Chapter 77
Chapter 77
G unner was sitting on his butt, barking at the building. “Gunner, come.” He looked at me and kept barking. “Now! Get your—” I bit my tongue, realizing I didn’t need to cuss in front of a nun. “Fanny over here. Right now.”
Gunner tucked his tail, jogged to me, circled my new friend, sniffing her feet, and then sat beside me. She smiled. “You two must work together.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’re sort of a package deal.”
She waved me on. “You hungry?”
“No, ma’am. I’ve inconvenienced you enough.” Gunner was whining at my feet. “We should probably...”
She stepped closer. I could feel her breath on my face. She was studying me. After a minute, she said, “You are welcome to leave, but if you’ll stay... I have a few questions for you.” She forced eye contact. “David Bishop.”
The words were like a sledgehammer to my face. “Ma’am?”
She turned and beckoned me to follow. So we did. We walked through the back door, through the kitchen where something delicious sat simmering on the stove, through a breezeway, past a library, then up a flight of stairs, down a hallway, and up another flight. At the top, we turned right, walked a long hallway, and entered a smaller library where several David Bishop novels lay in a stack. It was obvious someone sat here a lot staring out over the water. This was someone’s safe space. Where they made sense of what didn’t make sense. Then she approached a door that was shut and leaned against it, listening. She studied me, or better yet measured me, and then gently pressed the door open.
I’d heard of and seen people in trauma not being able to differentiate between real and not. Of slipping into and out of a break in reality. Living half here and half there because their heart, mind, and soul couldn’t make sense of the pain. Not knowing the difference between what was dream and what wasn’t. In that moment, I didn’t know if I was still in bed at the hotel, with room service knocking on the door, or not.
The door squeaked and soft late-afternoon sun showered the room. And the bed.
Where a man lay sleeping.
He was bandaged, and an IV dripped into his left arm. His face was partially obscured by a pillow, so she walked to the bed and moved it. When she did, the sunlight bathed his face.