Page 2 of Torched Spades
“Your attendance isn’t the issue.” Pointing to the file folder sitting on his desk, Owen taps the center with his index finger. “You’re being assigned a new psychiatrist.”
I slam my fist on the desk. “Why?”
He stares at my hand as if I just answered my own question. “According to Dr. Kerrigan’s referral letter, you’re belligerent, uncooperative, combative, and I quote”—he picks up a piece of paper from the open folder sitting on his desk—“‘so innately evil, I’m questioning thirty years of staunch atheism.’”
Rolling my eyes, I shift back into my seat. “That’s a little dramatic.”
“He said you asked him if he’d considered his attire to be a health hazard.”
“It was a legitimate question.”
“He then said you warned him that linen is highly flammable and once ignited acts as its own wick.”
“I was simply—”
“Giving the man a heart attack,” he chides, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye as he reads. “You went on to describe, in detail, that a body on fire can sustain its own flame. How after the skin peels away, human fat leaks out and serves as natural fuel, keeping the body a charcoaled inferno for up to seven hours.”
I shrug. “Knowledge saves lives, Holmes.”
Frowning, he shoves the letter back into the folder. “You were being an antagonist ass. Not to mention, he’s the second doctor to release you as a patient in less than a month.”
I shrug. “Not my fault. Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers.”
According to the vein about to pop on Holmes’s forehead, he doesn’t agree. “You’re starting to create a buzz and not a good one. That makes both our lives a lot harder.”
Kerrigan was unequipped and unprepared to handle someone like me. The man was a skittish pony used to depressed housewives and participation trophy toddlers, not a pyromaniac fireman convicted of arson.
So, I had fun with him.
Apparently, a little too much.
“Luckily, your referral has already been processed.” Plucking another paper from the folder, Owen pushes it toward me. “Dr. Brennan is a greatly respected and highly recommended Brown University graduate closer to your age who specializes in yourparticularissue.”
Great.This is the last thing I need. I didn’t get rid of that half-senile bastard, just to get stuck with some hotshot looking to use my head as a psychological sandbox.
I push it back. “No. Hell, no.”
“This isn’t up for discussion,” he clips, and I have to stop myself from punching him.
Instead, I rise to my feet and jab my finger across the desk. “If you think I’m going to let some ivy-clad frat boy jerk his Ph.D. in front of me just to keep some power-hungry judge happy—”
I’m cut off by the sound of feet hitting the floor.
“You don’t have a choice!Youset the fire. You got caught. You fucked up, andyoutook the deal,” he accuses, jabbing a finger back at me. “End of story. The only alternative is twenty to life.”
I’m pissed. Not because of what he said, but because it’s true. Idon’thave a choice. Not since I put my soul on the auction block. If I could turn back time, all debts would be paid in a more permanent fashion. Unfortunately, on this side of the law, penance is a long game.
“I want your word, Johnny. Promise me you’ll meet with Dr. Brennan next Tuesday.” He lowers his arm, his voice heavy with fatigue. “And not be a dick.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
He doesn’t have to… If I don’t comply, everything I’ve sacrificed will have been for nothing. The rules here don’t bend; they shatter… And contrary to what Holmes would like to tell himself, whatever’s left wouldn’t land in a steel cage.
Because of that, I’ll abide by his terms. But if he thinks I’m going to make this easy on anyone, he should take another hard look at that fucking file on his desk.
“How long do I have to play the tolerant patient?”
