Twist of Fate

An Until Dawn Fanfiction

Chapter 2:

The Elusive, Mysterious Elliot Roth

Dinner With Liam and Margaret - 7:15 PM - Los Angeles

"Sorry, I'm sorry... so sorry!" Sam repeated over and over again as she hurriedly approached the table where Liam and her mom were seated. She brushed her wild hair from her forehead and out of her eyes so she could see her mother as she leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, the same for Liam. He stood, pulling out a chair for her and helping her as she pulled off her heavy coat.

"No worries, Sammy," Margaret said with a lighthearted chuckle, watching her adorably flustered daughter take the seat beside her. She reached over, taming a loose strand of Sam's hair lovingly before resting her palm on Sam's cheek. "We know you're busy."

Liam snapped his fingers at a waiter a few times to get his attention before quietly ordering Sam a glass of Pinot Grigio, to which she bit her tongue and smiled tightly. She'd told him maybe a billion times that it was actually Pinot Noir that she drank, but the information never seemed to stay embedded in his memory for long enough to stop him from regularly ordering it. He turned towards her with a bright, proud smile, his arm instinctively landing on the back of her chair and against her shoulder blades.

"How was your first day with the new patient?" he said with a nod in her direction, his glass of whiskey being brought to his lips. Sam still felt a hundred miles away. Get it together, Sam. Shake it off. She leaned forward, and away from the weight of Liam's arm against her back; it made her feel stifled. She needed the space to breathe.

"Oh, uh...yeah. Rescheduled," she said simply with a slight shrug. The waiter set the wineglass in front of her, and even if it wasn't her favorite, she snapped her hand out and brought the glass up happily; anything to take a bit of the anxiety away from her. Liam and Margaret both watched Sam's gulps, sharing a look between one another.

"Sam... sweetie... are you alright?" Margaret asked, scooting her chair slightly closer to Sam as she winced a bit from the taste of the wine. Sam opened her mouth to speak; she usually told her mother everything. In fact, after the day she'd had today, the only person she wanted to spill her innermost thoughts to was her mother. But, her eyes flitted to Liam for a moment, leaning in and listening intently, and she relinquished another smile in Margaret's direction instead. She couldn't talk about this in front of him. She'd never even told him about that night on Mount Washington. She'd never told him about the death of her friends, the countless years of therapy she went through herself or about how failing Josh was the single most important reason why she had decided to become a psychiatrist in the first place. She certainly never told him she was madly in love with him and that a part of her would always belong to him - No. Things like that had never come up.

"I'm fine," she finally declared, forcing her most convincing smile this time. Margaret nodded, but Sam could still see the worry behind her mother's eyes - although it seemed enough for Liam. She took in a ragged breath, pulling on a mask to hide any more of her apprehension from the two people she loved the most. It was better this way.

"Oh, I forgot!" Margaret exclaimed suddenly, reaching down into her purse to fish something out. "I was going through old boxes today... and I found... this!" she beamed, flattening out a piece of cloth against the table, smoothing it out with her hands. Sam glanced at it before reaching down and running her fingertips across the embroidery – S+J. Sam admired it, recognizing the initials as her grandparents' – Sarah and Jacob. She couldn't help but note another S+J in her mind…

"This is beautiful," Sam breathed, unable to take her eyes off of the letters.

"Your grandmother had this gifted to her on the day she married your papa. I wanted you to have it for your wedding."

"Thanks, mom," Sam said, her eyes unable to leave the tattered, old piece of cloth. It felt wasted upon her, as though she wasn't worthy of such a gift - and she didn't know where these thoughts had come from. Suddenly, after the events of the day she felt 16 again, unsure and scared of every decision she made.

"Very nice," Liam agreed, rubbing the cloth between his pointer finger and his thumb. "Thanks, Ms. J." Sam had to keep from rolling her eyes. She hated when he called her that.

And besides, 'thanks,' wasn't enough in Sam's mind. Her grandparents were the most amazing, loving couple she'd ever seen in her life. Maybe they were the only role models of a marriage she'd ever had, considering her parent's divorce when she was 13. She remembered that day like it was yesterday. Of course, after the news broke, she had 'ran away' to the Washington home to see her best friends.

