Tomasetti’s life had been a train wreck for so long, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to put the mangled pieces back together in a form that made sense. “Not going to happen, Doc.”

“If you have a chemical imbalance—”

“We both know my being here has nothing to do with some goddamn chemical imbalance. It has to do with the people I care about getting slaughtered. How the hell do you equate that with a fucking chemical imbalance?”

“Stress hormones can affect serotonin levels.”

“Or maybe I’m just pissed off because some piece of scum took my family away from me.”

“Is that what you want to talk about today?”

“I don’t want to talk about shit today. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I think we both know the only reason I’m here is because I’m trying to salvage my job.”

“Well, I’m glad you got that out in the open.” Hunt gave him a passable smile. “How do you feel about being put on leave?”

“I’m pissed. I want to work. I need to work. My being here is a waste of taxpayer’s money and a total waste of time. Mine and yours.”

The doctor stared at him for a while, then said, “Look, John, I know you don’t want to be here. I understand that. To be perfectly honest, you’re not exactly the ideal patient.”

“Now there’s a revelation.”

“The truth of the matter is you have some issues to deal with. Your not communicating with me isn’t going to help. I can’t do my job unless you talk to me. The sooner you’re straight with me, the sooner you’re out of here and back to work. We’re not going to progress until that happens.”

Tomasetti stared at him, aware that his heart was pounding. The words were a knot in his chest, being pulled inexorably tighter until he thought something inside him would rip apart. “I’m not getting any better,” he said after a moment.

“Why do you think that is?”

“It’s been two and a half years. I should be getting better. I’m not.”

“Healing takes time.”

“I’m getting worse.”

The doctor’s eyes sharpened, his expression taking on a knowing quality Tomasetti didn’t like. “Are you talking about your trip to the emergency room?”

Tomasetti looked away, wishing he’d been able to salvage just one shred of privacy. He honestly didn’t have much faith that this doctor could fix him, and he sure as hell didn’t want to dredge up one of the most degrading experiences of his life.

“Why don’t you tell me about that?” Hunt pressed.

Tomasetti shifted in the chair, caught himself fidgeting, and stilled. “I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But your heart is fine, isn’t it?”

Tomasetti said nothing.