I SEE YOU an unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist by PATRICIA MACDONALD (bookstand for reading txt) 📗

‘OK.’

‘Hannah, listen,’ he said quietly. ‘When they question you, tell them you don’t want any pictures. Say you’re fearful of reprisal because they haven’t caught the guy yet. We don’t want your picture everywhere.’

‘You’re right,’ she said with a slight gasp. ‘That’s true. Our situation is still . . .’

‘Perilous,’ he said.

Hannah closed her eyes. ‘I won’t say anything.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he said. ‘Shall I bring Sydney up to see you later?’

‘Yes, please. If you don’t think it would be too much for her.’

‘I think it would do her good,’ Adam said.

‘I know it would do me good,’ said Hannah, smiling.

Adam sat beside her, squeezing her hand, and occasionally kissing her fingers. Then the door opened, and a nurse came in carrying a tray with a syringe.

‘You’re awake!’ the nurse cried.

Hannah nodded, and then looked at Adam. ‘How lucky am I?’ she said.

The nurse was quick to spread the word, and within an hour Hannah was visited by two doctors and a chaplain. Adam told his recovering wife that he was going to go and pick up Sydney and bring her to the hospital. Hannah allowed that this was the only reason she would let him out of her sight. They kissed tenderly before he left the room.

Hannah lay back against her pillow, exhausted. It was wonderful to know that she was going to live, but she still had a long way to go before she could even get up and out of this bed. She closed her eyes and, almost immediately, she was asleep.

A short time later, Hannah’s nap was disturbed by a knock at the door. Before she was fully awake and able to reply, it was pushed open by two men in jackets and ties.

‘Mrs Anna Whitman?’ asked the larger man. He had a deliberate, grave air about him.

‘Yes,’ she said.

The man nodded to his shorter, Asian-looking companion and then they both entered the room and stood beside her bed.

‘Mrs Whitman, my name is Detective O’Rourke. This is Detective Trahn. We need to talk to you about what happened in the subway.’

Hannah tried to force her fuzzy mind to focus. She was glad that Adam had reminded her of their situation. Lying in this anonymous bed, in a hospital gown, it was hard to even feel a sense of identity, never mind remember to hide the reality and stick with the story of their lives that they had created.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘OK.’

‘Do you mind if we sit?’ asked O’Rourke.

Hannah shook her head, and O’Rourke nodded to Trahn, who pulled two chairs up beside the bed. The detectives sat down. O’Rourke set his briefcase on the floor beside him.

‘Now, tell us what happened as you remember it, Mrs Whitman.’

Hannah obediently recounted her descent into the subway, the various people on the platform, the sight of the approaching train, and then . . .

‘You don’t remember what happened?’ asked Trahn gently.

‘I really don’t,’ said Hannah.

‘Did you see who pushed you?’ asked O’Rourke.

‘No, sir,’ she said.

‘You just . . . felt yourself being pushed.’

Hannah nodded. ‘It was the strangest thing. If you’d told me this could happen, I wouldn’t really have believed it. I mean, I felt this jolt at the small of my back and then, nothing . . . I didn’t hear anything; I didn’t see anything. It’s all just a blank. How could you forget something like that?’

‘Actually that’s not uncommon,’ O’Rourke said reassuringly. ‘I’ve heard that from many trauma victims. The brain just shuts down for a few moments. Trying to protect you from a horrible reality, I guess.’

‘I guess,’ said Hannah.

‘So, you didn’t see who pushed you.’

Hannah shook her head.

‘The next thing you remember . . . ?’

‘I was on the tracks. I remember a woman reached her hand out to me but I couldn’t get to it. Then I heard this man from SEPTA telling me to run. And I heard it, you know what I mean? I heard it. Above all the noise and the commotion, I heard his voice. And that’s what I did. I ran.’

O’Rourke nodded and consulted his notebook. ‘We have varying accounts from the witnesses on the platform,’ he said. ‘One thing they all agree on. Apparently you were pushed by a man in a hoody. Height, weight, all of that — no consistency. But they all remembered the hoody. And the dark glasses.’

‘No one stopped him? After it happened?’

O’Rourke sighed. ‘That’s to be expected. People were so freaked out. They were focused on you. And on that train roaring into the station.’

Hannah shuddered.

‘By all accounts he ran back up the steps and out of the station. So far, we have not apprehended him.’

Hannah sighed. ‘Well, I hope you do.’

‘We will,’ said Trahn grimly. ‘It’s just a matter of time. Now, while it seems most likely that this person is mentally ill, Mrs Whitman, and that you were a random victim, we have to ask you this. Is there any reason you can think of for why someone would do that to you?’

Hannah hesitated, and then she felt almost faint at the thought which swam, for the first time, into her head. Then she shook it off. ‘No,’ she said.

‘What about your marriage,’ said O’Rourke. ‘Have you and your husband been having any problems? Any reason why he might see himself as better off without you?’

‘No, Detective,’ said Hannah angrily. ‘Our marriage is stronger than . . . It’s as strong as can be. We’ve had our problems, like any marriage. We’ve been together for over twenty years. So, obviously, we’ve had problems, had things go wrong. But no. The short answer is no.’

O’Rourke exhaled a deep breath and nodded. ‘OK, Mrs Whitman. Now, we have here . . .’ He reached down into the briefcase on the floor beside him and brought