“How did that make you feel?” Bob asked.
“Pretty angry. I mean, how would you feel if some crazy stalker person used you to hurt others, just to make a point?”
He nodded. “I see what you mean. That would be upsetting. What was the point he wanted to make?”
“He wanted me to fail… you know… with my psychic abilities. I think he wanted to prove that I was a fraud.”
“But that didn’t happen, did it?” Bob asked.
“No.” Tension radiated across my shoulders and neck. “But it was close. It put a lot of pressure on me. I mean… he planted a bomb to see if I could stop him. How sick is that? Then… he grabbed me and shot someone who was trying to save me. He would have killed him, and probably me too, if I hadn’t shot him first.”
Bob nodded. “How do you feel about shooting him?”
“I guess I’m angry, but… I don’t feel too bad about it. I mean… I didn’t have a choice. It was him or us, and, to be honest, I’m not freaked out that I pulled the trigger and killed him. Is that normal?”
“It’s good that you don’t blame yourself for his death. He targeted you, not the other way around.” Bob thought that this guy had really done a number on me. Not only had he stalked me, but he’d focused on proving my psychic skills didn’t exist. Proving their existence was something I’d probably had to do over and over again, and it could leave me with a lot of anger. No wonder I had issues.
Issues? He thought I had issues? I may be a little angry, but it wasn’t that bad. In fact, I was doing pretty well after what I’d been through. Maybe he needed to talk to someone about his issues. He said he didn’t judge, but he was certainly judging me.
“Shelby? Is something wrong?” He’d noticed me tense up, and my brows had drawn together like I was angry at him. What had brought that on? It was almost like I’d sensed his thoughts and it had made me mad.
Crap. He was way too perceptive… and he was right. I was upset because of his thoughts, but I couldn’t tell him that. Knowing what he thought, along with basically everyone else I ever met, was probably the biggest cause of my stress. It came down to the fact that I couldn’t talk about my abilities.
All the lies I’d told, and the deceit I’d used to keep my secret safe, might be giving me a complex. All at once, I wanted to tell him my secret. It would be such a relief to talk to a professional about everything. I could just let it all out. Wouldn’t that be great?
I swallowed. No. I couldn’t talk to him. He wasn’t on my side. He worked for the police, and I couldn’t forget that.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I guess talking about that whole experience is upsetting. Can we talk about something else?”
His lips turned up in a tiny smile, and he thought isn’t that the point of talking to me? Instead, he said, “I know it’s upsetting, so sure, let’s change the subject. You were on a vacation recently. How did that go?”
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. “Uh… maybe we shouldn’t talk about that either.”
His brows rose. “That bad, huh?”
“Just more of the same. Chief Winder talked me into helping the NYPD while I was in New York City, and I nearly got killed, so talking about that might not help me so much.”
“Oh.” He nodded with comprehension. “Were you in a rough spot, or did someone target you specifically?”
“Uh… yeah, they wanted me dead.”
His brows rose. “I take it that happens a lot?”
“Pretty much.”
He nodded, thinking I was like a walking trouble-magnet, and it had everything to do with my psychic ability. Good thing I was talking to him. Still, he knew I was holding something back. Every time I spoke about my ability, I glanced away and wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
Intuitively, he knew that being psychic—or whatever it was I did—was the basis of all my troubles. He’d have to recommend more sessions so he could get to the bottom of it and give me the help I needed. Maybe we could talk about the first time I realized I was a psychic and how it had changed my life.
Oh great. That was that last thing I needed. Maybe talking to him hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
As the silence continued, he changed tactics. “Let’s talk about something else.” He rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “How about this? Is there anything positive that’s happened lately? Something that’s made you smile?”
I brightened. “Actually yes, there is. We… my kids and I… adopted a dog this morning. He’s smart and well-behaved, and my kids love him.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Pets can really have a soothing effect on people. That might be just what you need.”
I hadn’t considered that, but he was right. Petting Coco, and talking to him, had helped lighten my load. I looked forward to seeing him once I got home, so it was already working.
“We’re almost out of time,” Bob said. “But this is a good start. I want to give you some tools that might help relieve some of your stress. Considering your bad dreams, I’d like to recommend doing some meditation before you go to bed.” He explained why and how it worked, and gave me a list with some apps and websites on meditation to choose from.
“Also, you might find it useful to keep a journal. At the end of each day you could write down what happened that day and how you felt about it. One of my officers calls it a “barf journal.” He smiled. “It’s just a way to put it all out there, so you’re not internalizing or denying those feelings. I think it could help with your stress.”
“Okay. I’ll try it out.”
“Good. As I’m sure you know, it’s my job to determine how you’re doing, and it’s up to me to decide when you can return to work. Right now, I think you’re fine to get back on the job, as long as you keep coming to see me.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I think what you’ve done, and how you’ve handled it, is remarkable. I want to see you again day after tomorrow, and then we’ll figure out how many more times you need to come in. Sound good?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great. Day after tomorrow, I’ll expect to see you again at two-thirty.” He stood and held out his hand. After I shook it, he handed me his business card. “And feel free to call me anytime—day or night, whatever you need.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He came around his desk and opened the door for me. I thanked him again and walked out, feeling relieved. That wasn’t so bad. And the fact that he thought I was doing well, in spite of it all, made me feel even better.
With a light step, I took the stairs down to the detectives’ offices. Entering, I glanced over the room, looking forward to seeing Dimples. He sat at his desk, studying something on his computer. My gaze wandered the room for a glimpse of the psychic, but I didn’t find a new person anywhere. Did she go home already?
Dimples caught sight of me, and his lips turned up into a big grin that sent his dimples swirling. From here, they looked like little tornadoes in his cheeks. Naturally, I smiled back and made my way to his desk. He jumped to his feet and gave me a big hug. Unfortunately, he squeezed my injured arm, and I flinched.