Page 11 of Fractured Loyalties
But I don’t believe it.
I can’t.
There’s a knock on the restroom door.
Soft. Careful.
“Mara?” It’s Celeste. Her voice is low, unobtrusive, like she’s not sure if she should be speaking at all.
I swallow and quickly dab my face dry with the sleeve of my blouse. “Yeah. One second.”
Just to keep up pretense, I flush the toilet, even though I didn’t use it, and I unlock the door. She’s standing there in a navy cardigan, arms loose at her sides, gaze kind but searching.
“You okay?” she asks. Not intrusive. Just enough room in the question for me to say no or yes or nothing at all.
“I’m fine,” I lie. My voice is hoarse.
Celeste doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t challenge it. She just tilts her head slightly and says, “All right. Come find me if you want to talk, okay?”
I nod. “Thanks.”
She turns and walks down the hallway, heels soft against the tile. The moment she’s out of sight, I exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes.
The rest of the day blurs. I see patients. Smile where I should. Nod, take notes, say the right things. My body runs on rote memory while my mind pulses somewhere else entirely.
Late afternoon, as I’m organizing case notes at my desk, something pulls at me.
A sound? A presence?
I glance out the window toward the street. Parked half a block down is a black car. Not unfamiliar. Not close enough to be alarming. But not where it should be.
My stomach turns.
I try to focus again. Numbers. Files. Paper. But I can’t unsee it.
The moment the last patient leaves and the front door clicks shut behind them, I let the mask fall. My hands are shaking.
I walk to the window and peer out from behind the blinds. The car is still there. Same angle. Same unnatural stillness. It hasn’t moved.
I stare at it longer than I should.
Nothing happens.
But that’s worse somehow. The waiting. The not knowing.
I force myself to gather my things. Bag. Notebook. Keys. Every item a step in a ritual I rely on more than I admit. By the time I step outside, the air has cooled. The sky bruises near the edges, and the wind off the sea tastes of iron and salt.
I don't look directly at the car. But I feel it there. Not watching, exactly. Just...waiting. A weight on the edge of my awareness.
I take the long route home. Past the grocer, down the alley that runs behind the flower shop. Every footstep becomes a question. Every shadow another possibility.
By the time I reach my building, my pulse is thudding. I unlock the front door and climb the stairs too fast. I don’t breathe until I’m inside.
Then the locks.
One.
Two.
