for the day. All I needed was a referral. Her secretary could sort that out.
“Dr. Mosconi’s office. This is Olivia speaking. How can I help you today?”
“Hey, Olivia. It’s Jason… Atkinson.” The name tasted bitter. “I was wondering—”
“Jason. Oh, I’m so glad you called. Maria’s been wondering how you’ve been. Hang on. She’s between clients right now. Let me patch you through.”
I was put on hold before I could spit out that I didn’t need to talk with her directly. Being the husband to the infamous Kingston Strangler unfortunately had given me celebrity status. I hated it.
“Jason, you better have a damn good explanation for why I haven’t heard from you in almost two weeks, mister.” Her tone might have been teasing, but I knew the concern was real.
I leaned forward, my head dangling as I sighed. “I’m sorry. Packing up and moving to Windsor took a lot out of me. Then I had to prep my curriculum on short notice, and…” I didn’t have the energy to go on. It was all excuses, and she knew it.
“And you did all of this immediately following Morgan’s sentencing. How are you doing?”
A lump lodged in my throat, and my vision blurred. “Not good.”
“I know. I can hear it in your voice. You should have called me before now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was hoping to get a referral.”
“Okay. We’ll talk about that, but first, I have a late client coming in any minute for an appointment. When I’m finished, we’re going to have a session.”
“What? Tonight?”
“We can video chat. Does that work for you? Are you home?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. Send me your Skype details. I’ll call in about an hour, all right?”
I washed a hand over my face, filled with unexpected relief. “Okay.”
We hung up, and I sat for a long time with my head in my hands doing nothing more than existing. Some days even breathing was a chore, and it took everything out of me.
Like today.
The ibuprofen I’d taken earlier were slowly working. I rolled my neck, groaning at the weight of my head as I stared at my briefcase on the couch beside me. I tugged it closer and rooted inside, finding my laptop and setting it up on the coffee table, emailing my details to Dr. Mosconi.
When that was done, an urge I couldn’t ignore made me reach for my briefcase again. Inside was a file I’d made many months back. It went everywhere I went.
I pulled it out, setting it on my lap. It was plain brown, unlabeled. Levi didn’t know about it. Dr. Mosconi didn’t know about it. No one did. It was my secret. My penance. A dark stain on my soul that would forever remain.
I opened the folder. Inside were photographs. Images of eleven men. Some of them were blown up from newspaper clippings, their quality poor. Others were clearer and showed vibrant smiles on faces that would never smile again. They were photographs that had been collected from family members and used in the media.
Eleven men who were dead because of my jealous husband.
Because of me.
“Abraham Narula.” I touched his face.
I had vague memories of him. He’d been the first. Twenty-two years old. He’d been a new hire at the coffee house in the old neighborhood where Morgan and I had lived before moving to our new house. I’d long ago forgotten about the man, having only run into him twice before we’d moved. Abraham—whose name I hadn’t known at the time—had flirted playfully with me. It had been harmless and innocent, throwaway comments that had been said in fun. Morgan hadn’t been amused. After we’d left with our coffees, I’d teased him and told him to chill out because as cute as the barista was, he knew I loved him.
I didn’t learn about Abraham’s murder until the trial.
I placed the young man’s image face down on the scuffed coffee table and touched the face of the next man.
“Colin Myers.” He’d worked at Queen’s University with me as a TA for a professor in the science department. I didn’t know Colin, nor did I remember ever meeting him. It came out at the trial that we’d apparently attended a work function together. A witness from the function later recalled Colin commenting how he’d flirted with the hot history teacher but was disappointed to discover he was happily married.
Colin had been found dead three days later in a back alley behind a gay bar. The police had never suspected it was related to