Chapter 3

The next morning, Damon came downstairs and immediately saw Eleanor and Marcus sitting on opposite sides of the breakfast table.

Eleanor pulled out the chair beside her.

"Damon, sit here."

Damon pulled out a chair on the other side instead and sat down.

Marcus smiled and poured him a glass of milk. "Damon, Eleanor and I have finalized your next treatment plan."

He pushed a thick stack of documents in front of Damon. "Once these sessions are over, you'll never have another nightmare."

Damon took a sip of milk and began reading carefully.

Marcus looked a little surprised.

After all, for the past few months, Damon had never once looked at a treatment plan.

Damon turned page after page, and the further he read, the further his heart sank.

This wasn't treatment. This was abuse!

He fought down the urge to tear the plan to shreds on the spot. "Dr. Keane, this is the treatment plan the two of you came up with? I'm sorry. I won't go along with it."

He stood to leave, but Eleanor caught his wrist.

"Damon, we're doing this for your own good. Don't be difficult."

Damon pointed at the first method, his voice shaking.

"Repeated retelling? 'The patient recounts the traumatic experience over and over until able to describe it calmly.'

"Eleanor, you know that telling it even once would break me. You call that for my own good?"

Marcus rose, came around the table, pressed a hand on Damon's shoulder, and took the documents back.

"Damon, how will you know it isn't good for you if you won't even try?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Eleanor.

"Eleanor, we can begin."

The words had barely left his mouth when Damon's vision went black.

Before he passed out, his eyes fell on the glass of milk Marcus had poured him.

When he came to, Damon was in the treatment room, his wrists and ankles strapped down so he couldn't move.

With a sharp click, the light overhead flared on.

Marcus appeared in front of him wearing a white coat. "Damon, we can start the first retelling."

Damon bit down hard on his lower lip and refused to speak.

Behind Marcus's glasses, his eyes turned vicious in an instant. He seized Damon's chin.

"Damon, I'd advise you to cooperate. Otherwise, you'll never see your grandmother again."

Damon went rigid.

He glared at Marcus. "What did you do to my grandmother? She's old. She can't take this!"

Marcus let go, stepped back, and held up his phone, turning the screen toward him.

On it, Eleanor was pushing Ruth, Damon's grandmother, in her wheelchair along the riverbank.

"Your grandmother's doing just fine. But if you don't cooperate, I can't promise what might happen to her."

Marcus put the phone away. "Imagine if she accidentally fell into the river. With her legs the way they are, do you think she'd..."

"Marcus, what the hell do you want?"

Damon's eyes were bloodshot as he roared at him.

After the bankruptcy, Damon's parents had buckled under the strain and died one after the other.

Ruth was the last family he had left in the world.

Marcus spread his hands, utterly unconcerned. "Cooperate with treatment, and she'll be perfectly safe."

Damon closed his eyes. Ruth's loving smile flashed before him.

"Fine. I'll cooperate."

"I was locked in a cellar where no light ever came in, chained at the wrists and ankles.

"Every day, the moment I opened my eyes, they forced me into hard labor. Breaking rock. Chopping wood. Never enough to eat.

"When I worked too slowly, they beat me. Clubs. Boots.

"If I fought back or tried to run, they beat me and humiliated me in front of everyone."

After the first retelling, Damon's face had gone ashen.

He couldn't stop shaking, and his temples throbbed as if needles were being driven into them.

The second time, he doubled over, retching until there was nothing left but bile.

The third time, he was screaming as he spoke, unable to get out a single complete sentence.

The fourth time...

Marcus recorded Damon's reactions with a blank face and still didn't seem satisfied.

"Again."

By now, Damon's mind was going hazy. He shook his head and begged, "Don't make me say it again..."

On the phone screen, Eleanor pushed Ruth's wheelchair out to the edge of the embankment and spoke low into the phone.

"Damon, say it one last time, and I'll take her back to her room."

Damon stared at her, wild-eyed. "Eleanor, if I keep going, I'll die. I'll die."

Eleanor's hands nudged the wheelchair forward. Ruth swayed and nearly toppled over the edge.

"Okay! I'll say it!"

Gulping for air, Damon told the whole nightmare one more time.

The moment he finished the last word, the restraints came off.

Drained of all strength, Damon slumped to the floor.

Eleanor rushed in and threw her arms around him. The heartache in her eyes didn't look fake.

"Damon, your grandmother's back home. Don't worry."

Damon raised his hand to slap her, but it landed weakly.

He didn't even have the strength left to hit her.