Anywhere

My heart is hammering against my chest as I hold eye contact with Dr. White. Because liars can’t do that, and I am not a liar. The leather of the chair was dampened minutes ago. If I run now, he’ll see the sweat stains.

“Josephine,” he says, swallowing, focused. “I know it’s still fresh, so I won’t be asking you to talk about it right away. If you like, you can just start anywhere—with anything.”

I slide my foot to the side, the sound slicing through the thick air. Then, I lift my gaze from his pale face to look around the room. There’s a bookshelf in one corner—mahogany—and a Persian carpet. He’s the definition of rich, like us. Or wants to be.

“He was lying on the ground. On the expensive carpet in his room. There was foam around his mouth,” I tell Dr. White.

Recalling a painful memory is a lot easier when you’ve detached yourself from it. And there isn’t a single cell in my body that recalls ever finding my brother dead on the floor in his room. I remember what it looked like, but physically, I wasn’t there.

Dr. White nods a moment later, his face even more pale.

“I screamed. I think that I screamed. I don’t remember…”

“That’s alright.”

“Mom came up the stairs. She was running. Dad too. It gets a little blurry there, but Dad called someone and yelled at them…no, I called, and he took the phone,” I say.

My head bobs around slightly like a marble in the middle of a net.

“An ambulance?” Dr. White asks.

I nod. A marble caught between two poles.

“Do you know how he died?”

My mouth goes dry. An image flashes before my eyes. A gruesome image. I didn’t experience that. No, it wasn’t…I didn’t…

“Josephine?”

I snap my head around.

“No,” I say. “I don’t know that.”