“It’s powerful when that happens. I’m not surprised.”
“I was freaked out. It came out of nowhere, and there he was with his frightening green eyes coming for me. I was so scared.” Baylee shuddered and ran her hand up and down her arm.
“Did you feel particularly stressed today?”
“A guy’s been watching me. I don’t know if it’s related, but he’s definitely targeted me. The weird thing is he’s a friend of mine’s uncle. Isn’t that strange?”
“Does your friend know his uncle is following you?”
“I haven’t told him. I don’t know what to make of it. Sometimes, I just think he’s a perv.”
“It’s possible.”
“Also, I know someone was in my room. The drawer to my dresser was opened.”
“Was anything missing?”
“Not that I can tell.”
“Maybe the cleaning crew opened it and didn’t close it all the way.”
Baylee knew Dr. Scott didn’t believe in her “hunches.” He was a man of science and didn’t consider intuitions or the sixth sense, but she believed in them, and she knew someone had come into her room.
“Are you all right now?”
“I am. I feel like I’m getting closer to having total recall, but I’m scared because the killer might be watching me to make sure I don’t testify.”
“I see. Baylee, we’ve gone over this many times. The chances of the killer hanging out for all these years on the off chance you’ll get your memory back is extremely slim. Most of the time, murderers can’t wait to leave town and relocate far away from the crime scene. You’re safe. Recalling what happened on that tragic night is necessary to free you. If the killer is caught, that’s great, but our therapy is all about setting you free from the past and the guilt. If you keep living in the past, you will never move forward. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“All right. If you need to talk to me, I’ll leave my cell phone on all night. Make sure you jot all this down in your journal.”
“I will. Thanks for everything. Goodbye, Dr. Scott.”
“Goodnight.”
Baylee wished she’d been comforted by his words, but she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that someone had been watching her every move since her mom died.
She slipped into her nightshirt and turned on the TV, grateful for the distraction. After an hour, she went to the drawer to dig out her journal. She’d been keeping one ever since she’d started seeing Dr. Scott a few years back. It was a record of her nightmares, her fears, and her recalls—a very personal aspect of her life.
Wanting to write about her major breakthrough, she opened the dresser drawer and slipped her hand between her tops. Nothing. She felt around. Nothing but clothes. A slight tremor of panic weaved its way up her spine. She took out each item until her t-shirts, crop tops, and knit shells were piled on the bed. No sign of her journal. She emptied every drawer in the dresser, rummaged through her suitcases, overnight bag, tote, and purse. Nothing.
It was gone.
Clammy fingers squeezed her nerves as she realized what happened. Someone came into her room and took it—not the jewelry, cash, traveler’s checks, or laptop, only her journal. She covered her mouth with her hand. The only one who would want to know her thoughts, her dreams, her memories was… She couldn’t think it. It was too awful, too frightening, but her mind wouldn’t let it go. The person who stole her journal was the killer.
Oh, my God! He knows I’m in Pinewood Springs. He was in my room. Oh, God! He knows everything about me.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out, and she stood frozen in the middle of the room, shaking like a leaf with her cold and sweaty hands clenched at her sides. Pounding against her temples made her lightheaded. The killer was after her, had been ever since he killed her mother. He’d tried to kill Baylee that night but was interrupted, and he was finally going to finish the job. She was trapped like a fucking hamster on a wheel, going around in circles and never getting anywhere. He had all the advantages; he orchestrated the game, and she was the pawn. All she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeats. Even though her drapes were all pulled, she felt like she was in a fishbowl and he watched her.
The phone rang. Baylee jumped, took a moment to compose herself, and then answered.
“Hi, Baylee. Do you want to join Gary, Bob, and me for a drink?” Logan asked.
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. You sound weird.”
“I was sleeping when you called. Tell Gary and Bob I’ll take a raincheck.”