Page 130 of Distress Signal
“I suppose,” I said airily.
Lane looked at me like he wanted to call out my tone but wisely didn’t. Instead, he said, “I want to try a cognitive.”
Aspen blinked in surprise. “You haven’t yet?”
“It’s been so long, I didn’t think it would help.”
“Well, it definitely can’t hurt.”
“What the fuck is a cognitive?” I asked.
“Cognitive interview,” Lane explained. “It’s a technique law enforcement uses that will hopefully allow us to get more information about that night seven years ago.”
At this point, I was willing to try anything.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Lie down,” Aspen said.
“I didn’t make you lie down for yours.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I was also reliving a traumatic event. This is going to be easy for Reagan, so she might as well be comfortable.”
Easy? To recall the events of a single night seven years ago? Or, at the very least, remember anything about that night except for Finn?
I didn’t have high hopes.
But if they both thought it would help, I’d give it a go.
Fluffing a pillow, I reclined my head onto it, feet straight out, hands resting against my stomach, my cast a heavy weight at my left side.
“Relax,” Lane directed. “Clear your mind as best as you can and, when you’re ready, bring up that night.”
All too aware of my limbs, the lingering pain in my arm, and the gentlewhooshof my breath in and out, accompanied by the rise and fall of my chest, it took me several minutes to do as Lane asked.
But then, the present went hazy around me, my mind’s eye instead focused on the battered wooden door of a bar and the neon sign above that glowed like a beacon in the night, twisting to spell THE SWALLOW.
As if sensing the shift in me, Lane softly said, “First, I want you to immerse yourself in the scene. What do you hear, smell, see?”
My voice seemed to reach my own ears from a great distance as I replied.
“We haven’t gone in yet, but I can hear the bass of the music thumping and the overlapping voices of a lot of people. Lainey moves ahead of me and opens the door, and I’m hit with a wave of sound. Everything was muffled before, but now it’s loud. As soon as I cross the threshold, I can smell stale beer and lingering cigarette smoke. I thought smoking indoors was illegal?” I asked absently.
Distantly, I registered Lane’s chuckle. “It is, but the Swallow has been open for a long damn time. Now, what do you see?”
“People.Lotsof people. How are we ever going to get to the bar through this?”
My mind seemed to flash at me, reminding me I’d had that same thought all those years ago.
“Can you tell me what you’re wearing?”
“You were there. You already know.”
“Humor me.”
“A red dress,” I said. “And black cowboy boots I’d bought that day.”
“What about Lainey?”
