Friday, April 19, 2013

Excerpt from THE DEVIL ON MY LEFT


            “Well, Lenie,” he starts, leaning back in his chair once more. That disarming smile is back in place. All the tension weighing the air is whisked away in a blink. “I know you get nervous talking about Adam and Grayson, and I can understand that. But I want to assure you I’m only here to help. What you’re going through is nothing to be ashamed of. Your body and mind sustained a major trauma, one most people will never experience. If you were perfectly functional then I would be concerned.”

            His words are meant to reassure me. I’m sure he means them. Still, that voice inside urges me to be quiet.

            “I hope you know you can trust me.” Those jolly brown eyes are so solemn and serious. He looks almost hurt.

            Here is where you give him a little bit more, Adam says. We want him to believe he’s getting through to you.

            I feel horrible for being so deceptive. Dr. Duck really is only trying to help. I hate seeing him look so disheartened.

            You don’t need help, Lenie. At least, not from him. Grayson’s words are clipped, sounding impatient. Give him what he wants, but not too much. And don’t make it obvious.  

            You are not hurting him by being deceptive, Lenie. This is what’s best for you. Adam’s certainty lulls me. I want so much to believe he’s right.

            Okay, okay. Now shut up, both of you.

            I look out the window, studying the skeletal trees outside his office. Then I look down at my lap. “Okay. There were a few other times. I just…I didn’t want to have to tell you. There were two more at school and a few more at home, usually in the morning. One even lasted about thirty seconds.” I don’t know why I added that last part. It just popped out.

            I see him perk up in his chair. “That long? It must have been a back and forth conversation.”

            Cursing myself, I nod. My head is still lowered so he can see how ‘ashamed’ I am. Not that I have to pretend much.

            “What was discussed?”

            I don’t need a coach to tell me the right thing to say here. I look him straight in the face. “My accident.”

            “The day you were struck by Andy Brennerman’s car.” It isn’t a question; more like verifying a fact.

            I nod again.

            “How did discussing this subject make you feel?” His tone is gentle, his brows lifted in what I would call concern.

            “Anxious, I guess.” I think about my brief flashback this morning. Then I find myself speaking before realizing I intended to. “They told me my memory of dying will be coming back.”

            NO! Adam’s voice roars through me, full of rage. I do my best not to react to the sheer power of it, but I still end up blinking several times. I have to fight the urge to cry. I’ve never heard even a hint of anger from him—I didn’t really think he was capable of it. I close my eyes, pushing away the first signs of tears. When I open them, I see Dr. Duck staring at me in an entirely different way. He looks…angry.

            I blink, and the look is gone. There’s nothing on his face but surprise.

            Maybe I just imagined it. I mean, what reason would he have to be mad?

            Say nothing more about it, Lenie. No matter what he asks. Grayson’s voice is low, and as grave as I’ve ever heard it. A burst of fear rushes over me, shrieking through my insides. It verifies everything I already knew—that something’s just gone very, horribly wrong.

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