The Next Widow - C.J. Lyons Page 0,15

no answer. But that didn’t stop Jessica.

“It might be too soon, everyone goes at their own pace, but I wanted to be here for you,” Jessica said, her words coming in a rush. She seemed genuinely upset. It was a harsh contrast to the cold that enveloped Leah: solid, thick ice she wasn’t sure she’d ever break through. It made the world around Leah feel blurry at the edges; all the noise and motion seemed very distant, nothing to do with her.

Jessica shifted her weight, reached a hand to Leah, then stopped and dropped it. “I never told you, but it happened to me as well. My husband. What you’re going through. Back in Chicago. Home invasion. Gordie… gone.”

Leah jerked her gaze away from Emily to focus on the other woman. Beneath the carefully applied makeup, dark circles smudged her pale skin—as if they’d been there too long to ever be erased. “You think it’s the same man?”

Jessica’s eyes went wide. “No, sorry. No, they caught the—a drug addict who thought the house was empty. It should have been, but I forgot my phone and Gordie went back…” Now she clutched at Leah’s arm, keeping Leah’s focus from straying. “I know as physicians we’re taught to always feel in control, never admit weakness. And working in the ER, you probably don’t want to confide in the victims’ advocates you see every day. So, I came.”

Leah simply stared, Jessica’s words still not penetrating. Did she want to do a therapy session, here? Now? Some small, rational part of her brain knew that research showed that earlier intervention after trauma led to less PTSD and other long-term effects, but the rest of her shuddered at the thought of breaking down and sharing her feelings. Especially with someone she worked with. Not now, she had to stay focused—for Emily.

If Leah had her way, maybe not ever. Maybe she could bury these feelings so deep she’d never need to experience them.

Rita returned, carrying a small tray with medication. She held the tray out as if an offering.

“I ordered a dose of midazolam. Thought it might help,” Jessica said, standing up and moving aside so Rita could reach Emily.

Midazolam. A powerful sedative with the welcome side effect of mild retrograde amnesia. Something else Leah should have thought of—would have thought of for any other patient, in any other circumstances. “Thank you.”

Leah knew the sedative wouldn’t be enough—not after what Emily had suffered—but it should get them through the night. Four hours and twenty-seven minutes until morning. She could do that. Four hours. Twenty-seven minutes.

After that, all she could imagine was an abyss. A future without Ian. The prospect felt dark, a black hole devoid of life. Impossible to fathom.

Emily didn’t even flinch when Rita gave her the shot. Rita left once more, and the sedative kicked in. Emily finally relaxed, her entire body sighing in relief, leaving Leah’s skin blanched bloodless where Emily had held her in a death grip.

“There we go,” Jessica said, resuming her seat on the stool, her skirt swishing as she folded it around her legs. Leah still marveled at how put-together the psychiatrist looked at three in the morning. But that was Jessica, never a hair out of place or seen without her makeup. “Tomorrow I’d like to start therapy for Emily—we’ll combine it with the forensic interview the police will no doubt insist upon.”

Leah jerked, banging her elbow on the chair arm. “She’s a witness,” she said more to herself than Jessica, trying to drill down on what that implied for her daughter. How many children had she interviewed at the Crisis Intervention Center, documenting their own abuse or preparing them to testify? Had she done more harm than good, extracting their stories? How could she trust anyone to invade Emily’s psyche that same way? Force her to re-live Ian’s murder?

“Exactly. I’m assuming you’d prefer me, with my experience in dealing with traumatized patients, over one of your ER colleagues who usually man the CIC. I can safeguard Emily, help her to only need to go through this once while also giving the police everything they need.”

Leah nodded, not because she was following, more because Jessica paused and seemed to expect it. Jessica reached around Emily to pat Leah’s arm again. “And after Emily, we’ll get started with you. Unless you’d like to talk tonight? Walk through what happened? It might be helpful.”

“No.” The single syllable was dragged out along with all of Leah’s breath. She’d already spoken to

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