17. Ember
EMBER
OIL AND WATER – INCUBUS
“I can’t let you in that room until I know you’re of sound mind. Work with me, Ember.”
The silver-haired shrink is going to earn himself a black eye if he doesn’t get off my case. That’ll clash with the ridiculous, canary-yellow shirt he’s wearing today. Another colour-blind classic.
“I’m fine,” I repeat for the fifth time. “Just here to debrief Gracie’s parents and get on with my job. What happened with Carlos and his men was self-defence. I’ve moved on.”
“So you’ve said every time we’ve spoken since.” He pushes his sliding spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose. “Trouble is, I’m not buying it.”
While everything about his open body language and affable smile scream well-honed reassurance, I’m not buying that. Richards is on Sabre’s payroll. He can play friend all he wants. This entire set-up is a pantomime designed to catch me out.
“Isn’t it your job to believe your patients?”
“You’re not my patient.” Richards produces a thin smile. “I’m simply here to ensure that the stressors of this role don’t impact public safety. Namely, are you fit for active duty?”
“I’m working to ensure public safety by bringing down the threat that Gael and the cartel pose.”
“Is that how you see what happened at the docks?”
Standing up, I resume pacing my least favourite room in HQ. I’ve got the bland canvas prints memorised by now. I stare at them enough during our pointless, weekly sessions where Richards prods my mind in every way possible.
I’d thought that I’d gotten away with flying under his radar in our debrief sessions since I killed Carlos. Richards loathes the silent treatment. Yet he hasn’t given up and refuses to budge on pumping me for whatever information he thinks he’ll find.
“I saved the lives of my team members and our hostage.” My response is flat.
“You also used lethal force. Multiple times.”
“Would you prefer I let them all die?”
“I’d prefer if you could talk to me about how it made you feel. What it triggered for you. How you’ve been managing the difficult emotions since. You’re allowed to slow down and reflect.”
“No!” I glare at him.
Richards halts spinning the fountain pen between his wizened fingers. “No?”
“I said no.”
“Tell me why you’re afraid to confront these feelings. Give me something.”
The incessant pain pounding behind my eyeballs reaches a cutting peak. It feels like something is attempting to escape. Some confession or emotion that I can’t bear to consider revealing. No one can know how it made me feel.
Because I liked it.
And I’d do it all over again.
“Ember…” Richards’s cool gaze locks on me. “There’s no judgement in this room. Whatever you say will remain confidential.”
“Until you write a report that has me booted off the Anaconda Team.”
“I’m on your side, no one else’s. For the record, I think you’re doing a fine job as an agent, and I do not wish to have you removed from duty. But I will if you continue to fight me in these sessions.”
His firm words startle me. “You will?”
“Yes,” he confirms with a tense smile.
“So much for being on my side.”
“Debriefing is an important part of keeping you healthy. So talk to me if you wish to avoid the consequences. Tell me why you’re so afraid to talk about what happened.”
My hands curl into fists, nails forming grooves on the insides of my palms, gnarly tissue pulling taut over my knuckles. The bruises across my body have healed, leaving nothing but invisible scars that match the ones I still wear on the outside.
Taking a human life should leave a more permanent mark. I’ve beaten enough poor souls over my years in the ring—some that I’m sure never got up again after sparring with me—but this was the first time I did it of my own free will.
Nobody forced me.
Nobody held me under threat of death.
I chose to kill those men, evil or not.
“I can’t do it.” My words come out in a heavy breath.
“Tell me why.”
“I don’t want to think and regret. If I do, I’ll never dig myself out of that hole. This is how I survived, doc. I just kept on pushing forward, even when they made me do awful things.”
“You didn’t have a choice then,” he points out. “You do now.”
“What choice? This case is my life. If I’m taken off it… what would I do?”
Richards gestures for me to retake my seat. I eye him suspiciously but eventually acquiesce, putting us back at eye-level.
“You can’t live for this work, Ember. Your dedication to seeking justice is admirable, but you’re still a human being with needs and desires beyond this building. That is crucial.”
“I can’t have any of that until I’ve brought down the men who hurt me.” I shake my head in protest. “And until I know that no one else is going to suffer what I did. I can’t rest until then.”
“There will always be another dragon to slay,” Richards replies softly.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying… if this job is your life, then it’s better not to have it. You were held prisoner for so long. Don’t you want to live a little now?”
My nails dig deeper, forming painful slashes. “You are trying to have me fired.”
