"Oh wow. You really have one of these? I thought shrinks only had them in the movies," said Sarah as she entered the office and made a beeline toward the red velvet chaise.

The doctor closed the door behind her. "I tend to find that my patients are more relaxed when presented with the familiar and most for some reason expect the traditional psychiatric couch when they finally agree to try therapy."

After circling the recliner, Sarah motioned toward it. "May I?"

The doctor nodded. "Please."

"I don't want to talk about my childhood, my biggest fears, or why I think I need to be here, so don't even bother," Sarah said while she made herself comfortable.

The doctor took a seat in an armchair nearby. After crossing her legs, she casually intertwined her fingers on her knee. "Well, those are pretty much the basis of my repertoire, so thank you for the heads up," she said, stifling an obvious smile.

Sarah chuckled. She liked people who didn't take themselves too seriously. Maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea, after all. "I'm sorry that for once you're going to have to earn your exorbitantly high fees, doc."

The doctor reached for a notebook and a pen. "Don't be. The minutes started ticking as soon as you stepped through that door, and you don't have to say another word and I'd still get paid," she said, scribbling in the corner of the pad to test the ink.

"God bless the American healthcare system, then," Sarah said, lifting an invisible glass in a mock toast.

"Indeed. Now, let's see. Although I could just let you take a nap on my stereotypical couch while I tried to beat level three hundred sixty two on Candy Crush, why don't we at least attempt a little therapy, okay?"

Sarah sighed. "I guess. Shoot."

The doctor pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger. "Let's start with your goals. What do you want from life, Sarah Corwin?"

This was too easy. "I'm almost eighteen. I suppose it's pretty much what every teenager my age wants: freedom, independence, a chance to be me," she said, relaxing the tension in her shoulders.

After scribbling something on her notepad, the doctor looked up. "Good. Let's expand on that. What do you want freedom to do, exactly?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows. Wasn't it obvious?

"Anything," she said with a shrug.

"So you feel like you haven't been free to make your own choices or do what you wished?" asked the doctor.

"Yeah."

"And who do you feel like has been standing in your way?"

"Society, my mother—"

"But she's no longer . . . around," interrupted the doctor, pausing just long enough to carefully choose her words.

Sarah bit her lip. They were veering into an uncomfortable topic and she didn't like it. "Yeah, well my aunt is the same way and she just doesn't understand me," she snapped back before folding her arms over her chest.

The doctor nodded. "Is that so? I thought she recommended that you come see me today."

"She did," Sarah admitted with a sigh. "But I'm now beginning to think it's a waste of time."

"How so?"

"All talking to you is doing is pissing me off," she said, turning toward the therapist to gauge her reaction. But the woman's face remained unreadable.

Well, at least she was professional.

"You don't like my questions?" asked the doctor, leaning back in her chair.

"Nope."

"And why not?"

Sarah sat up. "Because you act like you're asking one thing and then you follow that seemingly innocent, meaningless question with something deeper and then the next one goes even further and before I realize it, you've gotten an answer for everything you wanted and I'm left here left feeling naked and . . . and—"

"Vulnerable?" the doctor finished Sarah's thought for her.

Sarah gritted her teeth. "I was going to say exposed, but I guess that works, too."

"And how does that make you feel?"

Throwing her head back, Sarah began to laugh. But it wasn't an amused laugh. The act was bitter, coming from deep within her.

"How the fuck do you think it makes me feel, huh?" she asked as tears welled in her eyes. "I thought that by being here I was going to find some type of relief or absolution from all of this . . . this stress or whatever it is that feels like it's tearing me up from the inside. But all you seem to care about is piling on more stuff to rile me up."

The doctor scribbled again.

"I find it interesting that you used the word absolution. That to me implies a feeling of some type of guilt," she said once she stopped writing. "Tell me about that."

Sarah balled her fists, her nails painfully digging into her palms. She'd already said more than she ever wanted, but if she wanted this emotional manipulation to end, she was going to have to play along.

