Chapter 2 – The One With the Locked Door
1083 Words
The rain hadn't stopped since he came.
Sabrina stood at the edge of the parking lot, letting the mist settle into her coat. She didn’t smoke, but sometimes she stood here like she did—breathing in the cold air as if it could freeze the memories clawing at her spine.
Behind her, the hospital buzzed with its usual chaos. Inside, people were bleeding, healing, breaking. But out here, there was quiet.
She hated it.
Because quiet made the memories louder.
She was eight when the psychologist first walked into the courtroom. Dr. Linarez. White coat, warm smile, soft voice. He asked her questions with lollipops and empty notebooks, pretending to listen while scribbling lies in ink that would stain her future.
He told the judge she was “confused.” That her father didn’t mean to hurt her mother. That Sabrina “misremembered” the bruises, the shouting, the night she hid under the sink as plates shattered across the floor.
And the worst part?
She believed him.
Because no one else said otherwise.
“Dr. Cuevas,” a nurse called. “Room 403’s asking for you again.”
Sabrina clenched her jaw. “He doesn’t get to ‘ask’ for me. He’s not a patient, he’s a liability.”
The nurse blinked. “He said he won’t speak to anyone else.”
Of course he did.
Sabrina made her way down the corridor with a pace slower than usual. The man in Room 403 had a talent for peeling back things she didn’t show anyone. And that unsettled her far more than the blood she cleaned off her gloves every day.
She entered the room without knocking.
Isaac was standing—leaning against the window, shirtless, bandages tight around his ribs. The light fell across the scar on his jaw and the ink crawling up his side. He looked too comfortable for someone with bullets in his past.
“You’re not supposed to be out of bed,” she said flatly.
“I’m not good at following rules,” he replied without turning.
She stepped in, arms crossed. “You called for me. Why?”
He turned to face her then. And something in his gaze made her want to turn back around.
“I had a question,” he said.
“Make it quick.”
“Do you believe people can change?”
The question hit harder than she expected. She blinked, caught off guard. “That’s a little philosophical for someone whose chest was cracked open three days ago.”
“I’m serious,” he said, voice calm. “Can someone who’s… lived in darkness learn to want the light again?”
Sabrina stared at him. “Are you talking about yourself?”
“I’m talking about people.”
“I think people *adapt*. Not always the same as change.”
“And you?”
She flinched. “I don’t believe in much anymore.”
Isaac didn’t react. But he didn’t look away either.
“You should,” he said simply.
“Why?”
“Because someone once took your belief away. That doesn’t mean they deserved to keep it.”
Her stomach twisted. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She stepped forward, sharper now. “Don’t play therapist with me, Hale. I’ve already had enough of those.”
He studied her. “Ah. That’s what it is.”
“What what is?”
“You don’t trust people who ask questions.”
She laughed dryly. “I don’t trust people who hide behind answers.”
There was a pause between them—thick, electric.
Then Isaac said, “I asked my men to look into something.”
Sabrina's expression darkened. “What did you do?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, raising a hand. “Not you. The psychologist. Linarez.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“I know the name. Dr. Emilio Linarez. He’s a federal consultant now. Behavioral profiling, supposedly. But he’s dirty. He’s been on our radar for years.”
Sabrina’s voice came out quiet and cold. “Why would a man like you care about him?”
“Because he breaks people like you,” Isaac said, eyes narrowing. “And people like him… don’t deserve to walk free.”
She looked away, anger flaring up—not at Isaac, but at the way her hands trembled. The way her past was suddenly bleeding back into the present.
“You don’t get to ‘fix’ me, Isaac.”
“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said softly. “I’m trying to understand what broke you.”
That silenced her.
And in that silence, she hated him a little—for how easily he saw her.
Later that night, Sabrina sat in her office, staring at the locked drawer.
Inside was a file she swore she’d never read again.
Court documents. Transcripts. A photo of her eight-year-old self with hollow eyes and a smile that didn’t reach them.
She touched the handle but didn’t open it.
Instead, she picked up her phone.
“Marla?” she said when the nurse answered. “403. Give him an extra dose of antibiotics. I don’t want him getting another infection.”
Marla laughed. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”
Sabrina didn’t reply.
Because caring was dangerous.
Caring meant remembering.
And remembering hurt like hell.
Meanwhile, in Room 403, Isaac sat in the dark, hands folded, head down.
One of his men—Luca—stood at the door.
“She took the bait,” Luca said. “Mentioned the name. Reacted strong.”
Isaac didn’t lift his head.
“Make sure we get everything on Linarez,” he muttered. “Surveillance. Wire transfers. Blackmail if we have it.”
“Are we… digging into her past too?”
Isaac finally looked up.
“No. Just the man who messed with it.”
He didn’t know when it happened.
When the doctor with ice in her voice and steel in her spine began living in the corners of his thoughts. Maybe it was the way her hands didn’t tremble in the OR—but did when she thought no one was watching. Maybe it was her silence. The kind that only came from years of being silenced.
She didn’t need saving.
But Isaac was starting to wonder if maybe—just maybe—he did.
And that scared him more than any bullet ever had.
- Writer
