Page 5 of Borrowed Pain
"Nothing I can't handle." I moved to the sink, taking the platter from Matthew's hands, and focused on the simple task of putting it away. Normal. Routine. "Where does this go again?"
"Same place it's been for the last twenty years." Ma smiled.
I sank back into the cleanup rhythm, but everything was wrong now. The familiar was completely different.
"You sure you're okay?" Michael asked quietly, appearing at my elbow as I reached for another plate. He pitched his voice low enough that the others couldn't hear.
"Yeah," I said, not looking at him. "Tired. Long week."
It wasn't entirely a lie. I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-deep exhausted. It was a byproduct of carrying other people's trauma around in my chest.
Alex bumped my shoulder and offered, "Text if you can't sleep." I swallowed hard, wishing it were possible. Wishing my ghosts would fit inside a text.
After drying the last plate, I put it away in its designated spot, and looked around at Ma's kitchen—James labeling leftovers, Alex stealing a kiss from Michael, and Dorian trading quiet jokes with Matthew. Clean. Organized. Safe.
I wanted to stay in the moment forever. I wanted to live in the space between the voicemail and whatever came next, where theworst thing I had to worry about was Matthew's questionable taste in hockey teams.
I couldn't. Somewhere out there, Iris's ghost was waiting for me to finally do what I should have done eighteen months ago.
The unknown caller wouldn't wait—and I couldn't pretend I hadn't heard them.
Chapter two
Rowan
Afreight train's whistle cut through the renovated warehouse walls at 11:33 PM, right on schedule. I didn't look up from the waveform sprawling across my primary monitor—thirty seconds of audio that had consumed the last two hours of my life.
Mrs. Vanessa Torres, age 53, spoke about her daughter. Her voice fractured on the wordpromising. She stumbled overtreatment. There was a noticeable pause before she saidspecialized.
I dragged my cursor back to the beginning of the clip and hit play again.
"Mia was doing so well with her regular therapist and really making progress after the—" A micro-pause. "After what happened to her. Then someone called about this specialized program. Said it could help her breakthrough happen faster."
The coffee beside my keyboard had developed a skin. I ignored it and leaned into the headphones, fingers dancing across the equalizer. Mrs. Torres's voice needed to breathe in the mix, allowing listeners to hear the questions she wasn't asking.
My apartment smelled like burnt electronics and the faint residue of cardamom from my morning stress-baking session. Behind me, case boards climbed the exposed brick like ivy made of photographs and red string. Three years of patterns. Three years of connecting dots that kept forming the same ugly picture.
Mia Torres. Age 24. Sexual assault survivor. Six months of steady progress with licensed therapist. Recruited for "intensive retreat program." Dead 3 weeks later.
I adjusted the compression on her mother's voice, and my jaw clenched. Episode 247 of my podcast,Silent Service:"Echoes of Silence, Part 4." Four victims so far, all following the same trajectory from healing to hell.
The cursor blinked at me. Waiting.
My phone buzzed against the desk—an email notification. I almost deleted it without reading. Sunday night tips were usually garbage: conspiracy theories about lizard people or detailed confessions from people who'd watched too muchTrue Detective.
The timestamp made me pause—11:49 PM on a Sunday. Somebody couldn't sleep.
The sender line read "Dr. Miles McCabe." Unknown name, but the subject grabbed my attention: "Silent Service inquiry - confidential matter."
I minimized the audio editing software and opened the message.
Mr. Ashcroft,
I'm a longtime listener to Silent Service, particularly your recent series on suspicious death patterns among trauma survivors. I'm writing regarding a case that may align with your research.
Eighteen months ago, I lost a client—Iris Delacroix. Officially ruled suicide, but circumstances surrounding her death raise questions I haven't been able to resolve through conventional channels. Prior to her death, she mentioned attending a treatment program called Riverside that caused her significant distress.
I believe Ms. Delacroix's case may connect to the patterns you've documented. I'd welcome the opportunity to discuss this matter if you feel it warrants investigation.
