Chapter 6

Fawn’s POV

Of course it was psych time. We’d done the poking, the tapping, the lights-in-the-eyes; now they needed to make sure I wasn’t going to flip a table or start speaking in tongues. Fair, I guess. But who could blame me for being a little freaked out? I was a body snatcher.

“As long as you’re not here to take more blood,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve donated enough for three vampires and a large family of blood-sucking leeches. With a name like Dr Butcher, I’m not sure I would want you anywhere near me. You know, you really should consider changing that. It gives a bad first impression.”

“I hear that a lot, but I think my husband would be upset if I didn’t keep his name.” Her mouth twitched. “But I promise no blood. Just some questions.”

She then glanced toward Blake. “Would you prefer to speak alone, or is it all right if Mr Huntington stays?”

I thought about that for a second. Alone meant they’d press harder. With Blake here, I’d have an audience, but at least there’d be a witness if they decided to cart me off in a straightjacket. Not that I’d put it past them.

“He can stay,” I said finally. “Nothing I was planning to say in here is that exciting.”

Blake shifted in the chair, but didn’t argue, which was telling in itself. I had a feeling he didn’t want to be here, but he couldn’t make himself leave. I knew the feeling, only I didn’t think they would let me leave.

Dr Butcher dragged a chair closer, sat so we were roughly eye level. She had kind eyes. That didn’t mean I was about to pour my soul out to her, because she could still lock me up.

“The team mentioned you’ve been through quite a lot today,” she began. Understatement of the century. “I just want to get a sense of how you’re feeling and what you remember. There was some mention of… drowning?” She looked at Blake for a second. “Your husband drowning you.”

Oh, so that’s why she asked if I wanted him to leave. Nice of her.

Blake shrugged.

I let my head fall back for a second, eyes closing briefly, then opened them again and went for the lie that would cause the least damage.

“I had a dream,” I said. “It felt real at the time. You know how it is… no one ever dreams about sitting quietly and filing out their taxes. It’s always absurd and dramatic. I woke up choking, thought for a second that…” I trailed off, let my shoulders lift in a shrug. “They tell me I was in a car accident, so I’m assuming my brain just slapped the wrong movie over the top.”

“How vivid was it?” she asked gently. “On a scale of, say, a flicker to feeling like it actually happened?”

“Somewhere around Oscar-season-hopeful,” I said. “But I’m not stupid. I know dreams aren’t reality just because they feel like it. The facts say car crash. I’m not about to sit here and argue with the truth. I’m guessing it’s okay that my brain is a little mixed up. Give me a day or two and I’ll be as right as rain.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake’s head tilt slightly, that small reaction like he’d noticed I’d tempered what I’d said earlier. Good. Let him notice. Let him see I wasn’t completely unhinged. He might still believe I was playing games. But after being drowned by my husband, I wasn’t my normal self, so no one would blame me.

“Do you feel unsafe?” Dr Butcher went on. “Like someone might be trying to harm you now?”

Yes. My husband. My ex-husband. My murderer.

Because he was not this body’s husband. Richard had been married to my old body… weak Fawn. So I saw myself as divorced.

I swallowed that down. No one here knew Fawn Jones existed, not really. To the world, she was just a name in a file, a tragic little accident, from what I understood of how Richard and Gemma were going to frame it. Was Fawn’s body in the hospital morgue right now? Forgotten. The only people missing me would be my parents. Mom and Dad. Their only daughter dead. The only two people in the world mourning the loss of Fawn. While Richard and Gemma rubbed their hands together in glee.

What about Cassie—would anyone be mourning the loss of her? I would find out over the coming months what sort of person Cassie was. If anyone loved her.

But for now, Fawn needed to go away while I became Cassie.

If I started shouting about being Fawn Jones, the best-case scenario was medication. Worst case, they’d lock me somewhere with soft walls and no door handles, talking in group circles about my feelings, and drugged up to the eyeballs every day.

“No,” I said, and even managed to sound like I meant it. “I feel… overwhelmed. My body doesn’t feel like mine. My life doesn’t feel like mine. But no, I don’t feel like someone’s about to jump out from behind the curtain and finish me off. I just feel like I’ve woken up with my brain scrambled, and considering what I’ve been through, I think that’s understandable.”

Her gaze softened. She nodded like that was reasonable. “Yes, that’s a very understandable reaction to waking from a coma, especially with some memory gaps. What about your mood? Any thoughts of harming yourself?”

God, they really did have to tick all the boxes.

“I’ve just come back from the dead,” I said. “I’m not in a rush to do the return journey. Sorry if that disappoints.”

She laughed once, quietly. “Humour is usually a good sign. I won’t keep you long.” She tapped something into her tablet. “From what I’m seeing so far, you’re oriented, engaging appropriately, and not actively distressed. We’ll check in with you again in a few days, but there’s no indication right now for anything more formal.”

Translation: We’re going to watch you like a hawk, but we’re not dragging you away today. Saved from the straitjacket for one more day.

“Lucky me,” I murmured.

Blake was watching me with narrowed eyes.

She thanked me for my time, thanked Blake for his, then slipped out, the door closing softly behind her. The room felt bigger again and strangely emptier without her professional calm soaking up some of the weirdness.

“You walked that back very quickly,” Blake said after a beat, his voice low. “Earlier you were adamant about getting murdered.”

“Yeah, well, earlier I’d just come back from being a corpse,” I said. “Forgive me for not having my script polished.” I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “No one believes the crazy coma woman anyway. Might as well stick to the story that gets me fewer pills.”

His gaze sharpened. “Is that what you think it was? A story?”