Blood Loss (37 page)

‘But—’

‘What’s your solution?’ said Gary. ‘What do you think you should do? What do you think I should do?’

‘I’ll go and see Dr Lone.’

‘Ren! That’s a given. And on its own, talking hasn’t worked for you, because you either stonewall these psychiatrists or sidestep them. Therapy works if you talk, it won’t if you don’t. But before you even begin to start doing that, you need medication to get you back on an even keel. I could list all the things you’ve done, and all the things that have happened to you, but you know what they are. You scared the crap out of me. What happened with Cameron Temple was …’ He took in a breath. ‘Ren, I don’t ever want to get a phone call like that again.’

Do not cry. Do not cry.

‘Do you get that I get sucked into your bullshit?’ said Gary. ‘It is like I am on that rollercoaster with you, Ren, and believe me, I cannot afford to take that ride. I cannot keep up. No man could. Even you can’t. It has to end here.’

Do not cry. Do not cry.

‘Now, get out of my office,’ said Gary.

Ren stood up.
Just ‘get out of my office’? Or ‘get out of the building’ or ‘you are fired’ …?

Ren’s hands shook as she opened the door.

This was Gary Dettling. You did what he said. You got out of his office when he said ‘get out of my office’.

And you awaited further instructions.

Just say it. While it’s all laid out. Get it over with while you can.

‘Gary, I’m seeing Ben Rader.’

Gary didn’t look up. ‘He’s a good guy,’ he said.

‘He is,’ said Ren. She hovered for a minute. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Ren?’ said Gary.

‘Yes?’

‘Let him look after you.’

OK.

Ren closed the door gently behind her.

She went in to Cliff and sat at the edge of his desk.

‘How’s my girl?’ he said patting her leg.

‘Not good,’ said Ren.

‘I don’t like to hear that,’ said Cliff.

‘I’m scarred,’ said Ren. ‘I know too much.’ She shook her head.

‘About what?’ said Cliff.

‘Everything,’ said Ren. ‘How does it all work? Everyone getting diagnosed with shit, more drugs taken, more people messed up?’

‘Meds work for a lot of people,’ said Cliff.

‘I’m not saying they don’t,’ said Ren
.
‘But there is something very, very wrong if the most successful drugs in a country are antipsychotics. And the people making them are being sued, left and right. That’s what I’m saying. And giving kids psychotropic drugs? That’s a whole pile of wrong. Children being diagnosed bipolar aged two? Just for wanting to jump around, and laugh and sing and dance, and – God forbid – not be compliant?’

‘Our neighbor’s an elementary school teacher,’ said Cliff. ‘She has nine certified hyperactive children in her class. And she says if you open their lunchboxes, you might as well have a pound of sugar in there.’

‘Well, great!’ said Ren, ‘those kids will be ready for weight-loss drugs further down the line, maybe some diabetes drugs … Look at Joshua Merritt – he’d obviously gained weight if his little stepsister’s calling him a fat freak, he’s losing it …’ She let out a breath. ‘Maybe Henry Gadsden’s dream is coming through – these companies really will be able to sell to everyone.’

Ren could feel it again, that brief shift inside, that spike of rage. It was useful for work. It got results. It felt so scary, it felt good. When she was aware of it – rarely while it was happening, mostly in hindsight – she called it the bad side of mania. She had said it to Matt once.

‘Hate to break it to you, Ren – mania is one big bad side.’

‘You’ve been to paradise, but you haven’t been to me …’ she had said. Matt didn’t laugh with her.

‘Ren. Please,’ he had said, ‘you know this. The fallout is never worth it—’

Reminiscence over.

There
are
two sides, Matt. And you’ll never understand that soaring high. It
is
worth it, it always is. Every time.

Her anger toward Matt flared. She could feel her raised heart beat, her narrowed eyes, her frown.

The bad side, if it took hold, brought with it a strange, roaming anger. It moved like the sea, rolling up on an unsuspecting shore, crashing down, retreating, leaving in its wake an altered landscape. From a distance, it was something beautiful, clear, and alive. But, underneath, it was raging. And then it would strike, tearing at the shore, carrying away broken parts.

Dr Leonard Lone opened his door with a smile.

You are a billionaire.

