"I was a child," I said, tears spilling faster now. "I was little and stupid and she told me it was okay and I-I didn't know-"
My throat closed. I slid slowly down to the floor until I was sitting beside the bed, curled against the mattress.
"But I know now," I whispered hoarsely, "I know now."
I wrapped my arms around my knees tightly.
"If you just let me go..." my voice trembled so badly the words barely came out, "I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making it right."
I nodded quickly through tears.
"I can help you," I rambled, "I can-I can tell the police what she did. I can testify. I can tell everyone what happened to you."
Nothing.
I looked at the door again.
"Or maybe you don't want police," I whispered quickly, changing direction immediately. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. I won't-I won't tell anyone anything. I'll disappear if you want. I'll go anywhere."
My breathing sped up again.
"I'll leave the country. I'll never come near you again. I'll never say your name again if that's what you want."
Still nothing.
My voice started cracking harder now.
"I'll do anything," I whispered.
And that was the horrible truth.
I would.
Right now, in this room, with this chain around my ankle and his voice still living inside my head... I would have promised him almost anything if it meant the door opening.
My gaze drifted slowly back down to the iron around my ankle. A fresh sob tore out of me.
"What if he never lets me out?" I whispered.
The thought sat there. My breathing became uneven again. I pictured years in this room.
Years.
The chain shorter and shorter.
My stomach lurched so violently I crawled toward the trash bin near the desk and threw up.
When it was over, I stayed there on the floor shaking, strands of hair stuck to my face.
"I'm sorry," I whispered brokenly to nobody, "I'm so sorry..."
But the room didn't care.
The chain didn't care.
And somewhere inside me, beneath all the panic and guilt and terror, a small, horrible thought had already started growing roots.
Maybe apologies were never what he came here for.
I didn't know how much time passed after that.
The room slowly turned darker around me, the last pale light outside fading into blue, then grey, then black. The lamp near the bed cast a warm glow over the carpet, but it didn't make the room feel safe. Nothing could make this room feel safe anymore.
I stayed curled on the floor beside the trash bin for a long time, my cheek pressed against the side of the bed.
At some point, I started whispering apologies under my breath without even realizing it.
"I'm sorry..."
The words kept slipping out.
"I'm sorry, Alexander."
Over and over.
Like if I said it enough times, maybe something would change. Maybe he would believe me. Maybe he would remember I was five years old.
My throat hurt from crying. My eyes burned. Every few minutes I would lift my head and stare at the door, listening for footsteps that never came.
Eventually, hunger started hurting worse than my fear.
It sat low in my stomach like a fist slowly twisting tighter and tighter. I tried to ignore it. I curled tighter on the carpet instead, pulling my knees against my chest.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, went back out and then leaned against the side of the bed.
"I'll be good," I whispered suddenly toward the empty room, "I will."
My voice sounded small.
"I understand now."
Then, I heard footsteps. My entire body locked up. I scrambled to my feet so fast the room tilted around me. My heart slammed violently against my ribs as the footsteps came closer.
The sound stopped outside the door, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened. For one horrible second, I thought it would be him.
I thought I would see those empty blue eyes staring at me from the darkness.