He slides the paper toward me again. “I’ll make this easy for you, Tess. I’m going to tell you exactly what to say…”
Chapter 38
I don’t know where Graham ended up putting the letter I wrote.
I feel sick at the thought of the words I wrote in the letter. I said horrible things about Harry. In the morning, I’m going to read that letter and I’m going to believe Harry Finch is a terrible person.
But I have one safety net.
Graham confiscated my phone, but I’ve still got Harry’s number written on my thigh. In the morning, I’ll see it there. I’ll know he was trying to help me. And maybe I’ll be able to find him.
Unless he is still in jail.
I climb into bed at around ten o’clock. At first, I’m worried Graham is going to climb into bed next to me, but he doesn’t make any movement to take off his clothing. “I’ve still got work to do,” he tells me.
“You mean formycompany.”
He sneers at me. “If not for me, your company would be bankrupt by now.”
I’m not so sure about that.
“Anyway,” he says, “go to sleep. I’ll come in later. And in the morning, you won’t remember any of this. You’ll believe me when I tell you what a piece of shit Harry Finch is.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
Graham shuts the light as he leaves the room, and I lie in bed alone, staring at the ceiling. I wonder where Harry is right now. I assume he’s in a jail cell somewhere. Maybe sleeping on a cot.
I hope he is still thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him.
He’s my last thought as my eyes drift closed.
_____
It’s much later in the night when I get woken up by a sharp sensation.
At first, I think it must be morning. And it’s a miracle because I still remember everything about the day before. But no, it’s still pitch black outside. It’s the middle of the night. And I hear movement within the bedroom.
I rub my right buttock, which feels sore to the touch. I don’t know what that was. That pricking sensation just came out of nowhere.
I roll over in bed, blinking through the darkness as my eyes adjust. Graham is standing at the foot of the bed.
“Graham?” My voice is slurred by sleep. “What… what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer me right away. I squint through the darkness and I can just barely make him out. There’s something in his hand.
Oh my God. It’s asyringe.
“This issomuch easier to administer when you take the other medications that knock you out.” He slides the cap back onto the syringe. “That way we don’t have to have a conversation about it. You mostly sleep through it.”
I don’t know what it was he gave me, but my brain feels fuzzy. I don’t know if it’s from sleep or whatever was in that syringe. “What did you do?”
“The same thing I do every night.”
It’s true then. I’m not losing my memory because of a brain injury. Graham isdruggingme. He’s doing this to me. And I don’t even knowwhy. Could he really be this evil?
“Go back to sleep,” he says.
“You… you drugged me!” I choke out the words.
