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  The drugs were unlike anything he had experienced. There was a small blue machine attached to the IV. Twice he heard it beep, and almost instantly an icy veil fell upon his mind. Fifteen seconds later, he departed. Neither his frantic worry over Jessica nor his strength of will made any difference whatsoever. The machine’s contents pulled him down like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean.

  When he resumed consciousness, the lovely dark-haired woman asked once more, “Luke, how are you feeling?”

  “Please don’t inject me with any further medication.”

  His words clearly surprised them. The tall, handsome man motioned to the smaller, dark-skinned doctor, who checked something on the portable electronic apparatus. The woman kept her gaze directed at him. She asked again, “How are you?”

  “Ready to be untethered,” he replied. He debated a moment, then added, “Please.”

  “Do you understand why you are here, Luke?”

  The woman’s exotic beauty and her apparent concern had temporarily disarmed him. But the drug continued to release his mental capabilities. He had learned early and well that with most of the medical profession, the safest answer was also the shortest. He replied, “Yes.”

  “So you also understand why you are currently restrained.”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “Will you tell me, Luke?”

  “I was frightened. I overreacted.” He gestured with his chin at the blue machine. “I must assume this apparatus is set on a timer. Can you please stop it before more drugs are injected?”

  The woman clearly liked having a lever. “What scared you, Luke?”

  In reply he turned his head and stared at the machine. He allowed the silence to linger, then repeated, “Please.”

  The small man placed two fingers upon his neck. Lucius had the distinct impression the doctor did so as a test. Lucius studied him. The doctor held himself with an intelligent poise, like an aging dancer. There was something distinctly foreign about him. Lucius tried to recall if he had ever encountered a foreign, dark-skinned doctor at any point before. The doctor shifted his gaze to an electronic panel on Luke’s opposite side, and said, “All signs remain stable.”

  The taller doctor spoke for the first time. “So let’s give it a try.”

  The small man touched the blue machine, then walked back over and joined the other two. The woman asked, “What scared you, Luke?”

  “If I answer that, will you respond to a question of my own?”

  The trio shared a look. Something about his response left them . . . Lucius searched for the proper word.

  Disoriented.

  Well, that made four of them.

  The woman replied, “I am happy to answer any question you might have, Luke.”

  “Another lie. One of many.”

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I should not have spoken. Don’t inject me with any more of that brain-numbing drug.”

  “There is no need, so long as you remain calm,” the woman said.

  He opened the hands tethered to either side of his body. “Observe. This is me at my calmest.”

  It was then that Lucius noticed the first difference.

  Not to his surroundings.

  About himself.

  His eyesight had always been adequate. As in, he could drive, he could see his surroundings, he could read a ledger or a newspaper. But his eyesight was no stronger than the rest of him. Spectacles only gave him headaches.

  Not now.

  The trio stood at the opposite side of the room from where he lay strapped to his bed. Attached to the wall to their right, almost grazing the ceiling, was a flat black panel. Along its lower edge was a silver word he knew vaguely, SONY. What he found remarkable was how he could read it at all. What was more, he could also read the name tags attached to their white coats. From across the room.

  The woman asked, “Do you remember me, Luke?”

  He read, “Meisel.”

  Again his response surprised them. The woman said, “Why don’t you use my first name, Luke?”

  Lucius needed to orient himself. In private. He needed a temporary respite from this woman’s softly penetrating questions. He needed . . .

  He said, “I need to go to the bathroom. Please.”

  * * *

  The birdlike doctor left the room and returned with two orderlies, massive brutes who appeared almost comical in their hospital blues. Five people plus Lucius made the hospital room very cramped. But the doctors showed no interest in vacating the premises. Instead, the trio shifted over beside the window. They stood shoulder to shoulder while the interns positioned themselves to the left of his bed. Both of the men had swarthy complexions and grim expressions and cautious gazes. The larger man took a firm grip on Lucius’s left forearm and shoulder, then demanded, “Are you gonna give me any trouble?”

  “No trouble at all,” Lucius replied. He found it mildly interesting how few Caucasians were in the room. He studied the three doctors and their intent manners. Like they were a set piece. A quorum. But for what purpose, he had no idea. What could he have possibly said or done upon awakening that would invite this manner of investigation?

  The orderly who had spoken nodded to his associate, who began the process of unstrapping him.

  “Come on up,” the orderly told him. “Slow and easy.”

  The second orderly gripped his right arm as Lucius rose from the bed. Lucius did not protest, both because he knew it would do no good and because he was not sorry for the support. He felt overwhelmed by a sense of disconnection from his own limbs.

  “Steady, now.”

  It was completely different from how he had felt upon the beach. But it took Lucius a few steps before he could identify the change. Lucius was utterly pain-free. What was more, he seemed to be breathing more easily. And yet his legs functioned with reluctance. He had to concentrate on planting each step. There was a tingling down his legs, all the way to his bare feet.

