The Blue Ridge Project: A Dark Suspense Novel (The Project Book 1) by Neil Rochford Page B

pushed open a pair of white doors to reveal a spacious lounge.
    There were two comfortable-looking brown-leather chairs across from each other with a small, round, wooden table held up by a wooden sphere, instead of legs, that had been carved and polished with great care, and a round, flat piece of wood for the tabletop. The orange and light-brown curtains were pulled almost all the way across, although the light allowed into the room was warm and illuminating. If Andrea had to give only one word for the room, it would be “relaxed.” The angles of the walls and the bookcases spoke soothingly to her subconscious. She walked slowly past Silvers, removed her jacket and laid it across the back of one of the chairs. She stood in front of a painting of a stag standing on a hilltop, looking down over the sheer drop below him and the green spreading away into a warm orange sunset.
    “It’s from an old patient,” Silvers said from behind her. “I’m not much of an art expert, but I like it. I find it calming.” Silvers moved to stand beside the chair opposite, facing the painting.
    Andrea nodded, admiring the loveliness of the green grass winding up to meet the horizon, with no emptiness in between. She did indeed feel a little bit of the calming effect Silvers was talking about. Then again, maybe it was suggestibility. She was a shrink, after all. She turned to face Silvers.
    “Please,” Silvers said, “sit.”
    Andrea sat down and crossed her legs with one foot over the other knee, tapping her fingers lightly in a steady rhythm on her ankle. Silvers sat down opposite, her legs and arms open. Body Language One-Oh-One , Andrea mused.
    “I was sent over some information about you and what happened from your superiors, but I want to hear it from you. In my experience, you can’t learn about a person from a file.”
    Andrea eyed Silvers for a second before answering. “What would you like to know?”
    “Well, I suppose a good place to start is why you believe you’re here with me.”
    Andrea guessed Silvers’ smile was supposed to disarm her. “I’m here because I didn’t learn about a person from his file and I had to shoot him instead of arresting him. I got injured, and I didn’t agree to the mandatory counseling being held at my bedside so I signed up to come here when I got out.”
    Silvers continued smiling her friendly professional smile. “You must be special, getting to choose your mandated therapy days. Would I be right in saying that somebody is looking out for you?”
    “A friend on the force I helped. I guess he wanted to do me a favor.” Andrea stilled her tapping fingers.
    “How do you feel about the shooting?”
    “The act itself? I’m not sure it lasted long enough to warrant a feeling. There were gunshots, and it was done. The person was there, and the next he was dead. It was the most favorable outcome of a bad fucking situation.”
    “Do you think it was the right thing to do?”
    Andrea looked away, wishing in an irrational way that she had sat on the side facing the painting.
    “Andrea, while we’re both here we may as well try to talk about what happened, to help you understand it. I’m not here to judge, just to help you with adjustments you might need to make.”
    Andrea turned her head back to Silvers, the slightest sliver of contempt piercing her voice. “But you are here to judge. If you deem me unfit to return to work I’m out. Maybe permanently.”
    “My primary goal is to aid. I will only declare people not ready for duty if there is truly no progress to be made here in these sessions with me.” Silvers looked at her with what seemed to be an honest and open face.
    Andrea kept her gaze. “All right,” she said finally, “but there’s still doctor-patient confidentiality, right? That exists here, doesn’t it?”
    Silvers nodded, and Andrea began to speak.

PART TWO
Before All This
 

12
Transfer
 
    “All right, everybody,” Hynes shouted to the packed room of