Clean and with the worst of her cuts bandaged, Andie sat in the comfortable armchair in front of Dr. Locke's desk. The sound of the pen scratching out his notes made her shudder involuntarily. It reminded her too much of the inescapable whispers she heard in the dark.
Finally, he put his pen down and leaned back in his desk chair. "How are you feeling today, Andie?" he asked gently.
Her brows drew together in frustration, eyes narrowing on the foolish man in front of her. "How do I feel?" she parroted.
He nodded in encouragement. "I feel like you're going to get me killed," she fumed, her voice cracking painfully.
"Andie, I know these night terrors seem very real to you at the time, but no one is trying to hurt you. We're only trying to help you. Can we try talking about who it is you're seeing when you have these dreams?" Dr. Locke asked for the hundredth time.
She sighed heavily and shook her head. They'd been over this for weeks. Ever since he had dismissed her situation as nothing more than night terrors and PTSD, she had refused to repeat her story.
He sighed, "I'll call Jana to escort you to the observation room. You'll be staying there until we can be certain that you're not going to hurt yourself anymore."
"I'm not the one hurting myself," Andie mumbled to herself. Silently, she added, "Maybe you can see for yourself this time."