  When they reached the bathroom, the first orderly asked, “You going to be able to handle it from here?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Polite, that’s real good. Now look here.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, attached to a metal chain that unwound as he reached for the bathroom door. “I’m setting the lock so you can’t seal the door. Don’t complain because that’s how it’s gonna be.”

  “I understand.”

  “This works two ways. You need something, you give me a shout.” He nodded to his companion, who released Lucius. He did the same, then repeated, “No trouble, now.”

  “None whatsoever,” Lucius assured them. He stepped inside and gripped a tubular support rod screwed into the wall by the door frame. He waited until the door shut, then shuffled forward.

  Then he stepped in front of the sink, and his reflection came into view.

  Lucius Quarterfield stared at a face that was not his own.

  CHAPTER 6

  Dr. Emeka was paged just as Lucius entered the washroom. He said, “I must go and check on an incoming patient.”

  “I think we’re good here,” Dino said. “Asha?”

  She asked, “Do you think the restraints are necessary? The patient has no history of violent behavior.”

  Dino and Emeka exchanged glances. The diminutive doctor said, “I have no objections.”

  “Let’s give him some space when he comes back,” Dino decided. “See how he responds.”

  Emeka said to the orderlies, “Could we ask you gentlemen to remain close by, but hands off?”

  “Fine by us,” the first orderly replied. “This one is a kitty cat.”

  Emeka nodded to Dino and Asha. “See you in a few moments.”

  Asha had almost managed to forget the peer review. She waited until the orderlies resumed their soft conversation to ask Dino, “Do we still have to go before the board?”

  “You know the rules. A patient’s attempted suicide is considered grounds for review.” He offered a p
rofessional smile. “You’ll do fine.”

  She swallowed her queasiness. Her one experience with a peer review had been as a witness. The experience had branded her.

  “What do . . .” Dino was halted by the chirp of his phone. He checked the readout, then said, “I have to take this.” He stepped into the hall.

  The two orderlies were deep into a conversation about the chances of some LA team in the play-offs. Asha assumed they were talking about basketball, but she did not care enough to ask. As a result she was the only one who was watching when Luke Benoit opened the door.

  Because the orderly had fastened the latch open, the door made no sound. For one brief instant Luke Benoit revealed a deep state of shock. His features were drawn into an almost rictus snarl, as though he struggled against some internal tempest, or very deep pain.

  Asha was about to demand what was the matter, when Luke underwent a drastic shift. The instant the orderlies turned toward him, Luke’s face went blank. In the time it took for him to shuffle one step forward, he smothered his emotions completely.

  Asha had seen professional gamblers do this, wear a mask that remained utterly disconnected to their thoughts and emotions.

  Yet in her six sessions with Benoit, the patient had revealed an utter inability to control his feelings. It was one of the traits noted by all of his former therapists. The man was an open book when it came to his internal state.

  She remained where she was, intently focused as the orderlies shepherded the patient back into bed. His limbs shook, the tremors so intense he could not seem to lift his feet off the floor. And yet he held to his bland disguise. Asha was certain that was actually what she observed. A camouflage.

  Dino reentered the room just as Luke settled into his bed. He said into his phone, “Hold on just a minute.” He informed Asha, “We need to get downstairs.”

  Asha was so intent upon the patient, the pending review could not impact her. “Luke, do we need to restrain you?”

  “Absolutely not.” He met her gaze for the first time, revealing nothing. “I am quite capable of remaining tranquil, I assure you.”

  Dino said, “Mr. Benoit, if you show any further aggression, there is every risk you will be confined to a room in the mental ward. Tell me you understand.”

  “Completely. The previous incident will not be repeated. You have my word.”

  Dino’s attention was clearly elsewhere. He said to the orderlies, “We’ll be back in a couple of hours. In the meantime . . .”

  “We got your back, Docs,” he assured them.

  “Fine. Let’s go, Asha. They’re starting.”

  * * *

  Once everyone had left, Lucius felt his thoughts spread out and crowd every inch of the otherwise empty room. He allowed himself to drift upon the tempest, all the images sweeping about, illuminated by lightning flashes and the thunderous impact of seeing his own reflection.

  He reviewed numerous items that he had discounted upon first awakening. The blue machine was now disengaged but remained stationed beside his bed. Next to that was the monitor that blinked softly with each of his heartbeats. He studied the electric patterns that clearly represented his breathing and pulse and blood pressure. The bed itself was unlike anything he had seen before, with illuminated controls upon a cable that lay on the sheet beside his right hand. He used them to raise his head. He started to shift from the bed so as to peer out the window.

  The orderly chose that moment to open the door leading to the hallway. “You need to go again?”

  “No, I just . . .”

  “They want you planted right there in that bed until they get back.” He must have seen a hint of rebellion in Lucius’s expression, for he went on. “Listen up, man. You’re standing on the brink. One false step, and they’ll lock you up in a padded cell. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “Why on earth would they want to confine me like that?”

