Chapter 2

Therapist Tam Kerish had been on her way back to the therapy room when a loud argument erupted from within. One voice stood out, louder and sharper and decidedly more desperate than the others.

Bethany. Again.

Several clients with borderline personality disorder gathered each week to attend a skills-building group session. Sometimes, personalities clashed. Tension had been brewing during the first part of the meeting, a tension that felt like an impending storm.

That storm had finally broken.

Tam sprinted the last steps to the door and shouldered it open. Several people had lined up at the window, spectators to the catfight on the balcony. Tam cut through the crowd and pushed her way out onto the balcony.

Two girls fought on the veranda, a young man struggling to keep them apart. Bethany was all claws and punches and screams; the other girl punctuated Beth’s tirade with sharp snarky remarks of her own. Between them, his glasses askew, cigarette clamped between his teeth, the guy did his best to avoid Beth’s jabs. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The other counselor, who had remained in the room during the break, tried to corral Beth with outspread arms. He only provided the girls with a secondary target.

Bethany’s voice pitched higher as she leveled a new round of accusations.

“I’ll take her from here, Bill.” Tam tapped the counselor on the shoulder. “Please take the others back inside.”

Beth bounced on her toes like a boxer, looking ready to spring. Tam stepped in front of her and blocked her with a steely look and a silent, raised palm.

“What happened here, Bethany?” She used the smooth tenor of her voice to soothe the girl. “I was only gone long enough to use the ladies’ room.”

“That whore!” Bethany spat the words. Her face was blotchy, mascara staining the tears streaking down her cheeks. “She just came out here like it was all her business and me and Derek were having a smoke and she says I better keep my hands off her boyfriend—”

“Breathe, Bethany, just breathe.” Tam wrinkled her nose against the acrid sting of smoke. A cigarette smoldered nearby, abandoned on the edge of the deck. “We can talk better if you calm down. Let’s focus on the coping skills we’ve been working on.”

“Coping skills? You want me to cope? She was supposed to be my friend, not some boyfriend-stealing bitch!”

“Slow down.” Tam spread her hands, palms down, and eased the pace of her words. Bethany usually responded to calming vocal cues. “Let’s work through this.”

The girl dug her fingers into her hair at her temples. “Derek didn’t even break up with me first. He did say—but that was last week so we got past it.”

“What did he say?”

“He said we should break up and I said no, Derek. We can’t break up. It takes two people to break up and I’m not breaking up with you.”

Tam nodded. Sound reasoning, considering. Unfortunately, emotions and reason didn’t often see eye to eye. “Then what happened?”

“I tied myself to a porch chair because I wasn’t leaving him. He had to see I wouldn’t ever leave, I love him too much, and—” Beth hid an embarrassed giggle behind her hand. “He picked me up and put me out in the street. But he got me before a car came. See, we made up. We were still good. But now—”

Her lip quivered. “You know me, Tammy, I’m not bad. I just—I just don’t know why people leave. It doesn’t make sense. We are all people, aren’t we? Aren’t we the same?”

“No, we’re not.” Tam shook her head. “Not everyone feels everything full blast the way you do.”

An unspoken thought bobbed along in the wake of her words.

Some of us don’t feel anything at all.

Beth hung her head and slouched over the railing, pulling a cigarette from a pack in her jacket. Her hand shook so hard she couldn’t light it. Issuing a frustrated growl, she threw the cigarette over the side.

It tumbled through the air, just missing a man standing next to his car. The cigarette bounced off the windshield and landed on the ground, still damp from last night’s chilly April rain.

“Lucky cigarette,” Beth mumbled.

“How do you mean?” Tam kept her voice mild, but her mind had already clicked into high gear.

“Just saying. When you’re useless, you should just get tossed over the side.” She rested her forehead on her hands, gripping the rail.

“That’s not a solution to your situation.”

“You don’t think?” Beth rolled her head back and forth. “If I was dead, my boyfriend couldn’t cheat on me. My so-called friend wouldn’t steal him. And my therapist wouldn’t be taking sides against me.”

