Whatever she was going to ask – are you okay, are you free to speak, are you in your right mind? – the answer is the same.

She says, Your breathing...

I am, he answers, mishearing punctuation.

Breathe with me, she says, and her breath becomes a cliff wind on the mouthpiece, a noisy bluster, slow inhale… slow exhale… again… again… And much as he wants to resist her, the white noise washes over his ears and smothers his brain’s misfires with calming static, until eventually all in his head is steady and still. For a moment or two he is genuinely thoughtless.

What was it? she asks.

He considers. Should he tell her?

I had a thought, he says.

He can hear her considering whether or not to ask him.

A powerful one, then. Not a good one by the sounds of it.

No, he says.

He feels naked. But no language he can access would serve as a snatched towel.

Are you okay now?

She has nursed him, assisted him through some kind of climax.

I think so.

Yes, he realizes, he is as naked, deflated and powerless as if they have just made love.

I hope your phone’s not tapped, she says. Wouldn’t want anyone to think we were, you know, heavy breathing together or something.

Not for the first time he is discomfited by the sense she has read his mind.

Why would my phone be tapped?

Isn’t everyone’s? she says. Basic Government protocol, surely. Potential terrorist threats, the lot of us. Logan, I’m guessing this is a bad time.

The worst, he thinks, the worst yet. I’m okay, he says. What did you want to speak to me about?

She hesitates. April Smith.

I don’t want to go ahead with that, he says hurriedly.

There is a pause.

It’s… gone ahead. As scheduled.

Ah.

I wanted to speak to you about the results.

Ah.

I think you should see her.

Really?

Yes. The second hand on his desk clock takes three more bites out of the day. Logan—

Everything’s fine, he says, cutting across her puzzlement. Everything’s fine. He clicks her into silence.

This time, the reserve parachute opened. This time, he floats down to earth, bends his knees, rolls, recovers, stands. Nothing is broken.

He leaves another message on Jules’s voicemail.

Sorry about the message earlier. Had a bit of a panic attack. Nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine.

‌Beastly

April is now allowed paper and pen. Dr Logan will not see her until the end of the week, but has given his permission. He would like to see what she writes. April writes with that in mind, knowing full well he will not understand it. She sits at her small table and positions the paper to be entirely in sunshine.