  “On account of you trying to do yourself in, what do you think?”

  “I . . . What?”

  “That’s why they’re watching, see if you’re gonna bug out again.” The orderly used his considerable strength to press Lucius firmly into the mattress, then gave the bedsheets a military tuck. Sealing him in. “You’re lucky this is California. They got a strict set of rules about locking people up. The problem is, once you’re in, there’s a world of trouble getting out.” The orderly turned for the door. “You best think good and hard on what I’m telling you.”

  Lucius was stunned to immobility by what he had just heard. He had only caught that one glimpse of himself in the mirror. But what he had seen, what he felt now, was that he was encased within a body that was completely, entirely healthy. He had a collection of professionals that appeared to be genuinely concerned about his well-being. The questions filled the white walls of his room with the script of mystery.

  What on earth could this young man have been facing that had brought him to preferring death?

  Who was this Luke Benoit?

  Where was he?

  When was he?

  Why was he here?

  Most important of all, where was Jessica?

  CHAPTER 7

  The peer review was fairly awful, but nowhere near as bad as Asha had feared.

  The term had two very different meanings. Peer review also referred to the process that every scientific article underwent before publication. Normally, a research team would alert the journal they hoped might publish their work long in advance. This early notification was a declaration that their study was producing results. Hopefully, the journal would then agree to consider their work for publication. The article was written and submitted. It went before an editorial board. If found acceptable, it was sent out for peer review, a critical analysis by one or more experts in the field.

  The process Asha faced was the same, only different.

  The hospital’s review board met at least twice each month. Cases involving serious legal or ethical issues, particularly where the hospital might be found liable, were held in the director’s conference room. All others took place in the hospital’s basement auditorium. Partly because it was located on the same level as the morgue, but mostly because of these reviews, the auditorium was known among the hospital staff as the boneyard.

  Asha’s case was the fourth, and last, to be taken up that morning. She and Dino found seats by the right-hand aisle, midway up the rising bank of rows. Dino left soon after, drawn away by the same crisis that had called him from the hospital room. Dr. Emeka was seated three aisles farther up, with colleagues from the ER wing. Asha found she did not mind the solitude. She faced a collection of unanswered questions regarding Luke Benoit and his behavior. She pulled a pad and pen from her purse and began making a design of her thoughts, almost like a Christmas tree with a growing collection of ornaments. To the right of her diagram she drew a massive question mark, and reinforced it every few minutes. She was increasingly certain she was not seeing something. A clue, a sign, a shift at some core level in Benoit’s behavior . . .

  The director’s voice drew Asha from her reverie. “Our last case, patient Luke Benoit.”

  Asha followed Dino down the sloping aisle and climbed onto the stage. The last time she’d endured this, she had been so terrified it had felt as though she’d pushed through a vat of invisible glue. Now she felt . . . nothing. In fact, she was impatient to get through this so she could return to her patient. As she seated herself between the two men, she wondered if this was what it meant to become a professional clinician.

  Their three chairs were positioned so they faced both the audience and the officials, always a senior doctor and a hospital administrator. Today it was the hospital’s general manager, a courtly gentleman known to pour oil on the most troubled of waters, and a female pediatrician whom Asha did not know. They were seated together behind a cloth-covered table on Asha’s right.

  The auditorium was about one-third full. Attending peer reviews was not required. But most hospital doc
tors and many senior staff participated whenever possible. There was an element of learning involved, but Asha suspected the real reason was more salacious in nature. There was nothing the hospital staff appreciated more than having a doctor they disliked be caught out and officially censured for making a mistake.

  The review board’s preliminary questions were handled by Emeka, who accepted the microphone and addressed the gathering without rising from his seat. Then Dino took the mike and gave a concise coverage of Benoit’s patient history.

  The hospital administrator said, “We will now hear from the clinician responsible for the patient.”

  Dino said, “Actually, Ms. Meisel has only been involved for a very brief period. I can . . .”

  Asha turned so as to face him. “I’d like to do this.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” She decided to stand at the podium. She wanted to remove herself from these two more senior staffers. Asha was grateful for their concern. But it was time she was identified as, well, the professional she intended to become. And something more.

  She was still hunting for the missing item.

  Asha summarized her previous six sessions, then laid out today’s sequence of events, starting from her entry into the patient’s room. She made her comments as complete as possible, hoping this public recollection would help in her search.

  She could hear her words slow as she arrived at the point when Luke emerged from the bathroom. She described how she was the only one to see the abrupt change. She dwelled on how Benoit slipped on the gambler’s mask, then related how totally unlike his previous behavior this was.

  Then it hit her. The simplicity was so astonishing, she could not believe it had taken her this long to realize . . .

  “Ms. Meisel, are you done?”

  She turned to the panel at the table. “He’s lost his accent.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Luke Benoit spent his early years in Quebec, then relocated to Vancouver five and a half years ago, when a new job took his family there.”

  Behind her, Dino spoke into the wireless mike. “Of course.”