Traffic from the nearby street kept a steady pace, unrelenting. “I don’t take sides, Beth.”

“And you don’t get it, either.” Beth lifted her chin and cast a disdainful glance over the rail. “It would be such a shame to mess up that Beemer down there. But it’s better than living through this crap.”

“We talked about this. Death isn’t a solution.”

“No. It’s an escape. I’m tired of this. Everything hurts, all the time, and I can’t trust anything or anybody and how about this, Derek?” She raised her voice enough to get their attention inside. “Is this enough of a break for you?”

Beth hopped up on the rail, her back to the Philadelphia skyline beyond, the openness and the free fall below. “All it would take is one little push and you’re through pushing me around!”

“Beth.” Tam’s voice dipped lower, full of warning. “Come down from there.”

“I can do it, Tam.” Beth stared down her nose at the therapist, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. A bold smile ghosted across her mouth before she swallowed it down again. “I should do it.”

Beth closed her eyes. Spread her arms. Lifted her feet.

Her weight shifted backward.

Tam snapped out her hand and grasped Beth by the wrist, yanking her back onto the deck. The momentum swung the girl past her and Tam pivoted, side-stepping her and pressing her against the wall.

She braced Beth with one forearm across her upper chest and pulled the pin on her personal alarm with her free hand. An ear-piercing whistle sounded, an electronic scream for help.

“Sorry, Beth. Not today.” Tam’s voice remained level and composed. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

The door was yanked open by a thickly-necked man from security. He placed a firm hand on Beth’s shoulder, gently reining her in. Grasping her upper arm, he craned his head to avoid her wild punches.

Beth squalled like a cat in a bag as he guided her back inside.

“The quiet room, please, Charlie,” Tam said.

“No, not the blue room.” Beth twisted her head to look back at Tam, her eyes big and white. “Tam, please. There’s no windows. I hate that room—”

“It’s just for a little while, Beth. I’ll be there in a little while.”

The guard led Beth away, circling around the group, who stared and shifted nervously in their seats. Her now-ex-boyfriend’s face was pinched and dark. He didn’t even flinch when Beth kicked his chair.

Beth wailed the entire way, screaming Tam’s name, her voice cut off by the closing door.

Tam pulled out her phone and texted her partner. Bethany Peters threatened to harm herself. She’s upset and not thinking logically. File a petition for an involuntary commitment.

“Now.” Stowing her phone, she glanced around the room, a professional smile sliding effortlessly into place. “I think we need to process what just happened. We witnessed intense emotion just now. Would anyone like to share their feelings?”

Twenty-five minutes later, she signed the waiver that would recommend the girl to a hospital stay. What a waste. The environment would stifle the girl, cause her to withdraw. The cycle was predictable. And repetitive. All the progress they made—

That she had assumed they’d made.

Beth was impulsive, hostile, and showed little to no harm avoidance. Separation anxiety and social phobia. Chain smoker and state lottery addict.

And she’d just been dumped by her boyfriend. During group.

“Thank God it was you who got to her first.” Dolly Rivera took the form and tucked it into her briefcase. Within the hour, Bethany would be picked up by crisis workers and taken to the behavioral unit of the hospital three blocks away. “Anyone else would have added to the fire. I don’t know how you do it, Tam.”

Tam shook her head. “I don’t know how they do it.”

And she didn’t. She had never suffered an emotional outburst like Bethany had. She’d never suffered an emotional anything. What was she missing? Was any of the pain even worth missing?

“Well, enjoy the rest of your day. Full moon tonight, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Dolly winked before leaving.

Full moon. Just what I need. She walked into the break room to top off her coffee, preparing for her next appointment. The office manager, Jennifer, leaned through the doorway and held out a folder.

“New client in your office.” Jennifer lowered her voice. “Looks like a lawyer.”

Setting her cup down, Tam took the proffered folder and thumbed through the papers. Most of the fields had been left blank, including the line for occupation. “The survey isn’t filled out.”

Jennifer shrugged. “Cindy gave him everything when he came in.”

