38. Chapter 38
My return to the city is not a welcome one after my time in the woods.
It is full of too many people layered over one another alongside all that noise and unnecessary proximity.
It’s unavoidable as I step out of my car and lock it behind me, the horn chirping twice in the morning air.
Six hours of driving gives a man time to think and settle things into neat compartments though.
Sadie is exactly where I left her.
She is pissed off, sure, but she is no doubt using that pretty little head of hers to think.
Hopefully that thinking is centered around how much she misses me and not around how to best murder me upon my return.
Though the second would be just as entertaining to deal with should the opportunity arise.
I straighten my jacket and walk into the clinic like nothing in my world is out of place. As if my little vacation was exactly what I needed to get right back to work and nothing more.
The receptionist looks up with the same polite smile she’s given me for years. It’s a routinely predictable behavior. People are most comfortable when nothing about you changes.
“Good morning, Dr. Dormsworth.”
“Morning,” I reply easily, shrugging out of my coat. “Anything I should know about?”
Her smile tightens a fraction, giving away the disruption. “There were two detectives here earlier. They did ask if you were in.”
I nod once as I hang my coat beside the door. “And?”
“They said it was about one of your former clients. Sadie Morgan.”
Former, she says. Not missing or endangered. People tend to choose their words carefully when they don’t yet know what they’re allowed to say. Which, in this moment, works in my favor.
“I see,” I murmur. “Did they leave a card, by chance?”
She slides the crisp little white rectangle across the desk to me. I glance at it, commit the names to memory, then tuck it into my pocket.
“Thank you. If they come back, let them know I’ll make time.” I tell her. She exhales softly, relieved to hand responsibility off to someone else.
I don’t bother to stick around for further polite conversation and head down the hall to my own office. Leaving the door open as I cross the room to my desk and set my bag down beside my chair.
I’ve been sitting for maybe ten minutes when there’s a knock at my door. “Come in.”
I look up in time to watch the two men who enter. My eyes sliding immediately to the badges clipped at either of their belts.
“I assume this is about Ms. Morgan,” I say by way of greeting. Rising from my chair and offering my hand to each to shake before gesturing for them both to take a seat. They sink down.
“My receptionist this morning told me you had been asking for her. She had missed her last appointment.”
True.
Selectively true, sure, but still true.
They exchange a look before the older sets to asking the questions. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Around a week and a half ago when she attended her scheduled session. She appeared stressed, but nothing outside her established baseline.” I answer fluidly.
“And since then?”
“As I said, she didn’t show to her next appointment. Which is not uncommon for clients dealing with avoidance behaviors.” I explain away.
They press on, of course. Asking about her history in particular, and I give them only what is exactly documented.
Childhood instability with a now estranged mother.
An inconsistent support system alongside a high stress job.
That she has artistic tendencies and has no fixed residence in the traditional sense.
I do not specifically mention the bus, because it’s already been on the news. And I certainly don’t mention Pitch and all it did to stir her up.
“Did she say anything about leaving town?” The younger detective asks.
“No,” I sigh, relaxing into my seat. “But she had expressed, repeatedly, a desire to start over. To disappear for a while.”
That one is almost generous.
After a few more dead-end questions, they thank me for my time and request that I contact them if she reaches out. I assure them that I will and even bother to look concerned enough that the younger one nods like he believes me.
They leave about with what they came in with—nothing.
I watch them go without an ounce of regret or anxiety, certainly no panic. Just a mild irritation at the inconvenience of having to drive back to put up with the farce. It’s not exactly like I could tell them I drugged and kidnapped her. I’m assuming that wouldn’t have gone over too… swell.
Sighing, I adjust my phone on the edge of the desk and return to my work.
It’s a long, dull day that I’m not entirely checked into.
And I stay behind at the clinic far longer than I need to.
Moving throughout the building like a man with nothing to hide, but making sure that I am seen.
I make small talk with familiar faces and camouflage everything in normalcy.
It works, of course. It always does.
I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee in the break room when I hear yet another familiar voice. Sadie’s best friend, Imogen.
She sounds high-strung, threaded with panic.
A sound people make when the world has tilted and they don’t know how to set it back upright.
Turning slowly, I exit the break room and find her standing near the front desk.
Her phone clutched in one hand, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused like she hasn’t slept.
Her usual confidence—her sharp edges—are dulled by fear.
She looks smaller than she did the night I first saw her across the street from the bar. Her dark hair a mess atop her head and her clothes baggy, a little too worn.
She hasn’t seen me yet either, and I consider slipping out. Avoidance would be the cleanest, most efficient thing to do, but efficiency isn’t always optimal.
So I clear my throat and step toward her. She startles, looking up as recognition flickers across her face before collapsing into something raw.
“Oh, you’re Sadie’s therapist, right?” She breathes out.
“I am,” I say and hold out my hand for her to shake. Her fingers warm and clammy as they wrap around my own. “Imogen, I presume.”
She nods quickly after pulling her head back, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand. “Have you—have you heard from her?”
The hope in her voice is desperate, and it scrapes at my mind.
“No,” I answer softly.
Her shoulders slump, and she presses her lips together like she’s holding herself upright by sheer will alone.
“They found a guy,” She blurts suddenly, my brow arching. “We went… to this thing and he was also there. They found him dead.”
She means Pitch. She’s just not aware that I know about it and… well, participated.
My eyes glide down to the tremor in her hands and the way her breathing stutters at the revelation she has spewed out at me. “I’m sorry, I guess she didn’t tell me of any event. Are you scared that this event, the dead man, and Sadie have a connection?”
She nods, glad that I have caught on.
“Sadie wouldn’t just disappear,” she whispers. “She doesn’t do that. She fights and runs, sure, but she always checks in. Always.”
I want to tell her she has contradicted herself, but keep those words to myself. She doesn’t need me pressing down onto her jumbled thoughts that way.
“She was overwhelmed, and she’s been carrying a lot for a long time.” I offer softly.
“That doesn’t mean she’d leave without a word,” Imogen snaps, then winces. “Sorry. I just— I don’t know what to do.”
I nod and reach for her shoulder, gently squeezing it in reassurance. “Fear makes everything louder, I understand.”
She exhales shakily. “I keep thinking I missed something, you know? Like if I’d pushed her harder or backed off sooner—”
Ah, guilt. That too is predictable. People always assume responsibility when they don’t have the answers. It’s tedious, and does no one any good. Especially not the aggrieved.
“You didn’t cause this,” I assure. “Whatever is happening, it isn’t because you failed her.”
I watch as she swallows hard, her eyes shining. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I try for a small, reassuring smile. “If she contacts me, you’ll be the first to know.”
It’s a lie, but a compassionate one. She only just nods to me and leaves a few minutes later, still shaking and lost.
I watch her go without any real emotional disturbance.
Sympathy, yes—but it’s distant and abstract.
Sadie’s absence is a wound for her, that much is clear, but for me it is just a state of equilibrium.
Everything will work out the way it is meant to, I just need a little more time.
Sadie won’t be gone forever, and when she returns she will have all the tools she needs to go forward and a story to explain away her absence.
I finish my mug of coffee and return to the break room to rinse out my mug. Setting it back upside down in the drying rack. Then, I go about my day.
I schedule a few sessions and cancel others. I make sure my calendar looks boring and normal. Deciding to stay a while longer for visibility. Just a few days.
Long enough to satisfy most’s curiosity and long enough to let the search burn itself out.