nuances of ethical choices; he lied because he thought it would save me, even if it meant sacrificing himself. For all his failings, there is a core of goodness in him. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why she loves him so desperately.
I can feel Dr. Shields’s anger; it’s like a swelling, red force in the room, pressing in on me, stealing away my breath.
The silence hangs heavily for a moment, then Dr. Shields says, “Jessica, can you repeat what you told me?”
I swallow hard. “I said we slept together.”
Thomas cringes.
“Now, one of you is clearly lying,” Dr. Shields says. She folds her arms across her chest. “And it seems pretty obvious it’s you, Thomas, since Jessica has nothing to gain from a false confession.”
I nod, because she’s right.
What she does next is going to reveal if the risk I took paid off.
Dr. Shields walks over to the piano and pats the laptop. “Jessica, I’ll be happy to give you the recording. All you need to do is return what you took from me first.” Her gaze flits to Thomas and I know exactly what she means. She isn’t talking about a necklace.
She’s re-creating what happened with Gene French in her own warped way; she’s using my secrets to inflict maximum pain.
“I can’t,” I say. “I never took any of your jewelry and you know that.”
“Jessica, I’m disappointed in you,” she says.
Thomas takes a step deeper into the room. Closer to me.
“Lydia, let the poor girl go. She told you the truth; I was the one who lied. Now this is between the two of us.”
Dr. Shields shakes her head sorrowfully. “That necklace is irreplaceable.”
“Lydia, I’m sure she didn’t take it,” Thomas says.
This is what I gambled on by telling the truth. I need him to see that despite the fact that I’ve followed her rules, she’s going to find an excuse to destroy me.
She gives me a gentle smile. “I will wait until tomorrow morning to alert the authorities, since it is Christmas.” She pauses. “This will also give you some time to talk to your parents first. After all, once they know the truth about Becky, they’ll understand why you were so desperate for money. Because of your guilt.”
This is exactly how she did it to April, I think as I drop my head into my hands and feel my shoulders shake. She coaxed out April’s secrets and used them like knives against her. She made April feel completely hopeless, as though everything she loved had been taken away. As though life was no longer worth living. Then she gave her the pills.
Dr. Shields believes she has stripped away everything from me, too: My job. Noah. My freedom. My family.
She’s giving me the night alone because she wants me to follow April’s path.
I wait a bit longer.
Then I lift my head.
Nothing in the room has changed: Dr. Shields stands by the piano, Thomas hovers behind the chair opposite me, and the platter of food rests on the table.
I look at Dr. Shields.
“Okay,” I say, making sure my voice sounds meek. “But before I go, can I ask you a question?”
She nods.
“Is it ethical for a psychiatrist to dispense Vicodin to a client without giving her a prescription?” I ask.
Dr. Shields smiles. I know she’s thinking about the pill she gave me.
“If a friend is going through a difficult time, it isn’t unheard of to offer a single dose,” she says. “Of course, I would never officially condone it.”
I lean back and cross my legs. Thomas is staring at me quizzically, probably wondering why I seem so composed all of a sudden.
“Yes, well, you gave Subject 5 far more than a single dose,” I say, locking eyes with her. “You gave April enough to kill her.”
Thomas inhales sharply. He moves another step closer to me; he’s still trying to protect me.
Dr. Shields is frozen; she doesn’t even appear to be breathing. But I can sense her brain whirling, composing a new narrative to offset my accusation.
Finally, she walks across the room to take the chair opposite mine.
“Jessica, I have no idea what you are talking about,” she says. “You think I wrote April a prescription for Vicodin?”
“You’re a psychiatrist—you’re allowed to prescribe medicine,” I challenge.
“True, but there would be a record if I ever wrote her a prescription,” she says, spreading out her hands. “And I didn’t.”
“I can ask Mrs. Voss,” I say.
“Go right ahead,” Dr. Shields responds.
“I know you gave her the pills,” I say. But I’m losing