Hannah had been preoccupied with practicing her clarinet for the school recital, although she'd still attempted to offer some stock words of wisdom.

"This isn't your fault," she'd promised. "These things just… happen... sometimes." Her eyes suddenly brightened with an optimistic smile. "And now at least you get to have two Christmases!"

Sam wasn't so easily swayed, though, her heart in pieces as she sat on the swing in the Washington's backyard, just reflecting on life and the end of her world as she knew it.

"It's not the end of the world," Josh promised, his 14 year old face and braces still perfectly preserved in her memory. "I mean… Parents suck you know? But they're people. And they deserve to be happy...even if that means that they're apart."

"But why can't the just figure it out?" Sam mumbled, digging her sneaker into the wet, crumbling dirt beneath her feet. "Why can't they just get along?" Josh gave a shrug, the first in a lifetime of shrugs that she would witness. A sigh.

"I mean… I dunno. My parents barely even talk. They just seem to hate each other… To be honest, I kinda just wish they'd go their separate ways. I'd rather them be divorced than living a lie…"

Sam thought about that for a moment; in the time she'd been friends with the Washingtons, she'd never seen Bob or Melinda even show the slightest bit of affection towards one another. Maybe Josh was right. In fact, he usually was. Sam learned a lot of valuable lessons from the eldest Washington sibling.

Dinner went by fast, and Sam made a mental note to give her mom a call to tell her just what was going through her mind and why she'd seemed so weird. They'd said goodbye and Sam promised to call her tomorrow, but she had no idea how to even begin to explain where her head was at dinner. She'd smoothly avoided answering any questions about the wedding the whole night simply because she had no idea what she wanted. Dress fittings were coming up soon, and Sam hadn't even picked her colors. Hell, she didn't even have bridesmaids.

Once they'd made it home, Sam entered their bedroom, trying her best to push all of the thoughts out of her head. Liam stood nearby, loosening his tie while he went on and on about the most recent bullet points of his meeting this morning, all of which was of very little interest to her. She leaned against the door, reaching up to take her hair down as she smiled a bit in his direction, at least giving off the impression that she was listening.

Liam was a good man; uncomplicated. Smart. He was very 'husband material,' as her mother had said before - the first and last thing Margaret had ever said in regards to the man. Sam had been with him for a long time now, and she couldn't really imagine her life without him; although she wasn't sure if it was because she couldn't live without him or if she just hadn't ever tried.

She glanced down at her engagement ring, sparkling in the low lights of bedroom. It was massive. Gaudy. So unlike her. When he'd presented it to her, she had to mentally block herself from thinking about all of the hungry children they could have fed with the cost of this ring alone, and now it rested comfortably on her finger. She always felt a little bit like a fraud, wearing it around. It brought too much attention to her in a way that she wasn't comfortable with, but she always figured she'd have to get used to. Liam liked the finer things in life, and Sam would be his wife soon.

"Sam," he said her name, and it almost sounded harsh. She snapped her head in his direction, and the look on his face made her realize he'd been trying to get her attention for a little while.

"Yeah, sorry," she finally said, shaking her head, as well as the thoughts along with it. He chuckled at her, tossing his belt to the side of the room where it landed on a sitting chair with a plop. He walked toward her.

"Where are you tonight? You're so out of it," he said, cupping her cheeks in each of his hands. He gave her a very gentle shake, "Earth to Samantha," he teased before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her involuntarily puckered lips before he let go and walked passed her to the bathroom. She laughed a bit, despite herself.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. Today was just... a weird day," she sighed. For a split second, she almost considered telling him about seeing Josh, but she knew she'd have to also explain who Josh was, and everything else that came along with it. She walked over to her vanity, taking a seat on the hard bench as she caught her reflection in the mirror. She absently took her brush in her hand, combing out her long, golden hair. It had kinks in it all over from being up all day, and when she ran the brush's bristles down the length of it, it only seemed to cause it to frizz. Even her bedtime ritual just felt... off.

