Page 65 of Trapped Truth

“Want to help me carry gifts downstairs?”

“Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Thanks.” He rises, gesturing for me to follow him. “Just upstairs.”

Exchanging a nod with Warner, I follow Jude out of the kitchen and up their huge, winding staircase. The second floor is decked out much the same as the first, with quality wood fixtures and more exquisite artwork. They must’ve personally funded Ripley’s business for years.

“Would you mind stepping into my office, Ember?” Jude gestures towards the ajar door. “You don’t have to, but I thought we could talk.”

“About what?”

“I’ve heard a lot about your case, and I think I can help.”

Intrigued, I follow him into the shaded office. It’s warm and inviting. Children’s drawings adorn most of the wall space, while framed photographs clutter his desk. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many paperbacks before, clustered on built-in mahogany shelving.

“You can sit.” He motions towards a large armchair.

“What’s this about?”

Jude leans on the edge of the desk, his legs folded at the ankle. “You may not know this, but Doctor Richards is an old friend. Once upon a time, he helped me through a difficult period.”

I open my mouth to protest but fall silent at his wave.

“No, he would never break patient confidentiality. We haven’t discussed you. But I’m aware of your history from assisting Sabre. I like to help where I can, even if that isn’t my world anymore.”

“Jude… please get to the point.”

“Direct.” He rubs the side of his jaw in thought. “I respect it.”

It’s only then I realise his right arm ends at the wrist. His hand has been amputated. There’s only smooth, healed skin to rub his chin with. The limb looks healthy; it has to be an old injury. I didn’t even notice as he cradled his daughter earlier, the stump hidden from sight.

I make a point of clearing my throat. “I’ve never been a fan of beating around the bush.”

“Me neither. What I’m saying is that I understand your ordeal. Being taken, broken down piece by piece, assigned a number instead of an identity. Something similar happened to me a long time ago.”

“You were trafficked?”

“No, not like that. I won’t rehash my past, but it’s a matter of public record if you’re curious.”

“I’d never do that to you.”

“You have my permission to look, I’ve nothing to hide. My point is that I had to reconstruct my identity once I found freedom. Much like you’ve spent all this time doing. I know the struggle, and I want to help.”

“Help me how?”

“That’s entirely up to you.” He recrosses his ankles. “I can see there is a conflict of interest, but unofficially, I’m here to listen. Sometimes it takes being understood and seen to overcome what’s holding us back.”

I contemplate his offer, staring up at rows of psychiatry manuals and boring-looking textbooks.

“I’m not exactly the most cooperative patient. Just ask Richards.”

“You wouldn’t be my patient.” Jude is quick to assure me.

“Then what is this?”

“Consider it a listening ear. Night or day, rain or shine. When you feel 768 sneaking back in, dictating your thoughts and actions… I want you to know you don’t have to deal with her alone.”

Surprise jolts my bones, leaving me hot and embarrassed.