“That’s fine. Thanks.” A could-be lawyer who doesn’t bother with paperwork. She snapped the file shut and headed down the hall.

When she opened the door to her office she took note of the appearance of her newest client. First impressions served her well and she’d become adept at deciphering her client’s intentions simply by observing what they did when she walked in.

Nervous and anxious people perched on the edges of their seats. Sullen and stubborn clients often hunched, arms crossed, some under mandate by court or by family to seek help. They, of course, had no problems and would defiantly prove it or die trying. Sometimes she walked in on a client who sat statue-still, wilted in the chair, someone who had passed beyond care. Anhedonic. Apathetic.

This man was unlike anyone she’d ever counselled.

He’d pushed an armchair close to the window and reclined, pin-stripe-suited leg crossed, the rest of his body blocked by a newspaper. A gold ring gleamed on the little finger of a well-tanned hand. When she closed the door behind her, he lowered one corner, revealing pale, green almond-shaped eyes that swept over her with an up-and-down look before he lowered the paper.

He had appraised her. Now, that was new.

“Good morning, Mr. Burns. I’m Tam Kerish.” She approached him, hand outstretched, professional smile in place. She modulated her voice, choosing a strong, low tone, wanting to imply authority and confidence. Absolute control.

“The pleasure is mine.” He stood, his wavy black hair catching the luster of the lamplight.

Not tanned, after all. His skin had the dusky glow common to people of southwest Asia. A slender angled mustache that capped the corners of his mouth lent seriousness to his expression, despite the distinctly amused glint in his eyes.

And, familiar. Tam searched his face, scanning it against her memories, coming up blank. Where had she seen him before?

Instead of shaking her hand, he tilted his head and gently bowed. The formality of the gesture seemed genuine, a sense of regal respect behind it. She pulled back her hand, unsure how to respond. “I’m glad you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

“Pleasant office. I prefer something brighter but it is only my preference.” He spoke with a precision that clipped each word. With a series of sidelong glances, he took in her office wearing an expression that read: I suppose this must do. “Tam, you said?”

“It’s short. For Tamarinda.” She’d always felt her name was too long, too ornate. Her personality was as direct and to-the-point as her preferred nickname.

“Tamarinda.” He rolled the sounds of her name into something exotic and appreciable. Speaking her name seemed to coax out his accent. “Interesting name. But you shorten it.”

She took a seat behind her desk and flipped open the folder. “It’s easier.”

“But it lacks the original beauty. May I call you Tamarinda?”

“If you’d like.” His accent lent a melody to her name when he said it, making it even less hers. If that was how he wanted to address her, fine. Whatever encouraged communication was a useful tool. “How do you prefer to be addressed?”

“Burns is fine.” He returned his chair to its original position near her desk. Resuming his seat, he lifted a finger and gestured to a grouping of framed certificates on the wall. “What exactly is a licensed clinical social worker?”

“Well...” She folded her hands on her desk, a picture-perfect pose of the professional counselor. “Licensed means I passed the state boards. Clinical means I took the hard test. Social worker means a lot more than many people think.”

“Why aren’t you a doctor?”

Familiar question. Easily parried. “I don’t need to be a doctor to help.”

“Who said I needed help?” His voice mild, he slid his hands over his forearms to cup his elbows.

She mentally checked off a list. Denial. Difficult. The assessment wasn’t judgmental; she simply picked upon vocal cues and body language, separating and identifying them. Every client was a puzzle to be sorted. She reached for a pencil. “I have your file here, just the basics everyone completes before meeting with me. You left a lot of blanks, which makes it difficult for me to know what kind of expectations and needs you have. That makes it more difficult to help you.”

“It was not my intention to be difficult. I simply didn’t think any of that information was necessary.”

“Including your first name?” She raised her eyebrows, not quite scolding.

His arch reply was accompanied by a dismissive shrug. “I did say Burns is sufficient.”

“Not for billing purposes,” she said.

“Ah.” He patted the breast of his suit jacket. “I pay with cash.”

