Wednesday entered Dr.
Kinbott’s office without knocking.
The therapist looked up from her notes and offered the same warm smile she seemed to reserve for all of her patients.
“Good afternoon, Wednesday. Please, have a seat.”
Wednesday sat across from her.
“I assume this is the part where you ask how I’m feeling.”
Dr.
Kinbott smiled.
“How are you feeling?”
“Disappointed.”
“What disappointed you?”
“I was hoping you’d begin with something less predictable.”
Rather than reacting, Dr.
Kinbott jotted down a note before closing her notebook.
“Principal Weems tells me you’re settling into Nevermore.”
“Principal Weems is an optimist.”
“You don’t agree?”
“I’ve spent less than forty-eight hours there and already acquired a roommate who treats color as a personality trait. The school is overflowing with hormonal teenagers who mistake noise for conversation. I fail to see what’s so optimistic about that.”
Dr.
Kinbott folded her hands.
“You don’t seem interested in making friends.”
Wednesday tilted her head ever so slightly.
“Why would I voluntarily surround myself with a collection of incompetent strangers? Human beings are disappointingly predictable.”
“I imagine your parents would disagree.”
“My parents mistake constant surveillance for affection.”
“They worry because they love you.”
“They have a peculiar way of demonstrating it.”
Dr.
Kinbott leaned forward.
“Every question I ask is answered with another layer of sarcasm. You don’t have to treat every conversation like an interrogation.”
“I disagree. People reveal considerably more when they’re uncomfortable.”
“And yet you make sure you’re the only one who never reveals anything.”
“I find emotional transparency to be an exploitable weakness.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Dr.
Kinbott eventually broke the silence.
“Do you actually want to get better?”
Wednesday met her eyes without hesitation.
“I wasn’t aware I was ill.”
She rose from her chair and reached for the door. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
“I believe our mandatory session has exceeded its entertainment value.”
Dr.
Kinbott glanced at the clock.
“It hasn’t even been an hour.”
“It has for me.”
“You can walk out if you want, but it won’t accomplish anything,” Dr.
Kinbott said, her voice calm but firm.
“These sessions are court-ordered. You’ll just be back here tomorrow, and the day after that, until the court says otherwise.”
Wednesday paused with her hand on the doorknob.
After a brief silence, she turned back.
“May I use your bathroom?”
The sudden request caught Dr.
Kinbott slightly off guard.
“Of course.”
“My gratitude.”
***
Wednesday quietly slid open the bathroom window and looked down.
The office was only on the first floor.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she climbed onto the windowsill, grabbed the drainpipe, and lowered herself to the ground with practiced ease.
Thing crawled out of her backpack and climbed onto her shoulder, tapping twice against her collar before signing.
Aren’t we escaping?
Wednesday brushed a speck of dust from her sleeve and continued toward the sidewalk.
“No.”
Thing cocked an eyebrow.
“This is merely an unscheduled conclusion to a thoroughly unproductive therapy session.”
Dr.
Kinbott won’t be happy.
“That would imply her opinion concerns me.”
Without another glance at the office, Wednesday adjusted her backpack and made her way into the streets of Jericho.
There wasn’t a taxi in sight.
Wednesday frowned almost imperceptibly.
“What an impressively inconvenient town.”
Her gaze drifted across the street before settling on the Weathervane.
After a moment’s consideration, she pushed open the door and walked inside.
The lunchtime rush had passed, leaving only a handful of customers scattered throughout the café.
She approached the counter.
“I require four espresso shots in a single cup.”
The employee operating the espresso machine had his back to her.
“Excellent choice. Give me just a—”
The sentence stopped halfway.
Oliver turned around with a paper cup in his hand and froze when he saw who was standing at the counter.
“…Oh.”
“Of all the people I expected to encounter today, you ranked last.”
Oliver let out a quiet sigh.
“The feeling’s mutual.”
Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.
Finally, Oliver reached for another paper cup.
“So… four espresso shots?”
Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
“I was under the impression your hearing functioned normally.”
“It does. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind.”
“My opinions rarely require revision.”
“Figured it was worth asking.”
He locked the portafilter into the espresso machine and pressed the button.
The steady hum filled the silence as dark espresso streamed into the cup.
Wednesday watched him work.
“I wasn’t aware Nevermore had expanded its curriculum to include food service.”
“It hasn’t.”
“Then why are you here?”
Oliver didn’t glance in her direction.
“That’s none of your business.”
Wednesday rested an elbow on the counter.
“Perhaps. Although I’m curious what Principal Weems would think if she discovered one of her students had taken a part-time job without permission.”
Oliver’s hand paused for the briefest moment.
“So… she doesn’t know.” Wednesday’s expression didn’t change.
“What do you want, Wednesday?”
“I want transportation out of this disappointingly isolated town.”
Oliver placed the finished cup on the counter.
“Then you’re out of luck. Jericho doesn’t have a taxi service.”
“No buses?”
“No.”
“A train station?”
“The nearest one is in Burlington. About a thirty-minute drive from here.”
For the first time since entering the café, Wednesday looked genuinely unimpressed.
“So this town has managed to exist without public transportation.”
“Most people here own a car.”
“An astonishingly inefficient system.”
“Welcome to Jericho.”
Wednesday picked up the cup of espresso.
“My opinion of this town continues to decline.”
“I don’t think the town will lose any sleep over that.”