บท 116: The Man in the White Shirt

"I have no idea whom you are talking about," I admitted. Carol looked at me, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"He seemed to know you, though." Her scowl showed her confusion.

"Does he?" I asked with interest. "Can you tell me how he looks? Maybe I will remember him." It was a calculated sentence made to make her feel comfortable enough, to tell the truth. She thought about it a bit. 

"He has a warm smile and cold eyes. Empty but full of mischief." She smiled in memory. 

I looked at the psychiatrist and she took the cue immediately. 

"What was his hair like?" she asked quickly so that the strain of thought could not be disrupted. 

Carol looked at her dumbfounded. "I... I don't remember." Our jaws dropped.