Concealed Affliction by Harlow Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

verify where you’re at mentally so that the police can determine what happened at the residence of the home you were kept in.”
     
    In my opinion, Andrew’s shrine of me speaks for itself—pictures of me at lunch with friends, at home raking the yard and at the park with my beautiful little girl. The blood, the knife, and the frayed rope left hanging from the beam tell the rest of the story. Self-explanatory really, aside from the two dead male bodies on the floor.
     
    Only one deserved it.
     
    “Jayne, I know what you’ve been through-”
     
    I cut the cold bitch off, I’ve had enough. I’m not certifiably insane, I’m fucking miserable. There’s a big difference!  Why the hell would I want to talk about it? And who in their right mind would want to hear about it?
     
    “You know?”I ask in my low raspy voice, slightly shaking my head. I can’t fully move anything because my body hurts too badly. “No, Anderson, you don’t know. And until you do, until you’ve hung in a basement for three fucking days, don’t you dare try to tell me ‘you know’. I’ll speak with the police, I will not speak with you. Now get the fuck out of my room.”
     
    Apparently my outburst hasn’t shocked her, because the bitch presses on.
     
    “Jayne, if I believe you’re mentally unstable or mentally traumatized, I will invoke my right to keep you here under observation. The police have questions regarding the deaths that took place where you were held, and I need to determine if you’re mentally stable to answer those questions.”
     
    “I’m breathing, I’m alive and I can see daylight. That’s as stable as you’re going to get right now, Anderson.”
     
    She huffs out a long breath and begins flipping through some papers in her binder.
     
    “Very well, Ms. O’Connor.”
     
    She jots down some notes on a piece of paper before tucking the binder under her arm and looking at me. If her job was to truly assess me, if she was really concerned about my well-being, she wouldn’t give in so easy. This woman is like a pill dispenser. A doctor who would rather prescribe you a medication than diagnose what the true problem is.
     
    She signed off on my paperwork, therefore she’ll get her paycheck to fund the next round of Botox injections and her weekly dry cleaning bill.
     
    “I’m finished here unless the detectives need to speak with me. I’ll send them in on my way out.”
     
    I don’t respond, and I don’t watch her leave. I lie here and stare out the window, appreciating the silence, although it’s short lived.
     
    “Ms. O’Connor, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding the incident that took place in Bakersville two days ago.”
     
    If I never heard his voice again, it would be too soon.
     
    Detective Braumer.
     
    The last time I heard it was after my mother, father and little girl were taken from me. I now know that Andrew, my attacker, and the man who kept me captive was responsible for their deaths. If one good thing can come of speaking to the detectives, sharing this information might be it.
     
    “Andrew was responsible for the death of my family.”
     
    I finally turn my head to gauge the reaction of Detective Braumer, as well as his kind partner Detective Miller, who jumps in to ask questions.
     
    “Did Mr. Roberts say that Ms. O’Connor?”
     
    Braumer cuts him off.
     
    “We’re not here regarding the death of your family Ms. O’Connor, we’re here because there are two dead men in a basement, and one alive and breathing woman lying in a hospital bed. We need answers and an explanation of what happened two days ago.”
     
    This sack of shit excuse for a detective has no empathy at all. Not that I expected it, but I at least would like him to acknowledge what I just said.
     
    “My memory is fuzzy, the doctor said this is to be expected.”
     
    I’m lying, but I’m also exhausted. My speech is slower, most likely from the automatic morphine drip connected to