“It can help.” Obie’s voice is soft. “Sometimes, if you don’t have a safe place to process your memories, they can start to control you. Talking about them, rationalizing them, it can…” He trails off. “It can help.”
Chester’s throat feels like sandpaper. He swallows hard, hoping Obie doesn’t notice how badly his hands are shaking.
Does he want to remember? Of course not. That was the worst day of his entire life. He doesn’t want to see that, to remember that, torelivethat.
But, whether he wants to or not, he usually relives it at least once a week anyway, waking up in a cold sweat with the sound of JJ’s screams ringing in his ears. Dread coils around him whenever he glances into that particular interrogation room, whenever he resharpens the blue-handled knife he used, whenever he registers a prisoner on the computer between Rooms 16 and 17.
He used to think about it every time he saw JJ’s face, the living reminder of his guilt looking back at him every single day during training or meals. And even though Chester knew there wasn’t any condemnation in JJ’s eyes, he felt it in his bones anyway. Sometimes, the accusation seemed so thick that it felt like he was drowning in it.
So maybe it does make sense to walk through what happened. To talk about it and rationalize it, like Obie said.
Maybe that’ll make it easier for Chester to sleep. Maybe?—
Maybe Obie can be Chester’s safe place. He takes a deep breath. “What would I have to do?”
“Just take my hand,” Obie says, extending his fingers. “I’ll be right here the whole time, okay? And we can stop whenever you want.”
Chester’s heart feels unsteady. Slowly, carefully, he settles his hand into Obie’s.
Obie lets out a quiet breath, closing his eyes. Chester feels the faintest tingling build up between his temples—not like the tingling from the soul bond, but something else, somethingdifferent.
The sensation of Nostringvadha sifting gently through Chester’s memories—through hislife—to find what he’s looking for.
Eventually, the tingling settles into a soft, continuous buzz. Lightly, Obie squeezes Chester’s palm. “You ready?”
“No,” Chester says, but he squeezes Obie’s hand back. “What now?”
“Now,” Obie says, “you tell me where to start. You’re controlling this process, Chester. I’m just facilitating it.”
“I…” Chester drags his teeth over his lower lip, thinking back to that day. “I guess we’d start with Room 11.”
28
Six years ago, Chester was busy scrubbing the blood off the tiles in Interrogation Room 11 when the door swung open. He jerked to attention with a flinch, scrambling to his feet as Adrian Nostrand strode into the room. “Locke. I’ve been looking for you.”
Automatically, Chester glanced at the one-way mirror. The blinds were still open, giving him a clear view of the hallway—and the outside cameras a clear view of the room. He let his shoulders relax the slightest bit, gesturing at his cleaning supplies. “I—I’ve been here. I was told to clean Rooms 11 through 13, and?—”
“Forget that. I’ll get Foxe to finish them.” Nostrand leaned forward. “Your interrogation rotation is starting early. We have a problem.”
Chester paused. They never started his interrogation rotations out of sync with Nostrand’s, not with Chester being a probationary interrogator. “What? What’s going on?”
“It’s…” Nostrand’s jaw worked. “It’s your buddy. Jackson. He just defected.”
All at once, the world wentveryquiet around Chester. Absently, he registered that the blood-soaked sponge slipped from his numb fingers and hit the floor with a dullplunk,but the signal to pick it up got stuck somewhere between his brain and his arm. “No. That’s impossible. That’s?—”
“Yeah, well,” Nostrand said shortly. “It happened. A strike team caught him trying to join Sawyer Solomon and Naomi Gutierrez. Apparently, he knows where they are.”
Thatexplained it. Damn it, JJ. Couldn’t he have just asked for backup like a regular person? “Then he wasn’tdefecting,Nostrand. He must’ve been trying to convince them to come home. He?—”
“So he nearly killed Hawthorne and Massimo for shits and giggles, then?” Nostrand snapped.
Chester flinched. “He—he hurt someone?”
That didn’t sound like JJ. That didn’t sound like JJ atall.That didn’t?—
“Yes. But they incapacitated him before he escaped.” Nostrand jerked his head towards the wall behind Chester—the one connecting this hallway of interrogation rooms to the next. “They put him in Room 16. He’s your first assignment of this rotation.”
Chester’s stomach bottomed out. “What? No. No, I—I can’t?—”