“I’m looking out for your best interests.”
“By telling me to let go?”
“By encouraging you to look beyond your anger and hatred,” he corrects curtly. “You can’t save everyone. Not even from this case. It isn’t your responsibility to capture those who trafficked you.”
Gracie’s sweet, badly bruised face flashes through my mind. Her skin mottled purple and stained with blood from fresh wounds. Hair matted. Bones protruding. Not a single hint of hope or life left in her big, beautiful eyes.
“Yes.” My jaw aches from grinding my molars. “It is.”
“Why?”
“Because I left her behind!”
The words ricochet between us like a fired bullet. It’s too late to shove them back in. No matter how much I want to keep the truth locked behind steely mental bars.
“I shouldn’t have been rescued first.” My heart pounds against my breastbone, lurching with noxious regret. “I don’t deserve to be free, but Gracie does. I have to find her if I have any hope of a future.”
As soon as I’ve said it, the honesty guts me. It opens a floodgate I didn’t realise was bricked up around the weeping wound carved inside me years prior, allowing self-loathing to fester.
Instead of letting tears boil over, rage stretches my already-fragile nerves into breakable violin strings that wind tightly around my bleeding heart.
“Why don’t you deserve to be free?” he asks, pen and paper now discarded.
“You know what I did in Mexico. The people I hurt. The pain I inflicted. I didn’t want to fight anyone, doc. I hated it. But I still did it to spare my own pathetic life. How selfish is that?”
Richards pauses, licking his lips. “Survival is never selfish.”
“It’s the most selfish act there is,” I clap back.
“Would you be saying the same thing to Gracie if she were here? If she’d been forced to fight for her life? Would you tell her that she’s selfish for putting her own survival first?”
Each question tears into my carcass and disturbs the carefully ordered understanding I’ve formed about what happened to me. I hadn’t realised that I’d painted myself a spiteful little picture of my own existence.
Her face returns, growing clearer with each of his challenges. I try to imagine what I’d say to Gracie if she were sitting here, wrestling with huge, existential guilt. Or how I’d approach her after a fight, bloodied and wounded, telling her that she should just let them kill her instead.
It’s unthinkable.
“No,” I choke out. “I wouldn’t.”
“Then Ember… Please, for your own sake, treat yourself just like you’d treat that poor, innocent girl. Give yourself the same grace you’d offer to any other victim. You are no less worthy than them.”
That’s when the tears spill over. I should be used to the sensation, considering how regularly they make an appearance after years of being stifled. The hot dribbles make my cheeks ache as they pour free, carrying my grief and pain with them.
Richards reaches over to the tissue box on the small console that holds his tea, passing me a handful. I avoid looking at him while drying my face. No doubt he’s proud of getting me to crack.
“Processing what you’ve been through is scary.” He picks his pen back up to jot something down. “But it can also be a relief if you let it. Confront the past. Allow the pain to flow. Let it roam free.”
“This doesn’t feel good,” I hiccup.
“But it will,” he attempts to assure. “One day, the world won’t feel so heavy. You’ll have the desire to consider a life beyond these walls because it’s what you want. Not what I’ve ordered you to do.”
The tissue is soft and soothing on my face, allowing me to hide for a moment. When I regain control of my emotions, Richards is focused on his paperwork, allowing me the pretence of privacy.
“Thank you.”
He glances up to smile. “Therapy isn’t so bad after all, huh?”
“I thought this wasn’t therapy.” My own smile is strained.
“Right you are.”
A quick look at the clock reveals our sessions is almost up. Gracie’s parents will be being escorted into HQ as we speak. Balling the wet tissues up, I bite down on my lip.
“I’m going to meet Gracie’s parents.”
“I heard.” Richards nods. “Meeting her family after all that’s happened is a huge emotional milestone. You need to be prepared for what it’ll bring up.”
“All I want is to get it over with so I can find their daughter and bring her home.”
“Responsibility, Ember.” He caps his pen, setting our session notes aside. “Consider what you’re taking on and whether it’s reasonable or fair to you. That’s all I ask.”
Taking the cue, I stand to ditch my used tissues in the wastepaper basket. Richards meets me at the door. Usually, I flee this room like it’s on fire. But today I stop to offer him a long, searching look.
“You’re right; it isn’t fair,” I reply solemnly. “I didn’t want to leave her behind, but I had no choice. Saving her isn’t my job. But it is my road back to being someone I recognise when I look in the mirror.”