Free Crossed Out by Kim Baccellia

he’d help me out of this mess.
    “I really need to call Dr. Anthony.”
    “Who?” Dylan asked.
    Oh, just great. Now I had to confess I saw a counselor. But right now I didn’t really care.
    “You know the other day, when I had an appointment? Well, my mother made me see this counselor. Shrink. Whatever. Anyway he told me things….”
    “What are you talking about? What does a counselor have to do with you messing around with a crime scene early in the morning?”
    “A lot, okay? Just let me call him.”
    “Jeez, Steph. Now sure is a funny time to bother a shrink. Don’t you know it’s two in the morning?”
    “Maybe he’s up doing something right now,” I reasoned. An image of the cross and bloody cloth in his room flashed through my mind. “It’s not like he’s a normal human being with a life or anything.”
    Dylan threw his hands in the air. “I don’t get you, Steph. If you’re not gonna tell me, let’s just leave. Maybe you’ll come to your senses tomorrow.”
    “You can go, but I need to make that call.”
    I stormed ahead of him, struggling to carry my heavy cross without looking like a total idiot. My tennis shoes squeaked in the wet grass.
    “Here, let me take that.” Dylan grabbed the cross. “Whoa, did you make this?”
    “Yeah, some people knit. I make crosses. What’s so weird about that?”
    “Oh, nothing, if you’re Catholic. Which last time I checked, we weren’t – unless of course you’re thinking of converting.”
    “You sound just like my mom.” I rolled my eyes. “Just chill out, okay?”
    With Dylan beside me, the old airbase didn’t seem so forbidding. The barbed wire fence emerged up ahead. I climbed through, Dylan followed.
    We continued down the hill toward the cracked asphalt road. It seemed strange to see only two cars in the huge, deserted parking lot. Dylan had angled his old ’91 Chevy pick-up truck close to my Jetta.
    I flung open the door to my car and grabbed my Dooney & Bourke handbag, hidden under the passenger’s seat. I fished inside for my cell phone and Dr. Anthony’s phone number. I prayed he was up preparing for whatever it was that guides of rescuers did.
    “Are you serious? You’re really going to call him?” Dylan shook his head in amazement.
    “Yeah, why not? I know he can help.” Then I couldn’t resist. “It’s not like you haven’t been caught in a similar situation.”
    “What’s that have to do with anything?” Dylan said in disbelief. “The last time I looked, you were the one sitting by a crime scene. Not me.”
    “Fine. Whatever.” I rummaged through my cluttered bag, cursing to myself for not cleaning it out sooner.
    Then I found it.
    I looked at the crumpled paper Mom had given me last week. I flipped open my phone and dialed the numbers.
    He answered after the second ring.
    “Hello.”
    “Um….” I gulped. “Dr. Anthony?”
    “Stephanie? Is that you?”
    “Yeah. Something major came up. And....”
    I turned and noticed Dylan’s face pressed against my car window, and I lowered my voice. I took a deep breath. “Can I just see you? Like – now?”
    “Of course,” Dr. Anthony said. “I’ve been expecting your call. Why don’t you meet me at my office? I’m at home now, but I can be there in ten minutes.”
    “Man, this is just unbelievable.” Dylan thumped the car window with his palm. He took a step away from my car and glared at me. “Unbelievable.”
    “Stephanie?” Dr. Anthony broke through the awkward moment. “Is someone with you?”
    “Um…a friend.” How could I lie? I was sure he’d heard Dylan’s tantrum. Even so, a shiver tiptoed up my spine. Or had he known Dylan would be here?
    “Good, I’ll see both of you in a few minutes.” He hung up before I could say anything more.
    “What was that all about?” Dylan asked.
    “Nothing big. I mean—”
    “Stephanie, I don’t feel good about this. We really need to talk.”
    “Dylan, I can explain, really. But now is not the