by Erin Lanter
Her work there was done.
A knock at the front door pulled her from her thoughts. When she opened it, she was surprised to see Detective Jefferson standing there.
He looked down at his shoes and said, “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were ever put in that kind of danger, and I’m sorry I stopped believing you. I hope you can forgive me.”
Tessa smiled and reached for the detective’s hand. Giving it a squeeze, she said, “All is forgiven. Thank you for rescuing me.”
Detective Jefferson dropped his eyes to the floor. “When I found out your mom was sick, I guess I assumed some of that rubbed off on you.”
“I see,” Tessa said softly, a knot forming in her stomach. Another misconception.
Shuffling his feet, he said, “My little sister was murdered twenty years ago by a man who’d developed a fixation on her. She was only nineteen, a sophomore in college, and was walking back to her dorm room after a meeting with her academic advisor. The guy was schizophrenic, had been in and out of hospitals for years, and had a history of violent behavior.” The detective’s eyes watered. “She never saw him coming. Ever since then, I’ve been extra vigilant when one of my witnesses has a family history of mental illness. I’m sorry to say, I was skeptical of everything you told me.”
“I understand. I only hope that I’ve helped you see that your doubts aren’t always justified.”
“Yes, you have. It seems that I have a lot to learn.” The detective smiled, then grew serious. “We got the results back from the good doctor’s tox screen. It looks like he was intending to inject you with cyanide.”
A shiver raced down Tessa’s spine. If they hadn’t gotten there when they did, she would have been dead long before anyone found her.
Detective Jefferson cleared his throat. “Well, I wish you all the best. Take care of yourself,” he said, then turned and walked back to his car.
“You, too,” Tessa replied as the detective opened his car door.
Tessa had survived the darkest hours of her life, and was, for the first time in her memory, confident she could face whatever happened next.
Note from the Author
This story exists because I couldn’t get the line Mama taught me monsters are real out of my head. What if the story revolved around a woman who was raised by a paranoid mother? How would her childhood affect her life as an adult? What would be her biggest fear? I grew to love Tessa James, and hope I communicated her strength and vulnerability in a way that made you love her, too.
I have been fascinated by mental illness for more than two decades, which would explain my undergraduate and graduate degrees. After college, my first job in the mental health field was at a state psychiatric hospital. Many of the events that take place in the hospital scenes are inspired by my work at the hospital.
If you suffer with mental illness and have yet to seek help, know that you aren’t alone and that there is no shame in needing support. Speak up and speak out. You can help destigmatize mental illness.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255
www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
National Alliance on Mental Illness: 1-800-950-6264
www.nami.org
Acknowledgements
Once again, I’m reminded that it takes a village to take a story from an idea and rough draft to a finished product that is worthy of being placed in a reader’s hands.
To my editors, Stephen Parolini and Caroline Knecht, who helped smooth the rough edges of this story. Thank you for the encouraging comments and the learning experience.
The designers at Damonza, who have a knack for creating beautiful books, inside and out.
To my husband, Billy, who has always encouraged me to do what I love, as well as many friends and family who continue to spur me on with their support. I love you all!
Finally, to you, the reader. A story doesn’t come alive until it’s in your hands. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Until next time!
Erin