"My parents said they are planning on an Italian spread for the rehearsal dinner, by the way. I told them that was fine," Liam said, poking his head out of the bathroom for a moment. "I figured that's fine with you? I'll make sure they have Eggplant Parmesan."

"Fine," she uttered, slightly positive that the only thing she'd be able to eat at her own rehearsal dinner would be salad... since vegan italian food was hard to come by. Maybe if she was still living in the crunchy, nature loving Pacific Northwest that would be an option... but not the chic, slick LA area they lived in now.

Sam was in a daze, her brain felt heavy sitting in her skull as she kept thinking about what she'd thought she'd saw earlier today, despite her best efforts to stop. It looked so much like him, and she hated the tailspin it seemed to cause on her own psyche. She had done a pretty good job, these last few years, getting his memories purged from her - in retrospect it probably wasn't the best idea, considering now it was all coming back to her at once.

What she hated the most was the longing and aching she was carrying in her heart now, and she felt so alone. She thought again about divulging a bit of her strife to Liam. That was, of course, the healthy thing to do. She wanted to be able to share everything with him… but there were some things that couldn't be explained to someone who didn't experience it first-hand. And although she hadn't talked to the gang (aside from Chris earlier that day) in the better half of the last 8 years, she still felt just as connected to them as she was the night it happened. Tragedies bond people.

Sam had enough of these thoughts today. She reached into the drawer of her vanity and pulled out a bottle of Xanex before popping one in her mouth - prescribed to her just in case she ever felt that anxiety she'd coped with for the last 9 years begin to creep up on her. What was still bothering her when she wiped her face, removing her make up with a moist towelette, was how badly she had wished it were him. As though no time had passed at all.

If wishes were fishes, the sea would be full of 'em.

She used to say that to Hannah all the time, each time Hannah threw herself on her bed and lamented about how in love with Mike she was or how she wished he'd break up with Emily. Sam would just sit in the desk chair beside her, casually flipping through a magazine or playing some music on the computer. Hannah was such a wisher, such a dreamer.

How could I forget about them? All of them?

How could I forget about him?

Arms wrapping around Sam's waist pulled her out of her brief memory, and for some reason that she couldn't explain, she felt herself shying away from Liam's touch. She stood, abruptly breaking the contact with him. He didn't seem to notice, which made her feel relieved.

"I'm going to bed," she said, almost robotically. The Xanex was already kicking in. Her eyes felt heavy; she wondered if she looked as delirious as she felt. She turned, walking towards the giant, fluffy, queen bed. Liam smiled, his own eyes following her every movement, and she knew that smile like she knew every bit of him. Uncomplicated. She never wondered what was going through his head, she was never baffled by his actions. "I… I've got a big morning tomorrow," she said quietly, turning down the sheets and fluffing up her pillow. "You… understand, right?"

"Of course," he said, walking to his side of the bed and pulling down the rest of the blankets. He gave a shrug. "I'm not so greedy to think I can have you two times today…" Sam smiled, but she kinda felt put off by the comment. Before, she might have found it endearing or cute, but for some reason it just didn't have the same effect tonight. Sam crawled into bed next to Liam before pressing a quick kiss into his cheek.

"Night," she said, before turning away from him. She was already dozing off before her head hit the pillow.

November 3rd - Session 1 - Elliot Roth

Sam awoke and noticed there was far too much daylight in her bedroom, and she had to do a double-take. 7:21 am. Sam shot up in a panic, her heart racing; how did this happen? How did she over-sleep so badly? She turned beside her to see Liam's side of the bed vacant – he must have gone into the office early and decided not to wake her.

She threw the covers up and over, feeling frustrated that she'd been more than prepared for her new client yesterday, before he'd canceled on her, but that was beside the point. She quickly dressed in everything she'd worn the day before, hoping Bryana wouldn't notice, or, at the very least, be nice enough not to point it out if she did.

She made it out of the house in record time, silently cursing under her breath and just knowing that with traffic she was never going to make it in time. When she finally jogged into her office, Bryana just looked at her helplessly; she was 26 minutes late and there was no one waiting in the lounge.

