“You could try making it up to all the people you feel like you let down.”

Rory frowned, then glanced up at Jenkins. He blinked in quick succession, then kept staring.

“You’re freaking me out now…”

“Captain—Benjamin Tracy.”

Jenkins looked away. “What about him?”

“Did you get his letter?”

“I got it.”

Rory shuffled forward on his seat. “Do you forgive him?”

“There was nothing to forgive.”

“But you shut him down, said you didn’t want to see him again. He scared you.”

Jenkins bit his lip and closed his eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, it was terrifying when he started shouting—”

“I swear he’s not like that. He looked out for me when I was inside. He’s one of the people I’ve let down. He’s suffering, and he needs someone to talk to. Please—”

Jenkins raised his hand. “Stop, stop, stop, let me finish.”

“Sorry…”

“I was terrified, but more than my own fear, I was scared for him. Scared I wouldn’t be able to help him. I’m twenty-six, I live in the countryside, I’ve never seen a dead body, never been in a fist fight, let alone a fire-fight. I ride horses and collect stamps,”

“Stamps?”

“Exactly. I’m a psychiatrist, and for most of the inmates in here, I know enough, can help them cope with being inside, or the crime they’ve committed, or any troubles that plague them, but Benjamin… He was right, I don’t have a clue what he’s been through, or what it was like, or how to help him. I’m worried I’ll let him down.”

“So your solution is not to see him at all, not to try?”

“It’s the best I could come up with.”

“You could help. You might be able to sort through the mess of his head. Unburden him.”

Jenkins reached for the glove compartment, and Rory shifted his knees out the way. He opened it up and retrieved a folded piece of paper.

“He apologized for scaring me, but it should be me apologizing for being a coward.”

Jenkins unfolded the paper. “There’s so much self-hatred, and self-loathing in this letter. I can practically feel the despair when I read it, and I want to help, but if I mess it up, I could make it worse. I’m not an idiot, I know inmates smuggle in alcohol, and he’s an addict. He could start drinking again if I push.”

Rory scrunched up his face. “He’s already done that once—”

“What?”

“After you wouldn’t see him.”

Jenkins pressed the letter to his face. “God … that wasn’t my intention.”

“He stopped, but he’s still taking anti-anxiety medication, and sleeping tablets, and whatever else that doctor put him on.”

“Throw pills at a problem and hope it’ll go away. I can’t stand doctors like that…”