“Recovery after such a traumatic experience can be . . .” the doc began.

“I don't want to recover!” I screamed, suddenly tired of trying to play normal. “I just want to die and get it over with! Why wait, you know? Besides . . .”

“Besides,” she prompted when I stopped as I realized I'd just blown my chance of freedom . . . again.

I almost didn't answer that, but I figured I didn't have anything to lose at this point. “Besides,” I answered softly. “Then I won't keep wondering why he saved me, worthless stupid pathetic me, and left the others behind. How could he do something like that? Why me?”

The look she gave me was almost sympathetic, so I thought maybe I still had a shot at pulling this off after all, so I started to flatter and wheedle. “You're smart, right? Because if you weren't smart, you wouldn't be sitting there, now would you, doc?”

She just sat there.

“Maybe if you tell me why, then maybe those will be the magic words that fix me and make me all happy shiny normal again. That's why you're here, isn't it?” It was my best performance to date, and my mother would have definitely fallen for it.

Unfortunately, my mother wasn't in the audience.

“No,” the doc intoned.

“What?” I asked, completely baffled.

“That is not why I am here,” said tonelessly. “Such a hope is perhaps why your mother agreed to your being sent here, but that is not why I am here.”

Busted! I thought, then said out loud, “Alright, doc, I'll bite. Why are you here then?”

“I have been waiting for this moment,” she explained. “When I ask you this question: Have you talked to him since?”

Now I was really confused. “What? Who?”

“Tyr.”

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