“I do,” I say and abruptly hang up on him.
He’s Adam’s friend. You can’t trust him. He’s lying.
“No . . . I’m afraid he’s not.”
If only Rob knew that good MRI results mean my diagnosis is so much worse. That my ultimate fear is coming true, screaming at me.
That I’ve been turning into my father all along.
I’ve been praying that a brain injury would at least afford me a chance to mend my damaged mind. But there is no injury. There is just the excruciating truth. Now there can be no more hiding, no pretending. The voice in my head, the hallucinations, are symptoms of schizophrenia.
I slog down the hallway, for no other reason than to try and clear my head. Most of my life, I’ve told myself that if I could just make it past thirty, I’d have beaten the schizophrenia odds. Onset becomes increasingly unlikely after that age. Each birthday felt like a bigger celebration, but only after reaching thirty-five did I finally manage to find a measure of relief.
I should have been safe—I should have made it.
It’s the tree’s fault.
I stop walking. I clench my jaw and slam my fist against the wall.
“The tree!” I shout to nobody. “The goddamned tree!”
One turn of fate. That’s all it took to reverse the tide, to push me into these relentless waters. One moment to destroy my life.
So, what now?
“I need confirmation and a diagnosis. That’s what. I need a treatment plan. Maybe it’s not as severe as—”
Are you crazy?
“Well, yeah, obviously.”
You keep trying to help them destroy you. Tell a doctor now, and you’ll get slapped with a one-way ticket to Loonyville.
I start walking again, now at a fast clip. Getting an official diagnosis would be the worst thing I could do. The consequences would be immediate and disastrous. I’d lose my license. I’d lose my work. And I’d lose any chance of figuring out what’s happening in Alpha Twelve or if Donny Ray actually poses a threat to Devon. No, I can’t seek diagnosis or treatment now, not until I devise a plan.
What’s the plan, then?
I could get my hands on some Clorazil and self-medicate in the meantime. It’s one of the most effective drugs available right now. But how? I’m not an MD, can’t prescribe meds, and I can’t exactly ask one of the doctors at Loveland to do it. Besides being unethical, it will only draw attention to my problem. And with all drugs being so closely monitored at this hospital, sneaking them would be next to impossible. Every capsule and tablet within our walls is accounted for, every single one scanned after leaving the Omnicell dispenser. Even when staff members drop a pill and have to replace it, they’re required to provide a written explanation.
So I’m screwed. I have to go on without medication or support. And now there’s yet another problem I can add to my list, this one far more urgent.
Time.
“Chris, wait!” I hear Adam say from behind me. “We’re not done talking!”
I don’t turn to look back at him. I walk faster.
“Chris, please!”
Don’t do it. He’s recording you. He’s trying to steal information from your mind. He needs to get lost. Tell him that.
“Get lost!” I yell and keep my attention aimed forward, then break into a panicky dash.
“Chris! Don’t do this!”
DO NOT answer. Lose him!
I take an abrupt turn down the next hallway, but Adam keeps after me.
“Let’s talk this out!” he shouts from several feet back.
You don’t need to hear it.
“I don’t need to hear it!” I yell.
“Chris! We’ve been friends for too long. I’m just worried about you. You’re completely misunderstanding things.”
It was no misunderstanding.
“It was no misunderstanding!”
“Chris, please. Look at me!”
You don’t have time for him.
“I don’t have time for you!”
My parting comment as I burst through the exit doors.
I make fast tracks out of the parking lot, but hitting the road is like making a mental U-turn that only drives me deeper into worry.
I lost it with Adam.
I didn’t mean to. I just got angry, and though I felt justified in it, couldn’t control myself. But he saw those people who are now missing.
Or did he?
I don’t know anymore. About anything.
Now I have to go home and tell Jenna. I have to deliver the news that will break my family. With that thought and so many others, I keep driving, vision set ahead, mind heavy with so much grief.
61
I walk through the door and into what was once my settled little world, fully aware that I’m about to throw it further out of kilter. Jenna takes one look at the tears I’m fighting back, and I can tell she already knows.
Her smile is so full of love . . . and so sad.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Devon speeds into the room, his face lit up with an abundance of exuberance at the sight of me.
And I can’t take this—not any of it—because standing before me are the two people I’ve built my life around. Two people whose own lives, whether I like it or not, I’m about to destroy.
I kneel down, and my son throws his arms over my shoulders. I press his tiny body against mine, take in his little-boy smell—a combination of bubblegum, the outside soil, and a myriad of other things that come his way as he tackles each new day—and never before have those things meant so much, because I know these are the things that will very soon slip away from me.
As he slips away from me.
Jenna has been watching us, and I can tell she’s feeling everything that I am.
For Devon’s sake, I do my best not to show the penetrating ache that cuts through me. There are limits to how much pain can be hidden, and I’m pretty sure I’ve reached my threshold. All at once, tears I can no longer hold back fill my eyes. I pull him closer, but it doesn’t seem close enough. It never will be.
We never will be.
I cling to him, to these feelings, knowing they will soon be few and numbered. After a few seconds, my little boy pulls back and looks at me with so much sadness.