Free The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) by Leilani Bennett

just above normal. However, judging by my tone, he clearly offended me.
    “Okay, calm down, or you are going to open a stitch,” he softly ordered. “You know, Adolf Hitler is classified as one of the most insane men who has ever walked the face of the earth.”
    Yeah, no shit Sherlock! I studied him...remember? I insulted him inwardly, feeling bereft by the entire conversation.
    “Uh...I’m not sure where you’re going with this—er...ah...but what Hitler has to do with my medical treatment—I was probably just having some senseless dream.” I tightened my lips, fidgeting with the sheets, notably upset.
    “Certainly...I hope that is the case, because if not I will have to report—” he said, poignantly and before he could finish I interrupted him.
    “You’re going to report what, to who?” I bolted out automatically, and he essentially dismissed my question.
    “Why don’t we change the subject for now?”
    “Fine with me,” I relented and gave a stern nod of my head.
    “Let’s discuss your life growing up in New York City and what brought you to Paris?”
    “What for? I mean...I feel much better. Can I just get my things and go now?” This place was giving me the creeps.
    “Honestly, our main concern is to make sure you didn’t suffer any long-term memory loss.” He tapped my head with his index finger in an endearing way. “Or any brain damage.” A long beat. “I have noticed there is something peculiar about you, and I would like to observe you for a few more days. If that is okay with you?” he asked although he didn’t punctuate his words as a question.
    I was beginning to wonder if I had a choice. His offhanded description of me echoed in my ears.
    “No it’s not. And, why would you say I’m peculiar?” I specifically asked in a curt manner, clearly insulted.
    “I do not mean to offend you, it’s just...well, there is a matter of a few things I have discovered, giving me reasons to further evaluate your condition.” He was beating around the bush, as my grandmother would say.
    “Why? Such as?” I asked, emitting a pitchy rasp. In my opinion, his sketchy evaluation was unwarranted.
    “Why don’t we do this my way, and if you are feeling better afterwards, we can get you on your way. How about that?” He smiled, nodded, and slipped something out of a folder.
    Still, I felt a bit unsettled by his evasiveness, but more than anything I wanted to get my clothes, my cell, and to get the hell out of this place.
    I inadvertently picked at the scab on my lip while trying to read his disposition. Arms crossed in front of his chest—a sign of putting distances between us. Tapping his pen and nodding a lot when I asked questions, however, he wasn’t giving me definite answers. Verdict—he was up to no good. I sensed it was time to tread with caution.
    “Okay,” I agreed, clearing my throat for the umpteenth time. I thought for a fraction of a second, recalling my life growing up in Manhattan, but as to why I came to Paris that memory was at large.
    “Thank you, but before you begin, I have something for you,” he said and handed me a small note that was folded into a square.
    I looked up at him, curiously. His eyes were hooded, deep-set, and the palest shade of blue I had ever seen. They radiated wisdom. The more I looked at him, the more attractive he had become. Go figure.
    He was actually in pretty good shape for a man of his age. The lines deepened in the corners of his temples, tracing along his cheeks with every changing expression. He was educated, poised but had a solid, manly appearance, too. Think Clinton Eastwood. There was a significant element laced into his regard of me. Perhaps he didn’t mean any harm earlier. Doctors tend to be so brainy, insensitive, and unemotional at times.
    Feeling somewhat in a semi-daze, my eyes shifted from his face to the crumpled note. And, the room shifted, too. Perhaps I wasn’t ready to leave quite yet. My equilibrium balanced on clouded