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“You did just fine an hour ago. You need to feel. Use your senses and anchor yourself in the present.”

“Fine, Dr. Phil. When you look at me wrong and I completely lose my shit, I’ll try to keep from saying I told you so. But in the meantime, I need my notebook.”

Brodie was silent, thinking. Finally, he gave a curt nod. “I’ll get it for you. In the meantime, there are books all over the place. Decks of cards. Television. Treadmill downstairs.” He paused. “And dishes.”

I scoffed. “Fuck your dishes. I didn’t ask to be here.”

Brodie took the few steps over to the sink and started filling it with sudsy water. “Believe me, I know. I’m starting to think I should’ve just left you to Carson.”

His voice was grim, and in spite of my misgivings, I had the inkling that this abduction might very well have saved my life, in more ways than one.

But I still wasn’t washing dishes.