"I guess I might subconsciously feel bad about letting those who I love down," she said, knowing full well that was a lie. It had been a long time since she'd realized that she was the master of her own future and that the opinion of others was worth less than what they could offer her.

"Okay, that's a good start. But what kind of expectations do you think people have of you that you can't fulfill?"

Sarah wanted to scream. Who the fuck cared? Why was it on her to meet any type of expectations others put on her? How was she responsible for meeting anyone else's dreams or goals just because they couldn't do it themselves?

But if she said any of those things, she'd just get more questions. So she kept lying.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with as much innocence as she could muster. "Good grades. Always making safe choices. Having picture-perfect relationships."

"Speaking of relationships—"

"No way," Sarah cut the doctor off. No matter what came after that word, she didn't want to talk about it. "We're done here. See ya, doc."

* * *

Although she'd tried to appear cool during the session, by the time Sarah left the therapist's office her head was pounding and she felt like she was going to barf right there in the stairwell. Running into her aunt as she exited the building was the poop-flavored icing on top.

"Oh, good," Jane said, looking as relieved as she sounded. "I thought I'd have to interrupt your appointment, but this couldn't wait."

"What's going on?" Sarah asked as she descended the icy steps and joined her on the sidewalk. It was after school hours so Jane was off work, but she should have been at home and not outside the doctor's office stalking her.

"Alex called me less than twenty minutes ago asking that we go down to the police station as soon as possible," Jane replied, already turning to leave.

The only way she wouldn't be left behind was if Sarah followed. "Why?" she asked, catching up. "What's at the station?"

"I'm thinking there's been some kind of progress with the case against Caleb—"

Sarah grabbed her aunt by the arm and stopped her from continuing. "No. I don't want anything to do with it, then."

Jane looked exasperated and she let out a long sigh. "Sarah, please. If there's nothing there, then we can all finally relax. But if something is worth pursuing, then we have to let the police do their jobs. Now come. If for nothing else, to satisfy your curiosity?"

She had a point there. And if Sarah still refused, Jane would go and she'd have to hear about it secondhand anyway. There was really no way of avoiding this. And hopefully, whatever they were about to hear from the cops would put an end to the whole mess.

Walking over to the New Bedford police station took less than five minutes. Tucked just a block off the main square, it occupied a similarly quaint brownstone as much of the rest of the downtown buildings. After checking in at the front desk, the two of them were escorted to a dimly lit room where a stocky man in a well-worn suit was waiting.

"Ah, finally!" he exclaimed, placing the notepad he'd been holding down and rounding the table to extend his hand. "Connor Gatley, district attorney. You're Jane Pulaski and Sarah Corwin, correct?"

Jane shook his hand. "That's right. And I'm sorry if we're late. We came as soon as we could, but the request was rather last minute."

Gatley held up his hands, palms out. "I know and that's completely my fault. I didn't expect the Ceballos to actually heed my call to come in today."

"What? They're here?" asked Jane as Sarah's nausea suddenly returned.

The attorney moved aside and motioned for them to come closer. Only then did it become apparent that the window on the long wall didn't have a view to the outside, but rather into the room next door.

"Don't worry, they can't see us. It's one-way," he said, seeing them hesitate to step in front of the glass. On the other side, Caleb, his parents, and a woman who could be none other than his expensive lawyer sat around a conference table. By their disapproving smirks, it was obvious they'd been waiting for a while.

It was a scene straight out of Law and Order.

Sarah gasped. She had expected to find some outward sign that, like her, the last few weeks had also taken their toll on the boy. Perhaps dark-rimmed eyes from insomnia. Maybe disheveled clothing from a lack of caring. Or a restless leg from anxiety. Yet there he sat in his letterman jacket with not a hair out of place, looking like Mr. All-American.

Left speechless by the reveal, Sarah couldn't even ask what was going on before Gatley pressed a button on a fancy phone-looking thing in the middle of the table. "We're ready when you are," he said, releasing the button and turning to Jane. "Oh, and they can't hear us, either."

Almost immediately, a door into the other room opened and Officer Alex Quinn entered.

"Apologies for the delay," they said, walking to a chair at the near end of the table. "This should be fairly quick now that you're ready to answer our questions."

