“I don’t want breakfast, Don.” Ilse paused, wincing at her tone. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t mean to bark. I just…”

“I understand, dear.” Mitchell drew near, patting her on the shoulder and looking her firmly in the eyes, refusing to let go of her gaze. “But you can’t undo what’s been done. You can’t go back to the start of things. All there is, is now.”

Ilse could feel the force of his stare. Could feel the compassion in his gaze. But at the same time, she could feel her own heart hammering.

All there is, is now…

You can’t go back to the start of things.

“Maybe not…” she murmured.

“Excuse me, dear?”

Ilse, though, slowly stepped away from her old mentor, moving back onto the lowest stair, then stepping onto the next. She snatched her keys from the door, her mind whirring.

“Ilse!” he said, slowly. “Ilse, please. Where are you going?”

She turned now, taking the stairs again, leaving the postcard behind her beneath dust and pine needles. Dr. Mitchell wasn’t the only one who could suppress his own emotional reaction for the sake of someone else. Ilse had to as well. For Samantha. She needed to focus.

Perhaps she couldn’t go back to the beginning. At least not in the way Dr. Mitchell meant it. She couldn’t change what had been done.

But to remember? Not the two sessions she’d had. No. Not those.

Samantha had been certain. She’d been more than certain.

“Not paranoid…” Ilse murmured, moving past Dr. Mitchell now and hurrying toward the car. Her loose, baggy sweater and sweatpants felt like blankets swaddling her. The breeze from over the lake and the cresting sun through the trees felt like the kiss of something unseen.

“Ilse,” Dr. Mitchell said, gentle but urgent. “Please, dear, leave it to the police.”

She glanced back at her mentor, glimpsing a spurt of pain in his eyes. Something close to worry as he watched her.

She smiled now, and this time it wasn’t forced. “I’m going to be fine, Don. I promise. I think you’re right, though. The clue is at the beginning. Where it all started.”

“I—I don’t know—Ilse, that’s not what I meant. Please. Let’s get breakfast, dear!”

But Ilse gave a faint little shake of her head. She paused, though, took two skipping steps back, and gave Dr. Mitchell a quick hug, kissing him on the cheek and patting his shoulder. Then, nodding even more determinedly to herself, feeling her lips itch from her old mentor’s whiskers, she hurried back to her waiting vehicle.

She climbed into the Boat as Dr. Mitchell watched her. He no longer spoke, just sighing and waiting. He would be there for her. He was always there for her. But he never intruded. He never manipulated.

Besides, even if he had, Ilse wasn’t willing to be controlled. Not again. Not ever.

She turned the keys and began to edge out of the driveway in the Boat. Past the Prius. She waved a quick goodbye to her old mentor and then floored the gas, kicking up dust and pine needles as she raced back to the police station.