"Did I miss him?" Sam asked, her voice rushed and barely distinguishable due to the bobby-pin between her lips as she tried to fasten her hair atop her head. Bryana hung up the phone, sweeping around the desk with a file and a cup of coffee – Sam made a mental note to give this girl a raise.

"He's in your office, he was actually a couple minutes late so I had him fill out paperwork to pass the time, he doesn't even know you're late," she said quickly, running to the other side of Sam and pulling the back of her blazer jacket free of her pencil skirt. Sam mouthed a silent thank you and took the folder and coffee in each hand quickly, before scurrying down the hallway.

She stood outside the tall, oak doors to her office.

"I am a warrior. Brave, strong, and knowledgeable," she silently chanted to herself after realizing that she hadn't gotten the opportunity to earlier. She steadied her breath, trying in vain to feel like she had herself together for this – first impressions with new patients were so important – this was literally the worst day to sleep in... aside from maybe your wedding day.

She let out a sharp breath and felt her lips twist up into a forced, friendly smile before she pushed her door forward, opening up into her impeccably decorated, high-rise office. She glanced down at her file as she entered, trying to get a quick refresher on the name. E.R. Ah, there it is. She caught it on the corner of the paper.

"Good morning, Mr. Roth. My name is-," Sam began cheerfully, nearing her desk before her head arose to greet her newest patient.

Sam didn't finish her sentence - in fact, it felt like she'd gotten the wind knocked out of her. Before she'd gotten a chance to even begin to process what was happening to her, her hands released the folder and the coffee into a wet, shattered mess upon her rug. She didn't breathe, didn't move, didn't react whatsoever because there, sitting on the couch in front of her was the last person she'd ever expected to see again.

Josh.

No. There was no way it could be him. At least she didn't think... God. He looks just like him. Those eyes…

"Are you... alright?" he asked, but didn't show any movement in his body that indicated that he had any intention of helping her collect her now-soggy papers.

"Josh?" she breathed, her heart feeling like it might fall out of her chest. Her throat was raw, her vision blurred, which just made her second guess herself even more. He shook his head, leaning forward a bit on the couch, his elbows resting casually on his knees. He jutted a thumb at himself.

"Elliot," he reminded her. Elliot. Of course. Josh is dead. Elliot.

"Right..." Sam coughed, shaking her head a bit, feeling dizzy. She leaned down, beginning to collect her papers as she tried her best not to stare at him, although it was nearly impossible. She could just barely make out his birth year in the paperwork, quickly figuring out that he was roughly 29 years old, a year older than she.

It cannot possibly be. There's no way. You went to his funeral, Sam.

Sam tossed his ruined folder in the trash before calling in Bryana and asking her to print a new one. She stepped over the puddle of coffee – she'd get to that later - to near him, extending her hand, but he didn't take it.

"I'm Dr. Je-"

"-Jensen," he finished for her. She was taken aback, and he just gave her an odd look. "I know. I booked the appointment," he droned. It seemed slightly rude, but she had a hard time hearing it that way. She brought her hand back towards herself before she rubbed it along the fabric of her skirt, nervously.

"Right," she nodded, gliding over a few feet away to take a seat in her chair, feeling sheepish and unprepared. "I'm sorry." Why the hell am I apologizing? "I'd uh... I'd like to jump right in, if we can-" Sam began, and although she'd said it numerous times to numerous clients, it felt incredibly unnatural to her this time. She reached down into her bag beside her and pulled out a recorder. She fumbled with it in her hands a bit, her nerves trying desperately to give her away. She glanced up at Elliot and noticed him staring at her, and she felt even more nervous. "I um... I find that writing during my sessions tends to be a bit distracting for me and my patient, so I typically record my sessions. Is that alright with you?

"As long as you don't plan on selling my story to a major movie studio, I'll allow it," he jested, but it was so monotone and flat she had to really search for the humor in it.

"Oh, there's a separate waiver for that," Sam smiled with a cavalier wave of her hand, and then stopped herself because for a brief second it felt like she was talking to an old friend, not a new patient. Head in the game, Jensen. Keep it professional.

