Splinter in the Blood by ashley dyer

Author:ashley dyer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-11T16:00:00+00:00

Carver held himself in check for a few seconds, then hurled the photograph at the door. In that split second it opened. The frame smashed on the leading edge of the door, and glass splintered and shattered on the floor.

“Oh, God . . .” Carver took a step forward, staggered, and bumped his hip against the bedframe. Gripping the rail for support, he righted himself, his heart pounding. He tried again to reach the door, but his legs wouldn’t support him. “I’m sorry,” he called out. “Are you all right?”

Silence.

A second later a hand appeared, waving a paper tissue. A woman’s face followed a moment later. “Is it safe?” she asked.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Come in. I’m harmless.”

“And I’m Laura Pendinning,” she said solemnly, though there was a twinkle of humor in her eye. “How d’you do?”

She was in her midthirties, small, which made her seem younger; dark and pretty, though she wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back from her face in a rather severe ponytail.

“Was I expecting you?” he said, with a spurt of anxiety that he’d forgotten something.

“About three days ago. I’m afraid I got sidetracked.” He frowned and she added, “I’m a clinical psychologist—your neurosurgeon asked me to drop by?”

Carver remembered having a conversation with a gray-haired man in a suit, something about the weird hallucinations he’d been experiencing, but he couldn’t recall the name of the surgeon, or when they’d spoken. He nodded, trying not to look too clueless.

The psychologist smiled. “Sorry it’s taken a while.”

“Cutbacks,” Carver said.

She tilted her head. “Something like that.” She remained in the corridor, peering into the room from beyond the doorframe. “Can we talk?”

The rush of adrenaline from his row with Emma had sent cold chills through Carver’s limbs, leaving him feeling shaky and weak.

“It’s not the best time,” Carver said.

“Really?” The woman looked drolly at the shattered glass at her feet. “I don’t think I could have come at a more auspicious moment.”

A nurse appeared behind the doctor. “It’s all right,” Pendinning said.

“That needs to be cleared up before someone gets hurt,” the nurse said.

“It’ll wait.” Pendinning sounded firm. “We’re just going to have a brief chat first.”

The nurse retreated, and Carver found himself under the scrutiny of the psychologist.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t want to be rude, but . . .”

She chuckled. “Oh, I think we’re way past polite exchanges.” She crouched to extract the photo from what was left of its frame.

“Be careful,” Carver said.

She carried on, gently shaking glass from the paper onto the floor.

“I don’t want it. It doesn’t matter,” Carver said of the honeymoon photograph that had stood on the dresser in their shared flat, then in their family home, and more recently on his bedside table in the apartment he’d taken after Emma threw him out. For fifteen years, wherever he set up home, he kept that picture close by, as a reminder of what they had been to each other, and a warning of what he stood to lose.

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