By this time next week, who knew whereshe might be?
Even right at this moment, their nextkiller was probably doing his work, setting them a puzzle—and there was alwaysa chance that the next one would be the one she couldn’t solve. Zoe fought theuneasy feeling in her gut, somehow convincing her that she knew: this time nextweek, she would be in deep on a case that would make all the others seem likechild’s play.
CHAPTER THREE
Zoe adjusted her position on the seat,settling further into the comfortable old armchair. She was getting used tositting here, strange as it sounded even to her own ears that she was becomingaccustomed to therapy.
Talking to someone week on week abouther personal issues had once seemed like Zoe’s own idea of hell, but having Dr.Lauren Monk on her side so far hadn’t turned out so badly. After all, Dr. Monkwas the one who had encouraged her to go on more dates with John, and that had,so far at least, been a good decision.
On her part, anyway. She was beginningto wonder whether John could say the same.
“So, tell me about this date. Whathappened?” Dr. Monk asked, adjusting her notebook on her knee.
Zoe sighed. “I just could notconcentrate,” she said. “The numbers were taking over. It was all I could thinkabout. I missed whole sentences of his conversation. I wanted to give him myfull attention, but I could not switch it off.”
Dr. Monk nodded seriously, resting herhand on her chin. Since the session when Zoe had come clean about hersynesthesia—her ability to see numbers everywhere and in everything, like the factthat Dr. Monk’s pen was heavier than average due to the slight fifteen-degreeangle of droop as it rested on the edge of her fingers compared to that of a BIC—shehad been finding the therapy even more helpful. It was freeing in many ways, tobe able to really admit what was going on and how she was struggling.
There were few people in the world whoknew about Zoe’s synesthesia. There was Dr. Monk, and Dr. Francesca Applewhite,who had been Zoe’s mentor since her college days. Then there was her partner atthe bureau, Special Agent Shelley Rose.
And that was it. She didn’t even needall of the fingers on her hand to count them. Those were the only people that shehad ever trusted enough to tell since her first diagnosis—from a doctor whom shehadn’t seen since that day. Deliberately so. For a long time, she had thoughtthat there might have been some way to run away from or ignore the ability thather mother called the devil’s magic.
But so long as it was helping her tosolve crimes, Zoe couldn’t say that she wanted it gone. Not anymore. It justwould be useful if it would quiet down when she was trying to forge a romanticrelationship, which didn’t require specific measurements of the liquid in eachglass or the distance between John’s eyes.
“What might be helpful is if we come upwith some ways, together, that could help you turn down the volume—quiet yourbrain down, so to speak,” Dr. Monk said. “Is that something that you’d like toexplore?”
Zoe nodded, startled by the lump thathad taken over her throat at the thought of being able to do that. “Yes,” shemanaged. “That would be great.”
“All right.” Dr. Monk thought for amoment, tapping the pen absentmindedly against her collarbone. Zoe had noticedthis habit, always an even number of taps.
“Why do you do that?” she blurted out,only to be embarrassed a second later that she had asked.
Dr. Monk was looking at her in surprise.“You mean, tapping on my collarbone?”
“Sorry. That is your personal business.You do not have to tell me.”
Dr. Monk smiled. “I don’t mind.Actually, it’s something I picked up when I was a student. It’s a calmingexercise.”
Zoe frowned. “You do not feel calm?”
“I do. It’s become something of a habitnow, even when I’m thinking. It allows me to go down into a more Zen state. Iused to get panic attacks when I was younger. Have you ever experienced a panicattack, Zoe?”
Zoe thought back, trying to figure outwhat would qualify. “I do not think so.”
“Whether it’s a full panic attack orsomething less severe, what we need is for you to have something that can calmyou down, fade out the numbers. We want your mind to stop racing, allowing youto focus on one thing at a time.”
Zoe nodded, tracing her fingers over thecracks in the leather arm of her chair. “That would be nice.”
“Let’s start with a meditative exercise.What I think you should start to do is to undertake meditation practice everynight, perhaps just before you go to bed. This is going to be an ongoing aidwhich will improve your ability to control your mind over time. It’s not aninstant fix, but if you stick with it, you will see results. With me so far?”
Zoe nodded mutely.
“Good. Now, listen to my instructions. Iwant you to give it a try right now, and then you’ll be able to practice it onyour own tonight. Start by closing your eyes and counting your breaths. Try toshut everything else out of your mind.”
Zoe closed her eyes obediently andstarted to breathe deeply. One, she thought to herself. Two.
“All right. As soon as you get up toten, you just start again from one. Don’t let yourself count any further. Youjust want to keep counting those breaths, until you start to feel relaxed.”
Zoe tried, attempting to force otherthoughts out of her mind. It was hard. Her brain wanted to tell her that therewas an itch on her right leg, or that she could faintly smell Dr. Monk’scoffee, or to remind her how strange it was to be sitting in someone’s officewith her eyes closed. Then it wanted to tell her that she was doing theexercise wrong and allowing herself to be distracted.
Was she breathing at the right pace,anyway? How quickly was one supposed to breathe? Was she doing it right? Whatif she had been breathing wrong for this whole time? For her whole life? Howwould she know?
Despite