"It wasn't our original intention to cooperate any more than we are legally obligated," Caleb's father said, shifting in his seat. "But there are already vicious rumors going around, and we'll do whatever is necessary to clear our son's good name."

He paused and looked at his wife beside him, giving her a weak nod. "We would have expected more from the town where our families have lived for generations, but what's done is done, I suppose," he added with a mumble.

"If Caleb has nothing to hide, then he shouldn't worry about what he tells us," Quinn said, opening the folder they'd brought with them.

Caleb's lawyer leaned forward. "And if the DA had a case, then he would have already made an arrest," she countered.

Unfazed, Quinn continued flipping through the pages in the thick file until they located the sought after document. From the other side of the one-way window, Sarah couldn't see what it was, but it probably didn't matter since in spite of the search, the officer didn't spend any time examining the find.

"Let's start at the Fall Festival," Quinn said, looking at Caleb. "You invited Sarah Corwin to go with you on the night in question?"

Caleb looked at his lawyer who gave a slight nod to proceed.

"Yes," said Caleb. "I mean, I didn't ask her to go that night. I asked her a few days before. But it was to go to the Festival—"

"It's all right," Quinn interjected. "We all know what you meant. Remember, this isn't a courtroom and you haven't been charged with any crimes. So although we're looking for accurate details, semantics aren't crucial. Got it?"

Caleb nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Good," Quinn said. "So why Sarah?"

"What?" Caleb flinched as he appeared taken by surprise.

Quinn intertwined their fingers. "Why did you invite Sarah to go with you? You hadn't known her long. She was the new girl. There was also that unfortunate incident at her aunt's house that put you in the hospital . . .."

"That was an accident." From the opposite sides of the window, both Caleb and Sarah replied with the exact same words at the exact same time.

The District Attorney beside her chuckled. "Well, wasn't that interesting," Gatley said, crossing his arms.

Sarah's gaze snapped toward him. "Because it's true," she said through gritted teeth. It took all of her willpower to keep her anger in check at his insinuation that it was anything, but the result of a malfunction.

"Very well," Quinn said in the other room, bringing their attention back to the interview without getting an answer to the question. "Let's get back to the festival. What did you two do when you arrived?"

Caleb shrugged. "Walked around, played games, got some food—"

"What kind of food, exactly?" asked Quinn, their interest definitely piqued.

"Uhm . . . apple slices and popcorn, I think," said Caleb, struggling to remember.

For the first time, Quinn glanced at the one-way window, and next to Sarah, Gatley wrote something down on his notepad.

"Did you have anything to drink?" Quinn asked with a curious expression.

"Apple cider. Why?"

Quinn leaned forward. "Is that when you slipped the roofies into Sarah's cup?"

"Don't answer that," Caleb's lawyer instructed before turning to the officer. "How dare you insult my client with such a question. Unless you have irrefutable proof, you know as well as I do that in a public setting like the town square dozens of people would have had equal access to contaminate the girl's food or drink. Maybe it wasn't even meant for her, or—hear me out—perhaps she took the pill herself."

"I did not!" exclaimed Sarah from the soundproof room.

The DA looked at her. "I thought you didn't remember most of what happened that night," he said, looking squarely into her eyes.

She shook her head, realizing just then that this interview was as much about her as it was about Caleb. Although she'd already given a formal statement to the police, this could have been a test to see if she could keep her story straight.

"It . . . it's spotty before everything is just a blank until the hospital. But I know I have never voluntarily taken illegal drugs—then or ever," she said, unwavering.

He nodded, as the voices from the other room brought their attention back to Caleb's interview.

"That's actually a slur," Quinn said in response to something Sarah had missed because of her own sidebar with the DA. "It's better to say clairvoyant, medium, psychic or even fortune teller."

"All right," Caleb said, adjusting his posture. "So then we snuck into the fortune teller's tent. There was nobody there, but we didn't do anything other than mess around with the Ouija board."

Quinn jotted down some notes and looked up again. "And then what happened?"