She took in a quick breath before smoothing out her skirt and clicking the recorder ON. "Patient Jos-" she paused, mortified, before clearing her throat. "Excuse me. Patient Elliot Roth, Age 29, Session 1 on November 3rd, 2024." She set it on the table beside her chair, carefully, before diverting her eyes back to his face. "Hello, Elliot... can you tell me why you cancelled yesterday?" She suddenly wondered if this was the man she saw in the crowd yesterday – the hoodie was certainly a match. He leaned back into the couch, as though he might want to disappear within it. He gave a slight shrug before an odd, inappropriate smile spread across his lips.

"Nerves? I guess?" he answered. His eyes burned into her – it almost stung. "Honestly, I've done this a lot in my life."

"Done what?" Sam asked, unclear with his vague responses. He even sounded just like him. It made her stomach flip flop.

"Gone to therapists. But it's always the same. I'll give them an A for effort; they all seem to want to help me." he paused, and Sam found herself shifting uncomfortably in his silence. He leaned forward again, as though he was letting her in on a little secret and against her own will, Sam found herself leaning in as well. "It never works."

"Well," Sam choked, trying to force a smile; she knows it's a weak one. "I'm hoping this time it does." Elliot looked like he wanted to laugh, but he didn't.

"I should hope so," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. Another shrug. "You're my last one." Sam creased her brow, still baffled by his responses.

"What do you mean, Elliot?" she asked.

"I mean, I already decided when I chose you that you'd be my last."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself, don't you think?"

"No, it's a lot of pressure to put on you." Sam's mouth ran dry once more, only this time she couldn't help but feel a wave of nervous heat wash over her body, flushing her cheeks red as she writed a bit under his intense stare. Sam didn't know what to do with herself. He was so intimidating but so familiar at the same time; on one hand she wanted to hide from him, on the other she wanted to hug him. She resisted both of those urges.

"I don't know about you, but I am certainly up for the challenge." she assured, raising her chin a bit to at least appear confident enough to match her own words.

"Bold Statement, doctor." She didn't like the way he said that last word, almost as though he was mocking her. And yet, she could see the faintest smile attempting to show on his lips, and she had no idea how to read him – yet.Sam was groomed and educated in the art of reading people, so this bothered her on various levels. She pushed it aside to continue the session, which already felt strange and out of her normal routine.

Greet patient. Establish a relationship. She began going through her mental checklist, trying to get herself back on track.

"Would you like to tell me why you're here?" she asked, glancing down at the new file in front of her. Illusions of grandeur. Paranoia. Manic Depression. Hallucinations and delusions. These were the words of the therapists before her, and she couldn't help but notice the similarities between he and his look-alike. Same ailments.

She still couldn't stop staring at him- her eyes feverishly drinking in his face. It had been so long since she'd seen Josh... maybe Elliot didn't look like him. Maybe she was just projecting her own desires and stresses of yesterday upon someone who only kind of resembled him. Still, there was something about those eyes she couldn't discredit. She knew that even if she lived to be 100 years old, she'd never forget his eyes.

"You tell me," he challenged, nodding towards the file in her hand. "It's all right there, right? Probably says stuff like 'emotionally unstable' or 'manic'. Or is it bigger, more scientific, doctorly words that I wouldn't understand?"

"That's a very interesting response," Sam observed aloud, shutting his file and tossing it aside. "The medical record I have on file is just more or less a reference point. Between you and me, I don't like to take other doctor's word for my patients. I'd rather hear it from you so we can figure it out ourselves," she added, leaning forward and holding her chin in her hand. If he wanted to do this informally, she could do that. She always tried to match her patient in their therapeutic style. Some liked the whole laying on the couch and confessing their woes schtick, some wanted a more game-based approach. She wasn't sure what his was. She'd crack it soon enough, though.

Now that she'd finally gotten herself calmed down enough to begin the session without comparing Elliot to Josh (at least, push it aside enough to do her job; she was certain this was going to keep her up tonight), she was feeling a little more relaxed and in her element.

