She took shelter in her bad attitude. “I don’t need you to escort me home.”
“I’m positive you can handle yourself. My motive is to talk.”
She glared at the wood surface of the table. It was that kind of overly lacquered surface that was somehow a little soft and a little sticky from use. “I don’t need you to buy us dinner, either.”
“I know you don’t. But I’m doing both things, regardless.” He stood and plucked his cane from the wall. “Have a lovely night, Harry.”
“Yeah.” Harry had watched the whole thing with a strange expression on his face. Not quite hatred, not quite disgust, but just generally unhappy. She wondered what his problem was. “See you in the morning, Mags.”
She guessed that meant she was dismissed. With a long, beleaguered sigh, she stood, shoved her phone into her pocket, picked up her sketchbook, and headed to the door without looking back. She didn’t bother saying goodnight to Harry. He wouldn’t take it personally. And as for Dr. Raithe?
He fell in step beside her on the sidewalk as they headed down the hill toward Atlantic Avenue. His cane quietly tapped on the bricks.
Her shitty, slummy halfway house was on one of those side-alleys in the area of town where Downtown Crossing met Chinatown. It wasn’t a nice area, to put it lightly. She wasn’t afraid walking around on her own at night—Boston was a pretty safe city, all things considered—but she knew it was always a roll of the dice.
They walked in silence with nothing but the click of his cane and his shoes on the stones and the occasional rush of a car going by. They made it two blocks before he finally broke the silence. “Marguerite.”
“What?”
A hand on her shoulder stopped her, and he turned her to look at him. “You need to speak to me. Avoiding the issue isn’t going to help you heal.”
“I’m not avoiding the issue, I’m—” She broke off. His silver eyes caught the amber rays of the streetlight overhead. They flashed like a wolf’s eyes in the darkness.
A shiver ran down her spine. It felt as though ice had been poured down the back of her hoodie. She took a step back from him.
He frowned but said nothing, his gaze turning exacting and studious. Once more he was staring through her, as if he could see everything she so desperately wanted to hide. He seemed to be able to peel the layers off her until she was left naked and exposed.
I’m putting him into my nightmares. He’s the one I keep seeing. The white hair, the silver rings…the silver eyes. I drew him without realizing it. I’ve turned him into my monster. But why? She shook her head. “I—I think I should see a different psychiatrist. Can I have a new caseworker?”
“Why?” He raised an eyebrow. “I understand if you’re frustrated that we haven’t made more progress.”
“It’s—it’s not that.” She clutched her sketchbook to her chest, as if trying to keep him from prying it out of her hands. She didn’t know why she bothered. He hadn’t asked for it. If he sees that I’m fixated on him, he’ll—oh, god, it’s so embarrassing. Her face went warm. “I…”
“Let me help you. Please. But I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s happening. What is wrong?”
“The monster in my hallucinations. The inhuman man I keep seeing. I think—I think—” She let out a quiet wail and hid her face in her hand. She couldn’t say it. She just couldn’t.
“Ah. I see.” He stepped toward her and gently pulled her hand away from her face. She froze as he stroked her hair back, removing yet another way she liked to hide. When he crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head up to him, he smiled. “The monster is me, isn’t it?”
She could only stare at those silver eyes of his. They were mesmerizing. His voice was so smooth. He was like a snake. Hypnotic and graceful—but she didn’t know enough about snakes to know if he was venomous or harmless. His touch was warm.
She didn’t know what to say.
He chuckled, low and velvety, sounding a bit like a thunderstorm rolling in from the hills. “I would say that I was flattered, but this is perfectly expected.” He lowered his hand from her chin, and his smile turned tender.
Some of the tension left her shoulders. She let them creep away from where they had bunched up by her ears. She looked down at her shoes, unable to hold that silver gaze of his. “I guess it makes sense. You’re asking me to dig through my hallucinations. I guess I would make you a part of them, like in a dream.”
“Perhaps.” He motioned for them to keep walking. “Do you believe I pose you any danger?”
“No.” She hugged her sketchbook to her chest. Now she did it because she wanted to hold something.
“Good. I’m here to help you, Maggie. I would never, ever harm you. You can trust me. I only have your best interests at heart.”
“I guess most shrinks wouldn’t come out into the city at night to find a client.” She smiled. “I shouldn’t be mad at Harry. He was only trying to help. I’ll text him later and say thanks.”
“He cares about you.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know we were friends?” She glared up at him.