Page 59 of D for Dead

She stood by Sullivan’s car, still unsure about the meeting with Shinnick and part of her wary about talking with a stranger about personal stuff. She had lost her grandparents in her teens, her parents in her twenties. Her friends were now her family, but there was only so much you could share with your friends.

As if sensing her unease, Sullivan offered his hand. Amy hesitated for a moment before taking it. His grip was warm and firm.

He’s the detective looking after you. Is this right?

It felt right. It also felt personal, and while that messed with her head she liked the fact it felt personal.

‘Come on. You can do this.’ He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, before leading her into the brownstone, up to the second floor.

Shinnick’s office door was open. Hearing their footsteps, the doctor came out to meet them.

‘Jake, how are you?’

Sullivan released Amy’s hand, shook Shinnick’s.

‘I’m good, doc. Thanks for agreeing to see us on short notice.’

The doctor turned to Amy. He had kind eyes, That was the first thing she noticed about him: middle-aged, average height and build, brown hair slightly greying with a neatly clipped moustache and kind grey-blue eyes. There was nothing threatening about him.

Still she was wary.

‘You must be Amy.’ Shinnick held out a hand.

She shook it tentatively. Sullivan trusted this guy. She had promised she would give it a go.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Shinnick.’

He smiled, a kind smile, like the eyes, and Amy felt her unease lifting.

‘Shall we?’ Shinnick indicated his office.

You’re really gonna do this?

Sullivan touched her arm. ‘I’ll wait right here for you.’

When she hesitated, he lightly ran his fingertips down to the soft flesh of her wrist. ‘Go on, you’ll be fine.’

Taking a deep breath, she broke the contact and stepped into Shinnick’s office, closed the door.

‘Why don’t you take a seat, Amy?’

The office was comfortably furnished. Sunlight streamed through the large window, bouncing off the mahogany desk. Potted plants, and scattered cushions on the two dark leather couches gave the room a homely feel.

Amy chose one of the two chairs in front of his desk, drumming her fingers together and giving the doctor a polite smile as he sat down opposite her. He put his hands in his lap mirroring her pose and leant slightly forward.

‘Jake filled me in a little. I understand you’re going through a difficult time at the moment. How would you describe your feelings with what has happened?’

He had a calming voice; his tone was low and mellow. She appreciated he hadn’t drawn attention to the scratches on her cheek, asked questions about it.

‘I don’t know. Anxious, I guess, and nervous. I’m worried about what is going to happen next; who is going to be hurt next.’

‘Those are normal reactions. It’s the uncertainty, the not knowing. I imagine you feel like you are not in control of the situation. Would you agree with that, Amy?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘I understand the killer has been mimicking the plots from your books. What kind of feelings does this arouse?’

‘I don’t understand why he chose my books. It’s hard knowing I thought up death scenes for fictitious characters and now they’re being made real. These people would be alive if I hadn’t written the books.’