"Anxiety," was his one word response. Sam tried not to let her face react to his responses, she didn't want to deter him from talking, especially since so far he's said very little.

"That's... vague. Can you tell me what kind?"

"Um...all kinds? Phobias. Paranoia. Social."

"Okay, and are you taking any medications for your anxiety?"

"I was on Effexor but it gave me the brain zaps."

"And when did you quit taking it?" He rolled his shoulders, his head lolling a bit.

"Like a month ago," he guessed. "I haven't been on any meds for the last month."

"Elliot, I am sure I don't have to tell you how dangerous it is to stop taking your meds without a doctor's supervision," she gently scolded, and suddenly felt overcome with an overwhelming sense of deja vu. She was certain she'd said this exact thing to Josh years ago, after Hannah narc'd on him for hiding his pills in his nightstand drawer. He'd been acting a little funny, a little on edge, and Sam was prone to usually being able to note even the slightest changes in Josh's demeanor. The memory was still so vivid.

"I know why you're acting all weird," Sam, 16-years-old, had told Josh. She crossed her arms over her chest and jutted out her hip in a dominant stance. She had no qualms with confronting when it came to his mental health. Over the years, she'd gotten bits and pieces, tiny slivers of truths and half-lies from the Washingtons. Josh would go missing from time to time, and when Sam would ask Beth where he went (camp counselor for four weeks? Yeah right…Josh would never do that), her answer would be different from Hannah's (visiting their cousins in Arizona. Josh in the desert?). Sam was onto them, but she never truly knew.

"Oh yeah, Sammy?" a young Josh had smirked at her, kneeling down to tie his shoelaces. They were out in the Washington's front driveway, mid-game of "Horse" when she'd garnered the courage to confront him. "And why do you think I'm acting all weird?" he pressed, amusement shining behind his eyes. He seemed to always get a kick out of Sam when she got brave. Sam walked over and snatched the basketball from him beside him, tossing it up from around a 2-pointer line, and watching it bounce off the rim. Josh jogged over to retrieve the ball, Sam's eyes following his back.

"You're not taking your pills," she blurted out, simply. Josh didn't answer but she watched his face shift a bit into a more serious look, his eyes darkening and his jaw clenching a bit. He wordlessly tossed the ball towards the hoop, falling through the net. Sam shrugged. "I mean, I know it's not any of my business, but you should really talk to someone before just up and quitting. I know it's not good for you…" Sam said, her words losing confidence as she neared him and took his spot, the ball in her hands. "I just… I worry about you, you know?" she added, throwing the ball and making the same shot Josh just had.

"They make me too tired," he mumbled to an almost inaudible level. Luckily, after years of practice, Sam had mastered the art of speaking 'Josh' so she'd heard it just fine. He stared down at the asphalt, almost ashamedly. Sam knew that regardless of his cooler, older-brother image he'd usually kept up in the group, it was all mostly a facade. And in a lot of ways, this was her favorite Josh. The uncool Josh. The one that let himself be vulnerable around someone, since he always seemed to feel the need to impress everyone. "I don't like the way they make me feel - like I'm not me. Or… maybe I feel too much like me, and I don't like that person," he admitted, his eyes slowly finding hers. Sam smiled despite his morose face staring back at her. She brought her foot forward, the toe of her shoe tapping his.

"Well, I like you," she said quietly. "With or without the meds. But… if your doctor thinks you need them, you should really listen and at least stay on them 'til you can talk to him and get them changed," she advised.

And now, with Elliot sitting across from her and essentially telling her the exact same thing, her heart thumped rapidly in her chest. She didn't dare let the constant sound of her heartbeat in her ears distract her from the task at hand, as she reached over into her bag again and pulled out a prescription pad.

"Since your body has clearly already detoxed safely, I will allow you to stay off a daily anti-anxiety medication while we evaluate you more. In the meantime, I'm going to write you a prescription for Xanex. It's a very low dose, only to be taken if you feel a panic attack coming on," she instructed, the sound of the prescription paper loudly ripping off the pad. She extended her arm out towards him, the paper in her hand.

