Chapter 483: Exposed
The realization struck me hard—my death was only a minuscule thread in a vast, intricate web—too small to stir even the faintest ripple. In the unseen corners of the world, countless others shared my misfortune. Their ends were as inconspicuous as stray animals struck by passing cars, unnoticed and unremembered. Millions vanished across the nation every year, and those were just the cases officially reported. How many more disappeared in silence, their absence unacknowledged? Where did they all go?
I didn’t let my thoughts wander too far down that road. Carter wrapped his arms around me, his voice steady and grounding. “Chloe, you’re not a god. You can’t save everyone. People have their paths, their destinies.”
“I know, Carter. I do,” I said, though my voice wavered. But it wasn’t so easy to let go. I could feel the burden pressing down on me. I had been given another chance—a life reclaimed, a man who loved me, moments filled with joy. Yet, for so many, death was final. They were erased, leaving no trace of their existence.
“It’s late,” Carter said, his hand resting on my back. “Rest for the baby. Think about our family, not the whole world.”
I nodded, though the heaviness lingered. “Okay. Goodnight.” I clutched his shirt, holding on tightly as if it could anchor me. Silently, I prayed for Taylor. If he could root out the darkness behind all of this, it might just bring some balance to the chaos.
The next morning, Alisa left early for her prenatal checkup, and I took Whitney to see Sergio. It wasn’t just a performance; she genuinely needed help. It had been nearly half a year since I last saw him, but Sergio accepted the appointment without hesitation.
When we stepped into his office, it felt as though time had stood still. Everything looked exactly as I remembered. Even the potted plant on his desk sat in the same spot, its leaves positioned identically. Sergio’s precision was no surprise. His obsession with cleanliness and order had been evident during my own therapy sessions. I knew his routines as well as my own.
“Ms. Garder—or should I say Mrs. Bolton now?” Sergio greeted me with a composed expression, the light catching on his silver-rimmed glasses. His tone was polite, measured, and calm, just as it had always been.
“It’s been a while. You still look exactly the same,” I said, keeping my tone light. Even his haircut was perfectly maintained, like it had been trimmed with a ruler.
He adjusted his glasses, his face calm. “The same? We’ve only met once for a short while.”
I almost stumbled but quickly recovered. “I meant that meeting 6 months ago.”
He examined me carefully, his gaze unwavering. “You, however, seem to have changed a lot.”
His comment threw me off. We weren’t close, so why would he say that? It felt as though he saw right through me, like he knew something I didn’t want revealed.
Hoping to steer the conversation away, I gestured toward Whitney. “This is a good friend of mine. Could you run a psychological evaluation for her?”
Sergio nodded without hesitation. “Go ahead to the treatment room. I’ll join you shortly.”
“Alright.” I led Whitney down the hall with practiced ease, entering a room that felt as familiar as an old photograph. My fingers brushed the Newton’s cradle on the desk, the clicking sound of the spheres grounding me. This office had been my sanctuary for almost 3 years. It carried an air of safety, a place where I could let my guard down for just a moment.
Whitney’s voice came quietly. “Did you have an illness before?”
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I was here for a few years. Dr. Zimmer and I know each other well. Don’t worry, he’s…”
She cut me off, her expression serious. “Since you came back… have you visited this place before?”
I shook my head. “No, not once.”
Her eyes narrowed, sharp as a knife. “Then how did you know exactly where the treatment room was? No one showed us, and yet you walked straight here. How can you know this place if you’ve never been here in this life?”
My hand stopped mid-motion, a chill creeping over me. “Are you saying…”
Whitney’s voice turned cold, her words pointed. “If Dr. Zimmer is as observant as I think, he might already suspect you.”
From the doorway, a voice broke the tension. “Suspect what?”
I spun around to see Sergio standing there, his gaze impossible to read. The weight of his scrutiny bore down on me.
“Mrs. Bolton,” he said evenly, “I’m going to begin the session with Ms. Sander now. Please wait in the lounge. If you need anything, my assistant can assist you.”
“Of course. Thank you, Dr. Zimmer.” I forced myself to appear calm, suppressing the panic clawing at my chest. As I turned to leave, I added, “By the way, where’s the lounge?”
“Out—the door, to your right.”
“Got it.” I patted Whitney’s shoulder gently before stepping back. Compared to her calm composure, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was the one unraveling. She’d learned how to protect herself early on, while I had grown up in a safe bubble. Her instincts were sharper, more untamed, and she was always ready for whatever life threw at her way.
The waiting area had a small drink station, offering a variety of options. I grabbed a glass of warm water and picked up a comic from the shelf. Thanks to Zoey, I’d gotten pulled into the world of manga. At first, I thought it was just for kids, something childish. But now, I found myself lost in the stories.
Before I realized it, the pile of comics beside me was growing higher. I was so close to finding out. The next issue was almost within reach, but the volume I had was finished. I went back to the shelf and tried to look for the next volume. It was there, but the problem was, the next volume was right on the topmost shelf. I leaned on it and stood on my tiptoe, trying to take it.
“I’ll get that for you,” a familiar voice drifted from behind me. I felt the air shift as Sergio’s chest pressed against my back. He reached up and grabbed the comic.
“Is this the one?” he asked.
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. I stepped back, creating some distance between us, and sank into the couch. “How’s Starling doing?”
“Not great,” he replied. I squeezed the comic in my hands, my nerves starting to show. “What’s going on?”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands forming a triangle in front of him. His voice was even. “When we start therapy, the first thing we need to do is build trust. Ms. Sander isn’t cooperating.”
“So you failed right out of the gate?” I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of satisfaction. After all, we had known each other for years, and I had never seen him struggle like this before. A famous psychologist like Sergio must have never met anyone as difficult as Whitney.
“Yeah, pretty much. Not only is your friend refusing to open up, but she’s also very defensive. It feels more like I’m here to interrogate her than to help. She has strong mental control, which makes reaching out to her much harder.”
That made sense. Whitney had grown up in a world full of danger, especially with Taylor. If she wasn’t mentally tough, she’d have crumbled long ago. For her, everyone was an enemy, and self-defense was a reflex.
Most people went to see a therapist looking for help, wanting some answers. But Whitney? She didn’t think anything was wrong with her way of thinking. She understood how hideous human nature could be. The more you exposed yourself, the more vulnerable you became.
“So, are you giving up on her?” I asked.
He handed me a glass of orange juice. “I can only help those who want help. If she’s not ready to be saved, no one can help her.”
I took a sip, thinking about the act we still had to maintain. Whether the therapy worked or not didn’t matter so much for now. “Please, give it one more try. Maybe a few more sessions will make a difference.”
I signed a check and handed it to him. “I know your rates are high. At least for this week, I hope you can really work with Starling.”
“I’ll try my best.” He fiddled with the check, then asked casually, “By the way, do you still have trouble sleeping?”
“I don’t have trouble sleeping anymore, I…” My words trailed off, and I looked at him, surprised.