‘Ren,’ said Dr Lone. ‘Welcome. Come in, take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

A candle was burning on the windowsill, and classical music played from a Bose stereo.

‘How have you been?’ said Dr Lone, sitting back in his chair.

You are a billionaire.
‘I’m good,’ said Ren. ‘Great.’
You are a billionaire.

Dr Lone nodded.

‘I’ve been very busy with work,’ said Ren.
You are a billionaire.
‘It’s been very intense. But, the outcome was positive. We took out a few of your friends in the pharmaceutical industry.’

He smiled. ‘I saw that in the newspaper. Well done. That must have been very satisfying.’

‘It was,’ said Ren. ‘It was amazing. We all put in a lot of hard work.’

I slept with two men. I crashed a car. I punched my colleague. You are a billionaire.

‘And how are you feeling after all that?’ said Dr Lone.

‘Great,’ said Ren. ‘Great.’ She started to cry.

Taber Grace poured maple syrup over a plate of pancakes. He put down the jug. Melissa Grace was smiling at him.

‘I love you,’ she said.

‘I love you too,’ said Taber.

‘I don’t know how,’ said Melissa.

‘Because you were the built-in software that came with my heart.’

They both laughed.

‘Because,’ he said. ‘You are responsible for this – for me sitting here, for me meeting up with a life that I thought was running parallel, out of my reach. And here I am, eating pancakes with my wife, while our son is upstairs sleeping like a baby.’ He put his hands on her waist and pulled her gently toward him.

‘I’m sorry you got dragged in to the case,’ said Taber.

‘I know that,’ said Melissa. She hugged him. ‘I know. We’re here now. It wasn’t for long. They didn’t lay a finger on us. TJ and I – we had each other. And … we have you now. We have you.’

Taber pulled back and held her face in his hands.

‘I never ever stopped thinking of you as my wife, Melissa Eileen Grace.’

She laughed.

‘I’d say that in six years, I called you my ex-wife about four times,’ said Taber. ‘And every time, I would choke on that “ex”. Four times, Missy. And I talked about you a hell of a lot more than that … I would usually call you my wife … to see if anyone would notice, just to make them think “hey, maybe he still loves her after all”, so it would give me permission to think, “hey, maybe I still love her after all”. Only problem was? I knew all along that I still loved you. Nothing ever changed that. I guess I just didn’t love the circumstances we found ourselves in.’

‘Me neither,’ said Missy.

‘Well, those circumstances are gone now. It’s just us. You, me and Taber Jr.’

Ren walked into Annie’s living room. Ben Rader had fallen asleep on the sofa. He was wearing just jeans, lying on his stomach, his face turned toward her.

I am in a relationship with a
Vanity Fair
spread.

Ren knelt down in front of him and ran her hand down his bare back. Ben smiled, but he was still sleeping.

You are beautiful. You will leave me.

Ren leaned down and kissed his cheek, then his lips. He kissed her more.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘What time is it?’ He rolled onto his back.

‘Midnight,’ said Ren.

‘Why did you let me sleep?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ said Ren. ‘I’m not your mom.’

Ben sat up. ‘I don’t know what my mom has to do with it, but come over here.’

Ren sat down beside him and he pulled her legs onto his lap. He looked across at the bookshelves.

‘I don’t read,’ he said. ‘I’d say I’ve read one piece of fiction in my entire life. But I would love to lie on this sofa with you on a Sunday morning, with your legs like this, and your head back, while you’re reading your book. Or else you’re naked. Your call.’

‘We could alternate …’ said Ren.

‘One Sunday on, one Sunday off?’

‘One hour on, one hour off.’

Ben squeezed her legs. ‘Do you know something?’ he said. ‘When I was sixteen years old, my father sat me down, and he told me never, ever to settle for anyone. Never to think that my mother or him expected me to marry, and have kids, or do anything by any age. My father was forty-five years old when he met my mother. He saw her walking down the street, and he stopped her right there and then, and asked her out. He said he knew that she was the woman he was going to marry. His friends had teenage children at that stage of their lives, he was the only single one, but he knew he wouldn’t settle for less than the best. He is eighty years old, my mom is seventy-three, and I swear to God, they look into each other’s eyes like they were still on that sidewalk thirty-five years ago.’

