Possess

click.
    Dr. Liu’s voice picked up almost immediately with a heavy thumping sound in the background, like chair legs bouncing on the floor. “Well, then, Mr. Undermeyer, I will see you next week.”
    “Not safe!” Undermeyer shrieked. “Not safe here! Not safe! Not safe here!”
    Another click, and the session was over.
    Matt paused the recording. “Did you hear the click, right before your dad told Undermeyer he’d see him next week?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Same as the click at the end of the recording.”
    Bridget gasped. “He turned it off. My dad didn’t want something to be on the official session recording.”
    “Exactly. And it happened again, exactly the same way, in session four.” Matt slumped back into his chair. “Which means something is missing.”
    The missing tapes, just like Undermeyer said. Bridget leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “My dad kept recordings of every second of every patient session. If he turned off the official police recording, he must have had a second recorder going. For his personal files.”
    “But where? My dad went through both of Dr. Liu’s offices with tweezers and a magnifying glass. There’s no way he missed anything.”
    “Nothing that he was meant to find.”
    Matt tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
    “Well, it’s just this. If my dad was a Watcher, he wasn’t exactly going to advertise that fact, right? I mean, it’s not something you brag about at the office Christmas party.”
    “It might make the Christmas party more interesting.”
    Bridget rolled her eyes. “Focus.”
    “Sorry.”
    “My point is, what if what’s missing here—the audio, maybe even some notes—what if they were never here?”
    “You mean he hid them?”
    Bridget shrugged. “That’s what I’d do. Especially if I thought the Emim were on to me.”
    Matt ran his fingers absentmindedly through his hair. “And my dad wouldn’t have missed it. He wouldn’t have realized there was anything wrong with what he found in Dr. Liu’s office.” He sounded relieved.
    “I wasn’t blaming your dad. I never thought he screwed this up.”
    “Oh, I know. It’s just . . .” Matt shifted in his chair so he faced her. “This is some really weird shit we’re dealing with.”
    Bridget couldn’t help herself. His serious expression and the way he described her situation, it was too perfect. She burst out laughing, head thrown back, hand slapping the table. Her cheeks ached, her stomach felt like it was going to burst right out of her body with the effort. It was the first time she’d laughed like that in months.
    Matt pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. He clearly didn’t appreciate Bridget’s mood. She immediately put on a serious face.
    “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Matt said, once she’d quieted down.
    “I know, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Don’t be mad. It was just so . . . perfect.”
    “So if he kept secret notes, they weren’t in his office,” Matt said, ignoring her apology. “My dad would have found them.”
    Bridget wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but she decided not to press the point. Besides, she had a more likely place in mind.
    She dug into the pocket of her jeans and whipped out her cell phone.
    “Who are you calling?” Matt said.
    Bridget held up her hand for silence while she dialed. “Mom? Hey, yeah, we’re still out. Um, I was wondering what you were planning for dinner? Shepherd’s pie? Cool. Yeah, I think he’d really love to stay for dinner. Perfect. We’ll be there soon.”
    “Did you just get me invited to your house for dinner?”
    “Totally.”
    A sly grin stole across Matt’s face. “You know, it’s amazing how you keep asking me on dates.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Your Winter Formal, dinner at your house. Really, I’m flattered.”
    Bridget narrowed her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. I can totally do this on my own without your help.”
    “Don’t be so touchy.” Matt reached out and grazed her hand with his fingertips. “You know I want to help.”
    Bridget let his touch linger, surprising herself by not pulling away. Something in the pit of her stomach shifted, like the bottom had fallen away. What was wrong with her?
    “We should go,” she said at last. He pulled his hand away, and Bridget was almost sorry. “My mom’s expecting us.”
    Matt loaded the evidence back into the box. “So, shepherd’s pie?”
    “Every Sunday