Faith sank to her knees and gripped two handfuls of her hair.She wept and shook as the EKG monitor blared its alarm tone and the image of Turk’s heart rhythm returned a flat, useless line.
“Chest compressions!”David called.“Now!”
Michael got to his knees next to her and held her tightly.She derived no comfort from his presence.
The veterinary nurse began chest compressions.Faith watched her dog’s body jerk limply as the nurse beat his heart for him.She didn’t know a body could jerk limply before now.After two combat tours and countless encounters with the most violent people on Earth, she thought nothing could horrify her anymore, but watching Turk jerk fucking limply on the table because he was dying from potassium cyanide poison horrified her.
“Get her out of here!”David commanded.
It was only then that Faith realized she was screaming.Her eyes widened.“No!David, please!”
Her boyfriend met her eyes, and the expression he wore horrified her further.Michael wrapped his arms even more tightly around her and pulled her to her feet.She shrieked and fought madly, begging not to be separated from Turk, but Michael was twice her size and strong as an ox, and he dragged her away despite her best efforts to stay.
The door closed behind her, and Faith shrieked again as she watched the nurse struggle to revive her dog.
“Faith?”
Faith blinked and looked up at Dr.Keraya.The psychologist regarded her with that coldly empathetic look that mental health professionals always wore when talking to patients.Most of them, anyway.At least one of them had a warmly empathetic demeanor, but then he’d killed at least thirty-two people, so maybe these were the kinds of books that couldn’t be judged by their covers.
“Sorry, what was the question?”
Dr.Keraya smiled, an even worse expression.“I asked what you felt when you saw Turk on the table.”
“Point-four-five milligrams epinephrine,” David called.
“Right here, doctor.”
Faith took a deep breath to give time for the emotion to course through her.“Helpless.”
Dr.Keraya nodded.“That’s a very natural emotion to feel when one is witnessing a loved one in distress.”
“He wasn’t in distress.He was dead.That bitch fucking killed him.”
The vehemence in Faith’s voice didn’t surprise Faith at all, but apparently Dr.Keraya wasn’t prepared for it.She blinked and leaned back defensively, as though Faith had calledhera fucking bitch.“But he’s alive, right?”
Faith sighed and rubbed her left temple.“Yes, he’s alive.David brought him back.”
“We have a rhythm doctor!”
“Excellent.Push forty milligrams of propranolol and get an ICU prepped.”
“That’s wonderful,” Dr.Keraya said.“So everything’s all right.”Faith looked at her, and she quickly amended, “With his health.”
“He’s not dead,” Faith said curtly.
Dr.Keraya finally got the memo that Faith didn’t want to discuss her dog’s health with her anymore.She looked down at her notes—a sign she was about to change course.“And you’re preparing to return to work, yes?”
Faith sighed inwardly.She shouldn’t have expected this to help her.Therapy didn’t really offer her much more than having someone she could vent to and then leave.The chance to compartmentalize her negative emostions was worth the FBI’s money but it didn’t really help her work through the emotions she carried.It was just impossible to get anyone to understand that things couldn’t be fixed by practicing positive thinking and allowing herself to “be human.”
But that wasn't Dr.Keraya's fault.No doubt, the vast majority of the population saw actual benefits from this.Faith just wasn't one of them.
“Yes, I’m returning to work,” she said, managing a half-smile.“Now that Turk has a clean bill of health, it’s time for us to get back out there.”
Dr.Keraya leaned forward and rested her forearms on her thighs.That offered a more generous view of her bosom than Faith preferred, so she lifted her gaze slightly and stared at Dr.Keraya’s hair.
“And you’re ready?”the doctor asked.“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
