The Memory Therapist - ONC 2020

Chapter Four

I sit in a swanky restaurant across from Detective Maison. I'm surprised that he's taken me here to discuss his case, but I can only assume that this dinner is not all business. Especially as he fidgets and pretends to be enthralled by the menu.

It's not where I want to be but I need to know what his thoughts are on this case to ensure that I am not a suspect. I would be impressed if I was after the short conversation we had, but perhaps there's something that lead him to me specifically.

Sure his suspect was my patient, but there were plenty of other memory therapists that could answer his question regarding the science behind it. I can't provide insight to his suspect either due to ethics. Which doesn't matter considering he thinks my patient is innocent anyways.

I run a calculating gaze over Charles as he immerses himself in the menu even more. What is he trying to accomplish here?

There was no way that I was connected to this murder (besides my patient). I knew that there was no evidence left at the crime scene - I'm not stupid. I sure as hell wasn't targeting people who could be traced back to me. Patients were strictly prohibited, no matter how much I hated some of them. How would I explain all my patients dying on me?

No. At this point in the investigation I am not on the radar for any more than being a consultant on the case. But I still want to pick his brain and push him away from me if his instinct is suspecting me. So I have to be here, even if I don't think it's necessary.

I inhale deeply, giving the illusion that I am calming my nerves. Since I was calm and collected in my office, he can only assume this restaurant is what's giving me the jitters. He provides a small smile that is meant to comfort me.

I'm about to ask why he brought me to an expensive restaurant just to make him more anxious (nervous people say stupid things), when our waitress comes by. After informing us that her name is Kelly, she jots down our orders and scurries away to the back kitchen.

I find what someone orders on a date says a lot about them. Let's be real here, Charles brought me on a date. Perhaps he won't admit it to himself yet, but I'm not as naive.

He's ordered a pasta with chicken. I'm sure sometime during dinner he will mention that he loves pasta because it resembles a puzzle or some nonsense - he picks the pieces he wants to complete the picture. Well in this case, the flavour.

I have ordered a rare steak and salad. I won't hide my taste for blood or my chance to taunt the smart detective in front of me. At least that's what a therapist would say. If I had one.

As we continue to sit in silence, I conclude that Kelly would make a good torture victim. She's cute and young, with deep blue eyes and blonde hair. What's not to love about her death? Just as I'm deciding how I would kill her, Charles asks, "Have you been here before?"

"No, but I'm always intrigued in trying new things. Though I confess, my default always is a good rare steak. Hopefully they don't disappoint."

"Their food is really good. The pasta here is my default. It's like an investigation - picking the relevant parts to make the story complete." He smiles sheepishly as I raise my eyebrows. Typical.

"A man so devoted to the job that he even sees it in food. I'm sure all your girlfriends are jealous over your connection with pasta," I tease.

"If I had one, then probably. They tend to see the red flag by the first date and leave me hanging," he jokes.

"Understandable. It is quite concerning. You take all your first dates here?"

"Not necessarily. But it is a good swooning location."