Chapter 1: A New Start

Seattle, Washington

I sat on the sofa in a tall room that was virtually bare. There was one sofa, one chair, and one desk. Some would say it was neat, but I would call it empty. The lack of personal touches in the room made it feel deprived of any human connection. If the goal was to make patients feel comfortable, it failed miserably. I can't think of a worse place to spend an hour.

The middle-aged woman sitting across from me in the chair, jotting down notes, had a silver chain on her wrist. Every movement caused it to jingle, which became irritating quickly. The pen scratching against the paper seemed louder than usual.

Scratch, jingle. Scratch, jingle. Scratch, jingle.

Instead of designing this room for comfort, maybe they wanted to torture me instead.

I wouldn't be here if I had any say in the matter. If I want to keep my job at the station, I'm forced to endure this empty room, this uncomfortable sofa, and this insufferable woman.

I don't even remember her name. I glanced over and saw a nametag just above the pocket of her shirt. Dana Gooden. Lucky me.

"Are you still having the same nightmare?" She spoke softly.

Taking a deep breath, I let out a long sigh and adjusted my necktie before replying to her question.

"If you had a choice to kill an innocent person to save thirty more, would you do it, Dana?"

My remark made her uncomfortable, yet she humored me anyway.

"I hope I'd never be put in that situation," she said. "I can't make a decision like that."

"Neither could I," I replied bluntly.

She made a furrowed expression, picked up her pen, and the chain on her wrist started to jingle again.

I wanted to know her answer.

Dana only speaks in well-practiced lines rehearsed over and over. Carefully crafted not to offend or upset. I find her words robotic and inhuman. Spewing out phrases that are unoffensive but also lack any real substance. She's a bit like this room. Empty.