He looked at Ren. ‘You just added forty-five and thirty-five together, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ said Ren. ‘You got me.’

‘That’s because it was easier than thinking about what I was saying.’

‘Really?’ said Ren.

‘Absolutely,’ said Ben.

Ren laughed. ‘I like you, Ben Rader. I like you a lot.’

‘That’s good,’ said Ben. ‘If you keep going like that, in about ten years, you might catch up with how I feel about you.’

‘How did you
ever
work undercover?’ said Ren. ‘Saying shit like that?’

‘Wait ’til we’re married …’

Ren laughed. ‘You are nuts.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘You’re only joking about it because you don’t mean it.’

‘Exactly … I don’t mean it. At all. I’d hate that. It would be a nightmare.’

‘OK, seriously. Stop.’

‘You stop.’

‘You really are eighteen, aren’t you?’ said Ren.

‘Yup. Old enough to marry without my parents’ consent.’ He paused. ‘But they would totally consent to you.’

‘I punched my colleague in the face. I regularly flirt with unemployment. None of that is good.’
I am also nuts. And on drugs.

‘And Ben and Ren would look cool on the wedding invitations.’

‘I have a major problem dating someone with a name that rhymes with mine.’

‘And what about marrying him?’

To my agent, Darley Anderson, thank you for being wonderful, witty and wise. To everyone at the Darley Anderson Agency, you are brilliant.

Thank you to my discerning, thoughtful, and serene editor, Sarah Hodgson. I am very lucky to benefit from your talents.

Thank you to Kate Elton and to everyone at the amazing HarperCollins.

To Lynne Drew, thank you, always, for your encouragement.

To the mighty Moira Reilly and the tenacious Tony Purdue, thank you for your tireless work. And fabulousness.

Thank you to Joy Chamberlain for her sharp copy-editing ways.

For her editorial advice in the early stages of the book, many thanks to Kate Burke.

Thank you to SSA Phil Niedringhaus from The Rocky Mountain Safe Streets Task Force; you are always informative, patient and generous, despite knowing that one question is never one question.

For
Blood Loss
, I created fake drug companies, fake drugs, and fake lawsuits. And, yes, truth is stranger than fiction …

For
their fascinating, thought-provoking, and inspiring insight into the realities of the pharmaceutical industry, I recommend the following books, and their expert authors:
The Truth About The Drug Companies
by Marcia Angell, M.D.;
Selling Sickness
by Ray Moynihan and Alan Cassels;
The Emperor’s New Drugs
by Irving Kirsch;
Anatomy of an Epidemic
by Robert Whitaker.

Thank you, also, to Marcia Angell to whom I attribute Dr Leonard Lone’s clarifying line on the chemical imbalance theory:
‘One could argue that fevers are caused by too little aspirin
…’

Special thanks to Robert Whitaker for his time, and further plot-specific enlightenment.

To Phil Walter, Special Agent, FBI (retired), thank you so much for sharing your time and knowledge.

Thank you to the always-entertaining Andy and Niki from The Fireside Inn in Breckenridge.

Mauser, you are a marvel.

A mysterious thank you to Cliffy.

To the exceptional Sue Booth-Forbes, and the magical world of Anam Cara.

To all my family and friends, you are what life is all about.

Thank you to the ever-smiling Paul, whose support and kindness are boundless.

Alex Barclay lives in County Cork, Ireland. She is the bestselling author of
Darkhouse, The Caller, Blood Runs Cold,
and
Time of Death
.

For more information about Alex Barclay and her books, please visit her website,
www.alexbarclay.co.uk

‘The rising star of the hard-boiled crime fiction world, combining wild characters, surprising plots and massive backdrops with a touch of dry humour’

Mirror

‘Tense, no-punches-pulled thriller that will have you on the edge of your deckchair’

Woman and Home

‘Explosive’

Company

‘
Darkhouse
is a terrific debut by an exciting new writer’

Independent on Sunday

‘Compelling’

Glamour

‘Excellent summer reading … Barclay has the confidence to move her story along slowly, and deftly explores the relationships between her characters’

Sunday Telegraph

‘The thriller of the summer’

Irish Independent

‘If you haven’t discovered Alex Barclay, it’s time to jump on the bandwagon’

Image Magazine