I allow him to pat me down without flashing my badge or middle finger, keeping my eyes focused on the office door I’m being led to. I hate the eerie vibe this place has; it seeps into your flesh and mind and plays tricks. Every door closing makes your heart thud. The receptionist, who introduced herself but I can’t remember her name despite just being told it, knocks on the office door and opens it, gesturing for me to enter.
“Ah, Mr. Braxton. Thank you for coming.”
I shake Dr. Leighton’s outstretched hand and take the seat opposite him. I assess the paintings adorning the walls; they always make me want to roll my eyes. Total cliché. Ink-spattered art open for interpretation. I wonder what me seeing a squid coming says about my mental state?
“I was reluctant but curiosity got the better of me,” I reply, giving my attention back to him. He looks at the paintings and smiles
“Well, whatever got you here, I’m glad you came. I see you pay an interest to those paintings each time you come, Mr. Braxton. Your brother likes them also.”
“Oh really? And what does he say they look like?”
He tilts his head, assessing me and making me fidget. I hate coming here and I know that speaks volumes about me. “Ink splatter,” he replies. I raise a skeptical brow at him and he grins. “Blood splatter, at first,” he corrects. That sounds more likely. “And you?” he asks, and it’s my turn to smirk.
“You’re not my Doctor.”
I want to ask why he’s glad I came but in the past he’s tried to make me forgive my brother and see him to help with his healing. HIS healing! What about my woman who lost her world for nothing more than an obsession?
“Fair enough. Let’s get to why I asked you here,” Dr. Leighton says and I nod, waiting for him to carry on which he does after a sip of his water. “Your brother went through a major breakthrough.”
I raise an unconvinced eyebrow but don’t bite. Men like him want you to ask questions. They want you talking so they can figure you out. Well, fuck him. He asked me here so he can do the talking. There’s too much in our past I can never get over. I have the pain of my brother’s knife burning in my chest every time someone mentions his name. I gave him everything and loved him more than anything and he played with me since he was a child. There is no breakthrough he could have that will change the pain I endured by his hand.
“We wrote you a year ago asking you to attend one of his sessions and you refused,” he continues. I hold my hand up to stop him.
“I will never attend one of his meetings. This is a waste of your and my time.” I stand but as I get to the door handle his words freeze me in place.
“Ryan is being released, Mr. Braxton.”
My head clouds and sound ceases to exist. My heart stampedes in my chest; my palms glisten with sweat. Thump, Thump, Thump.
“Drink.” The receptionist holds a cup up to my lips, mouthing, “Drink.”
The room and sound wash back into focus and I snatch the handle and drink all the water from the cup, swiping my arm across my mouth to collect the spill from my chin.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I ask, turning to face Dr. Leighton.
“I know this may come as a shock to you but this has been a long time coming.”
“A long time coming? Criminals who commit the kind of crimes he committed usually never see the outside of a prison.” I glare in disbelief.
Dry Leighton sits back at his desk; he must have risen when I had a freak out and went to get the receptionist. He nods to the woman still standing beside me, and she quickly leaves.
“Your brother wasn’t sentenced to prison though, Mr. Braxton. He was diagnosed with an illness that has since been treated and cured to such a degree that he no longer poses a risk to the public or himself.”
I stalk over to his desk and lean over it, making him straighten his shoulders. “There is no cure for him.”
“That is where we disagree, and if you had taken the opportunity to attend some of his sessions you could have seen the progression he made to get him to where he is today.”
Dr. Leighton was the insane one. How could he let someone who butchered people for fun free into the world, out to pick new victims or come looking for the ones he didn’t succeed in killing before?
“Your brother poses no risk to the public, and with guidance we believe he can live a normal life.”
This has to be a dream.
“I assure you this is no dream, Mr. Braxton.”
I must have spoken my thoughts aloud. I feel like I’ve entered the twilight zone. This can’t be happening.
“This shouldn’t be looked upon as a bad thing. So many people never get well and end up here for their entire life. Your brother is young enough to put all this behind him and maybe have a real chance at a life outside these walls.”