Chapter 57: Dr. Croft

It was a calm, familiar, therapeutic baritone. A voice I hadn't heard in over a year, but one that was etched into the broken parts of my brain. A voice that had once talked me down from the ledge of my own grief.

"This is Dr. Croft."

For a second, I couldn't speak. Dr. Alistair Croft. The man who had listened to me talk about Sarah for fifty bucks an hour. The man with the kind eyes and the leather-bound books in his quiet, tasteful office. The man who had helped me put the pieces of my shattered life back together.

"Hello?" he said, a note of clinical patience in his voice.

"Doc… it's Jack," I managed to say, my own voice sounding like it was coming from a million miles away. "Jack Calico."

There was a pause. Not of surprise. Of recognition. "Jackson. I see. Lynn mentioned you might be in touch. What's the situation?"

I explained it in clipped, professional terms. GSW-adjacent. My partner. The Stardust Inn. He took it all in with the same soothing calm he'd used when I told him I couldn't sleep without seeing my wife's face.

"I know the place," he said. "The fee is non-negotiable and payable upfront. I can be there in two hours."

"Just get here," I said, and hung up.

I stared at the phone in my hand. The world had just shrunk in a way that made me feel sick to my stomach. Lynn's charity. Croft's practice. It was all connected, but the lines of the drawing were all wrong. It was a picture of a smiling face that, if you looked at it long enough, started to look like a skull.

"What is it?" Maddie asked, seeing the look on my face.

"The doctor," I said, the words feeling like gravel in my mouth. "It's the guy who was my shrink after Sarah died."

She didn't have to ask the next question. We were both thinking it. What kind of grief counselor makes house calls to motels in the middle of nowhere to stitch up gunshot wounds for the mafia?

The answer was a cold, dark thing that was only just beginning to take shape in my mind. We had called for help. And I had the terrible, sinking feeling that I had just invited the real monster right through our front door.

Maddie

I have no clue who this Dr. Croft is, but if Lynn trusts him, then I do. We know Finch is extremely dirty. We know that he is working with monsters. We just don't fully know the why, but I think Lynn suspects. I want to hear the full story after Finch is dead. I also understand why my father followed Lynn and spoke so highly of his Queen. She relies on far more than the strength of her men and her cunning mind. Her 'gift,' as Jack put it, is what truly guides her. She sees not a person, but a soul. She weighs that soul and then determines its fate. I don't think her husbands are how I first saw them either. I think Jack would agree with me, but he seems a bit envious of them. Or at least he did when we first arrived in Vegas. Since he asked me to marry him, he doesn't look at Lynn's husbands the same. Damon isn't a snake. He is a bear, though. He can provide warmth and protection, but if someone he loves is threatened, he would tear the world apart with his bare hands. Ardin isn't a shadow, but he is an observer. He is a compassionate analyst. Bastian is a mountain, but he is a movable one. At least when it comes to Lynn, he is. Last but not least is Serge. He still puzzles me. Yes, he likes order, but he relents to Lynn so easily. I see a man underneath the mask of a stone-faced killer...a man much like my Jack. When this is over, I will research the Underworld more. My father never gave me their backstories. Lynn's mirrored mine, and I wonder if Serge's mirrors Jack's. If so, then that explains why I see some of my Jack in Serge.