Caleb took a deep breath and scratched his chin. "We took turns asking questions, but I was kind of getting freaked out so I told Sarah we should go."

"Why were you getting freaked out?"

"It's a damn Ouija board!" Caleb exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "Have you never seen a horror movie? It's creepy as hell even if you know who's doing it."

"And who was that?"

"You're kidding, right? I sure as hell wasn't, so it had to be her."

"Her?"

"Sarah."

In the viewing room, she flinched. "I did not," Sarah whispered. But Quinn continued.

"Why would Sarah try to scare you?" they asked.

"I . . . I don't think that was her point," Caleb said, glancing at his lawyer. "Afterward she told me that the board's answers made sense to her because she'd been researching that murder and it was as if the ghost of the woman who'd died was telling us that her husband did it."

Caleb's lawyer tapped the table. "See? The girl is clearly unwell. She'd been showing signs of delusions earlier in the night, so it's no wonder it just escalated later," she said.

Quinn did their best to ignore the conclusion. "First of all, there was no murder because a crime has not been—and likely will never be—established. It's unfortunate that an unidentified woman died some eighty years ago under what we can now only refer to as questionable circumstances, but anything else is conjecture," they said. "Now, you two left the Festival soon thereafter?

"Yeah."

"And was this a mutual decision?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did Sarah also want to go?"

"I don't know what you're implying, but I didn't kidnap her."

"She didn't object?"

"No."

"You drove to the edge of Bedlam Woods. Is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"Why there?"

"It's private."

"Why did you need privacy, Caleb?"

"I'm a seventeen year-old kid on a date with a girl I liked. Why do you think?" he asked, his demeanor dripping with sarcasm.

Quinn cleared their throat. "Did you have sex with Sarah Corwin, Caleb?"

The boy looked at his lawyer and she nodded.

"Yes."

"Did Sarah object at any point?"

"No!" he exclaimed with a crack in his voice.

For some reason, the reaction put a knot in Sarah's stomach. Was it from relief at having him so vehemently deny something so terrible? Or was it from disappointment at the expertly delivered lie? She hated herself for not remembering which it was.

"Are you sure?" Quinn pressed on, now obvious with their focus. "She didn't say 'no,' she didn't push you away, she didn't seem out of it—"

"NO!" Caleb yelled again, but then he paused. "I mean, she definitely didn't say 'no.' But now that you mention it, I guess she wasn't as . . . enthusiastic as I would have expected," he said after carefully choosing the word.

Quinn thrust their chin out. "Elaborate on that."

"You know," said Caleb, his cheeks turning red. "After finally hooking up with the quarterback, you'd expect a girl to be a little more into it. But she was just eh."

He shrugged to emphasize the last word, and Sarah felt like she was going to throw up.

"Eh?" Quinn repeated. "And you didn't think that was a problem?"

"Don't answer that," Caleb's lawyer interrupted, putting her hand on his upper arm.

But Quinn pressed on. "You wanted to clear your name, Caleb. This is your chance. If you have any other information that can shed light on what drove Sarah out into that blizzard, you need to tell me."

Caleb cradled his head in his hands for a few beats before looking up. "I thought she was just tired, that's all. 'Cause she seemed to also like me. But when it was over, she just started freaking out. I don't know what happened, I swear. She didn't even take her coat or shoes, just bolted before I realized what was going on. And I did look for her, but she just disappeared. Almost like that other time."

His lawyer leaned forward. "What other time, Caleb? Had this happened before?"

He slowly nodded. "I didn't want to say anything because I thought it would be worse for her, but that night of the bonfire—after we had beaten Milton Park—Sarah said she dropped her phone. Before I knew it, she'd run off and disappeared into the forest. When I found her, she said someone had been chasing her. She acted weird with me for a while after that."

The interview room fell silent. In the observation area, Connor Gatley turned to Sarah. "Is all of that true?"

She knew how it looked and she wished she could deny it. But there was no point in lying. "Yes," she admitted as Jane let out a sympathetic sigh from beside her.

"Very well," said the DA, ushering them to the door. "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch soon."