CHAPTER 5

Angie made it until she was at home when she broke down. John had gone to bed, and she sat at the kitchen table. She couldn’t breathe; her sobs shook her whole body. Body. The body. Her brother. No head. Dead.

John rushed into the kitchen; despite her efforts Angie wasn’t quiet. John went to hug her, but she screamed a blood-curdling scream. A scream that could only come from the heart broken. He had seen her have panic attacks, but he had never seen her like this. She wasn’t in the kitchen. He knew she was someone else in her head. All he could do was sit opposite her and wait.

After a few hours she calmed down, but she was still shaking. She wasn’t okay. John leaned over the counter and took his wife’s hand. She looked away from him, she felt ashamed. How had she let this happen? She couldn’t explain to him what had happened.

“You’re safe. It’s alright.” John tried to soothe her.

“I’m sorry,” Angie couldn’t stop apologising after having panic attacks like this. She always felt that she was at fault.

“It’s not your fault. You don’t have to talk about it.” John felt helpless. The detective in him wanted to know what had brought this on, but he knew she wasn’t ready to talk. He knew she may never be ready to talk, and he knew better than to force her.

Eventually they moved to the couch and John hugged Angie. She felt safe in his warm embrace. They stayed there for a while; the only sound came from the ticking clock. After an hour John felt Angie’s breathing becoming deeper and steadier. He stood up, careful not to wake her, and tenderly placed a blanket over her. He watched her for a few minutes, she didn’t exactly look peaceful – she was twitching in her sleep, a sign she was having a nightmare – but she looked much calmer than she did when she was awake. Her brow wasn’t furrowed, she wasn’t tracing her scar, she was almost still and peaceful.

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The next morning was awkward. Angie felt horrible about that night, and John was worried about her. She kept tracing her scar, always a bad sign. She wanted to pretend nothing had happened, whereas John wanted to talk about it. He was worried about her and needed to know what had happened. She had never had a panic attack like that, sure, she had panic attacks sometimes, but none to that degree.

“So…” John started, but Angie was not having it, she wouldn’t let anyone see what had driven her to this.

“We should go into the office; I want to see Detective McMullen about this girl by lake.” John decided not to push it and briskly followed her out the door.