Well. At least she wasn’t at the mercy of an insurance contract. She appreciated cash-basis clients. It made some bitter pills a little easier to swallow. Take this one, for instance. “That’s not the only thing. Not knowing your full name prevents us from relating.”

“Not if Burns is how I relate to myself.”

“Okay.” He had a thing for names. Identity issues. She sat back and rocked. “Do you have any questions for me? Ideas? Direction you want this to go in?”

“I have one concern.” He stroked his cleft chin with a thumb.

“Good.” She smiled to encourage him.

Her smiles weren’t the simple flashes of emotion that other people took for granted. For her, they were mimicry, an attempt to blend in with the emotional masses. Over the years, she’d perfected the gesture. Just a tightening of muscles, really. Spread the lips, crinkle the eyes. She could do it and even look spontaneous. “What’s that?”

“What is your policy on confidentiality?”

“Ever hear of HIIPA?” She pulled a sheet from the sheaf in the folder. This part always sounded like a lecture, no matter how hard she tried. “I maintain the strictest confidentiality with the profession-standard exceptions pertaining to situations that are clearly illegal or threats of harming yourself, harming others, or harming elders or children in your care.”

“Illegal?”

Her lips thinned. “I refer to felonies. I don’t judge people on misdemeanors. Drugs, traffic tickets, whatever. Sometimes unresolved issues lead to those actions. If you’re reluctant to bring up your drug use then we can’t address the issues that lead to that drug use. Understand?”

“What if you break your contract?”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t?” His tone of distinct disbelief made it sound like a statement rather than a question. It matched his uplifted eyebrows and lowered chin.

“No, Mr. Burns, I won’t. I have ethics and standards and a steadfast set of personal ideals. The written contract is simply a token. You have my word.”

This part wasn’t lecture—it was the truth by which she’d lived her entire life. When she gave her word, it stayed given. She’d never broken a promise, not even as a child. She considered it her noblest trait, even though it sometimes became her greatest inconvenience.

He nodded slowly, as if he somehow detected that the weight of her words carried more than simple persuasion. “Not many people like you left in the world.”

“I know.” She resisted a sigh, despite the appropriateness of such a response. There really wasn’t anyone at all like her. It was what it was. “Shall we begin? I’m going to ask a few questions. Try to be as open as possible. Why are you here?”

He cleared his throat delicately. “I seek pleasant conversation untarnished by threat of exposure. Your confidentiality is worth a great deal to me.”

His words had taken on a subtle tone, a sense of secrecy. Although many of her clients shared their deepest secrets with her, she perceived something more.

What was it about his simmering green eyes, the playful curl at the corner of his mouth, the unspoken dare in his words? That was it, wasn’t it? A distinct impression of daring her to be capable of handling him and whatever he may throw at her.

He obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with.

She thumbed the edge of the folder. “I expect you to follow the guidelines everyone else follows.”

“I expect you to keep my secrets,” he replied.

It felt a little bit like a stand-off. If anything, it made her curious. “Not illegal?”

He smirked, as if enjoying a private joke. “If my existence is illegal—”

“Fine. Fine. Care for a beverage, then?” She pointed to the fridge. “Or there’s coffee across the hall.”

“Water will do the trick, if you have it.”

“Help yourself.” She nodded toward the small cube fridge against the far wall. “So. Mr. Burns. What would you like to talk about?”

“Why don’t we start with my favorite subject?” He sauntered over to the small refrigerator in the corner and peered inside a moment before pulling out a bottle of water. “I don’t get to talk about it much.”

“Sure. What’s that?”

Burns did a slow, lazy blink, looking cat-like and self-satisfied. “Me.”

Tam twirled the pencil, sending a leisurely signal to help him relax. She’d have to drag it out of him. Some clients took more effort than others. “What about you?”

Resuming his seat, he squared his shoulders, crossed his leg at the knee, and smiled. Even smiling, his eyebrows dipped menacingly, the result being a very predatory expression. “I’m a fire elemental.”

The word fire zinged through her like a hornet, and every muscle tightened in anticipation of the sting.

The pencil she’d been toying with snapped.