CHAPTER 2
1145 Words
The offices of the Cole Institute for Behavioral Sciences occupied the top five floors of a glass tower overlooking the river. Patients often described the building as calming. The walls were white, the décor understated, and every detail had been chosen to inspire trust.
Trust, Adrian often said, was the first step toward healing.
As he stepped out of the elevator, his staff greeted him with practiced smiles.
"Good morning, Doctor."
"Morning."
"Your first patient arrives in fifteen minutes."
His executive assistant, Claire Donovan, fell into step beside him, tablet in hand.
"You have four consultations this morning, lunch with the university board, then the television interview at three."
Adrian listened without really hearing.
His thoughts remained fixed on Elena Brooks.
Claire noticed.
"You've canceled the television interview only twice in eight years."
"I know."
"You look distracted."
"I'm thinking."
She smiled. "That's usually when everyone else gets nervous."
For the first time that morning, Adrian almost laughed.
---
His first patient was a twenty-six-year-old software engineer suffering from panic attacks.
For fifty minutes Adrian guided him through breathing exercises, cognitive reframing, and unresolved grief.
By the end of the session, the young man looked lighter than when he had arrived.
"You make it seem easy," the patient said.
Adrian smiled politely.
"No. I make it seem possible."
After the patient left, Adrian remained seated.
He stared at the empty chair.
Helping strangers understand themselves had always been easier than understanding his own life.
His desk phone rang.
"Doctor?"
Claire again.
"There's someone here insisting they know you."
"I have appointments."
"He says he'll wait."
"Name?"
A pause.
"He refused to give one."
Adrian frowned.
"Security?"
"They've already spoken to him. He's calm. Just... persistent."
"I'll come down."
---
The man waiting in reception appeared to be in his late sixties.
His coat was worn.
His shoes had seen better days.
Rain dripped from the brim of his hat onto the polished marble floor.
When Adrian approached, the man looked up slowly.
His eyes widened with recognition.
"So..."
His voice was rough.
"...you really are alive."
Adrian searched his face.
Nothing.
"I'm sorry," Adrian said. "Have we met?"
The old man smiled sadly.
"You don't recognize me."
"I'm afraid not."
"You used to."
The receptionist exchanged an uneasy glance with the security guard.
The old man reached into his pocket.
Security immediately stepped forward.
Instead of a weapon...
He produced a faded photograph.
The edges were cracked with age.
He held it out.
"There were four of you that day."
Adrian accepted it.
His fingers froze.
The photograph showed four university students standing beside an old lakeside cabin.
One of them was unmistakably a much younger Adrian.
Another was Daniel Mercer.
The remaining two faces had been scratched away.
Deliberately.
Only Adrian and Daniel remained visible.
The old man leaned closer.
"They're coming back."
Adrian's expression didn't change.
But inside...
His pulse pounded.
"What do you mean?"
"You'll find out."
The old man turned and walked toward the revolving doors.
"Wait."
He stopped.
Without turning around, he said quietly,
"You buried more than a secret that night, Doctor."
Then he disappeared into the rain.
---
Adrian remained rooted to the spot.
Claire approached cautiously.
"Doctor... are you alright?"
He folded the photograph and slipped it into his inside pocket.
"Cancel the rest of my morning."
"What about your patients?"
"Reschedule them."
She had worked for him for twelve years.
She had never heard him cancel an entire morning without explanation.
"Of course."
As Adrian walked toward the elevator, he reached into his pocket again.
He looked at the photograph.
Then Daniel Mercer's smiling face.
For the first time in twenty-five years...
He whispered the name aloud.
"Daniel..."
---
Three blocks away, Elena sat in a quiet café overlooking the river.
Her laptop displayed a timeline stretching back to 2001.
She had spent months piecing together fragments of a story no one seemed willing to tell.
Disappearing records.
Contradictory witness statements.
People who suddenly refused interviews after initially agreeing.
Money changing hands.
The deeper she dug...
The quieter everyone became.
Her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
She hesitated before answering.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice, barely above a whisper.
"If you want the truth..."
Static crackled.
"...don't trust the victim."
The line went dead.
Elena stared at the phone.
Her pulse quickened.
She had assumed Daniel Mercer was the victim.
But what if he wasn't?
Outside the café window, a black sedan idled across the street.
Its engine never switched off.
Someone inside lowered a pair of binoculars.
They weren't watching the café.
They were watching Elena.
And when she finally looked up...
The sedan pulled smoothly into traffic and disappeared.
Elena never saw the face behind the windshield.
But somewhere else in Ashcroft...
Someone marked a new entry in a leather journal.
Phase One complete.
***
The rain had stopped by noon.
From the thirty-second floor of the Cole Institute, Ashcroft looked almost peaceful. Sunlight broke through the clouds, reflecting off the river that divided the city into two worlds. On the eastern bank stood old neighborhoods, bookstores, cafés, and brick apartments where people still greeted their neighbors by name. On the western bank rose steel, glass, and money.
Adrian preferred the view from above.
Distance made everything seem orderly.
Predictable.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, staring through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. The photograph the old man had given him rested on his desk.
Four university students.
One smiling afternoon.
One memory he had spent twenty-five years trying to bury.
A soft knock interrupted the silence.
Claire entered carrying a black folder.
"You canceled the rest of your patients."
"I know."
"They were surprised."
"I'm sure they were."
She placed the folder on his desk but didn't leave.
"You've never done that before."
Adrian looked at her.
Claire Donovan had worked beside him for twelve years. She wasn't simply an assistant; she was the reason the institute ran as smoothly as it did. She knew his habits, anticipated his decisions, and noticed even the smallest changes in his mood.
Today, she saw a man she had never seen before.
Not frightened.
Disturbed.
"Is everything alright?" she asked carefully.
Adrian glanced toward the photograph before sliding it into the drawer.
"It will be."
Claire followed his eyes but said nothing.
She had learned long ago that Adrian answered questions only when he wanted to.
As she turned to leave, he stopped her.
"Claire."
She looked back.
"Find everything you can on Elena Brooks."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
"The journalist?"
"Yes."
"Professional background?"
"Everything."
She hesitated.
"You think she's investigating you?"
"I don't know what she's investigating."
He paused.
"But I intend to find out."
Claire nodded once.
"I'll have something by tomorrow."
When the door closed, Adrian exhaled slowly.
For the first time in years...
He wasn't the only one asking questions.
- Writer