"Fair enough," he replied casually as he reached out and snatched it from her. Their skin barely grazed and Sam couldn't help but notice the stinging surge of electricity that ignited on her skin against his touch. He lowered his eyebrows, leaning back into the couch and holding the paper in both of his hands, looking contemplative. She wondered if he'd just felt it, too. After a moment of silence, his eyes found hers. "I think this is enough for today," he murmured, and Sam found herself surprised. This was the first time a patient had ever ended a session on her… and he'd only been in her office for around twenty minutes. Even still, she found herself wishing that he wasn't trying to go.

"A-are you sure?" she asked. He stared down at the script before giving a brief nod.

"I'm just really tired. I haven't been sleeping." Sam straightened up in her chair, clearing her throat.

"Well, insomnia is a common symptom in anxiety - usually a person is kept up with thoughts all night long or they're so overcome with anxiety throughout the day that they are exhausted and all they want to do is sleep. That's why there are different types of anxiety medications that do different things, depending on the circumstances," Sam informed him, and he seemed to be listening, although now his focus was out her huge window overlooking the smoggy but sunny city below. "It's also a side effect of quitting your medication too abruptly. So I will go ahead and also prescribe you a low-dose of Ambien," she paused from writing down his prescription, her finger pointing out towards him to let him know she was serious before she said, "don't take them together. Use it for the particularly hard nights. They might make you drowsy in the morning. Otherwise, over the counter Melatonin or chamomile tea are also good sleep aids." Even though it was her job to explain the medications and advise her patients, Sam knew deep inside she was merely stalling. A part of her was worried about his sudden urge to leave - would he come back? What if he didn't? And why was that thought bothering her so badly?

As Sam drove home that afternoon, she couldn't stop thinking about her session with Elliot - all the things she'd wished she'd been able to talk with him about, all the things she'd wished she'd said. The only comfort she'd received was from Bryana, who informed Sam after Elliot left that he'd scheduled his next session with her for tomorrow morning, which meant she hadn't scared him away.

She also kept wondering what he meant when he said she was his last therapist - in retrospect, she wished she'd asked him more about that, since it seemed so cryptic. She didn't know him, was it some kind of hint that he would not ever seek counselling again if she failed? Or maybe it even meant something so much more… permanent. Was he suicidal?

But, the real thing that she couldn't shake, was the most obvious thing of all. How could someone look and sound so much like Josh? She hadn't even begun to ask him about where he'd come from or where he'd been. Essentially in that one session, she'd learned almost nothing about him and it was driving her crazy already.

Sam's attention was snapped back to the road and away from her thoughts as she heard a loud, menacing honk. She quickly slammed on her breaks, realizing that she'd literally just rolled right through a red light and nearly got herself t-boned in the middle of the intersection. She remembered to breathe, wanting to disappear behind her sunglasses and out of the view of the glaring, angry truck driver who'd almost hit her. She took her shaking hands back to the wheel and quickly pulled over before she could possibly cause any more almost-accidents.

Once she'd shut off her ignition, Sam felt a huge swell of emotion wash over her and the tears came almost instantly. She ripped her sunglasses off and brought her trembling hands to her face. She sobbed into them, her chest heaving as she simultaneously wept and gasped for breath. She'd never felt herself lose her composure so uninhibitedly since back when Josh died…

He died, her mind reminded her. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!" It just kept tormenting her, repeating over and over again like a mantra. She felt so stupid, having to remind herself, but this session with Elliot had broken something inside of her, something she'd only mended back together with tape and glue, to be treated delicately. And now that the bandage was ripped off, Sam realized that although those years of therapy had helped her cope, she was no more healed from the biggest loss in her life than she was the day of his funeral.

How could she have stuffed this down for so long? How had she been tricking herself into believing that she had recovered? Has she just been going through the motions for the last 9 years without ever really dealing with any of it?

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

And yet, something about Elliot made her wonder if by some strange glitch in the universe, maybe he wasn't. And the fact that she was even thinking that scared her more than anything.

To Be Continued...