Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Yes, I do. “You cited studies, but do you have an opinion on the subject of hallucinogen use? Professionally or otherwise?”
“I think that there’s potential for hallucinogens as a treatment for PTSD in a medical setting under a doctor’s supervision. They can produce extremely intense experiences that are subjectively mystical and accompanied by positive change in insight, motivation, and behavior. I’m hopeful about future studies. But as of now, therapeutic use of psychedelic substances has only been legalized in Oregon and Colorado.”
“As a well-known progressive state, California can’t be far behind?”
The doctor shrugged. “I don’t make the laws.”
“And you don’t break them.”
“No, I don’t break them. Look me up. You won’t find so much as a speeding ticket on my record.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “Have you experienced trauma, Inspector? Do you have any personal experience with it?”
“Haven’t most people to some degree or another? Life is often cruel.”
He smiled. “Life. Ah, yes. Life is often cruel.” He paused, his gaze assessing. His phone began to ring, but he didn’t break eye contact. “But it’s the easier burden to bear. When humans are cruel, specifically the ones who are tasked with caring for you, it is the most unbearable cruelty of all.”
Lennon had thanked the doctor quickly so he could take his call. She had his information, and she couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. Though the talk he’d given was still swirling in her head, making her feel upset and distracted and sort of hopeless overall. What can we do? he’d asked in closing. We must do something.
What can we do?
She came in contact with the type of people the doctor was referencing all the time, and she had no answer to his question. Most mental health professionals were drowning too. And if they didn’t know, if they had no answer—then who did?
No one. No one does.
And so they all just applied Band-Aid after Band-Aid, knowing the underlying wound was growing more and more infected by the day.
She’d been walking slowly through the parking lot, lost in her own thoughts, when the sight of the doctor rushing to his car in the other direction caught her eye. He was still on his phone, talking animatedly. And then he stopped and hung up, seeming to dial again. She held back for a moment, then moved behind him as he resumed walking, the phone held to his ear.
A name caught her attention. Ambrose. Her heart sped, a zap of electricity moving down her limbs. The doctor unlocked his car, lights flashing as he stopped near the door, looking around. She ducked behind a minivan, unseen but still close enough to hear. “We can’t lay low. We’re on day five, and there’s no turning back. You know that.” Silence for a moment. “Okay. Yes. Be at the offices tonight. I’ll determine if we can move through six and seven more rapidly.”
She heard the doctor get in his car, and scooted to the other side of the minivan, moving quickly down the aisle of cars as she heard his vehicle start and then pull out of the parking spot, driving in the opposite direction.
She hurried to her car, easy to spot because of the window covered by plastic and duct tape, and answered her ringing phone as she walked. “Hello?”
“Lennon, Lieutenant Byrd. We know who he is. His name is Ambrose DeMarce.”
She stopped. “DeMarce?” So Mars was an alias, but it hadn’t been far off. “Who is he?”
“He’s a bounty hunter. Mostly a lone ranger, but he’s contracted for the FBI and the US Marshals and who knows what other agencies. He went rogue by infiltrating our investigation, and no one knows why. But they’re also blocking any further action against him. For now, anyway.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Why?”
The lieutenant sighed, and she could see him now, rubbing his left eye the way he did when he was tired and frustrated. Which, honestly, was a hell of a lot of the time—no surprise considering the job he did and where he did it. “Because he’s valuable to them and they don’t want him in jail or otherwise compromised, I guess. Anyway, it’s clear he acted on his own, and you’ve been reinstated. I’d tell you that you could come back tomorrow, but the chief needs to sign off on it, and he’s not returning until Friday.”
She huffed out a breath of frustration. Not that being stripped of her police powers had kept her from working, but still. “Promise me you’ll call if our killer strikes again or new information comes to light? I want to get right back to it on Friday.”
“Sure, Gray. I’ll let you know if there’s a new development in the case.”
She thanked the lieutenant and hung up. She felt that fire again in her gut. Ambrose DeMarce was part of this. Some bigger picture that had to do with trauma. Treatment. Hallucinogens. A miracle treatment. She needed answers. So she’d be back to work at the end of the week. But first, she knew what she had to do tonight. Because she knew where he’d be.