Sydney
Robert speaks quietly into the phone, but I can still hear him. We are moored off Key Biscayne; he’s lounging in the captain’s chair while I sit on the back bench of the speed boat. It’s a beautiful antique—glossy wood and white leather. Her name is MY WAY.
And right now, that’s what Robert Maxim is getting: his way.
He’s actually berating someone about the raid—someone who has much more power than Declan Doyle. Maybe a politician or a director at Homeland Security. For all I know, he’s on the phone with the head of the CIA.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s going to fix this. We’ll be home before dawn, and the place will be spotless. As if none of it ever happened.
Home.
When did Miami begin to feel this way? When I began to take getting better seriously? When I took my care into my own hands. Three months ago…
“I’m not working with Dale anymore,” I yell at Robert as I storm into his office, Blue by my side.
Robert looks up at me, his gaze flat. “He’s the best.”
“He’s a creep.” I’m standing right in front of Robert’s big, glass-topped desk now, lightning sizzling in the corner of my vision, thunder pounding in my ears.
A smile pulls at Robert’s lips as he sits back into his chair. His hands come to the armrests, and he looks down at his lap. “How do you know?”
“Puh-leez.” I drop into one of the two chairs that face Robert’s desk, and Blue settles by my side, resting his chin on my knee. This room is all modern furniture--crisp lines, cold metal, hard glass, and pale earth tones. Has his decorator ever heard of a freaking accent pillow? “A creep that big I can spot a mile away. Guy is creepy.”
Robert’s smile grows larger. “I suppose you’re right,” he nods. “So, how would you like to continue your treatment?”
“Dale made really clear what’s wrong with my brain but didn’t have any good ideas how to fix it.” I tick off on my hand. “Hallucinations, blackouts, depression…I’ve been Googling…” Humor lights Robert’s blue-green gaze, and I narrow my eyes. “Don’t laugh,” I warn.
“At you, Sydney? Never.”
“Hmmph…well…what do you know about Ketamine?” I chew on my lower lip, surprised by how much I care about Robert’s opinion.
His brows raise, and he steeples his finger like the evil villain he plays on the international stage. “It’s an anesthetic—used on the battlefield, on children and the elderly—as well as other patients with compromised respiratory systems—because it does not affect breathing.”
“Yeah…it was also a party drug.” I shrug.
“You want to rave your problems away?” He smiles, teasing me. But we both know my problems are no joke.
I shake my head and reach out for Blue, petting one of his velvety ears. He sighs in appreciation. “I read that it has some amazing results for people with mood disorders and other issues…including suicidal thoughts.” I force myself to meet Robert’s gaze. He’s sitting very still, the sun streaming in the windows behind him catching the silver at his temples and making it sparkle. “Apparently, it regrows…your…brain.”
Robert frowns.
“I don’t really understand the science.” I watched a few YouTube videos and read some interviews with people who’d gone through the infusion process, but I didn’t really get it. But I don’t know how the internet works either, and that doesn’t stop me from surfing it. “The point is, I want to try it.”
“Okay, do you have a doctor in mind?”
“His name is Dr. Munkin. He has a clinic downtown.”
Robert leans forward and pulls his silver laptop in front of him, opens the sleek computer, and begins to type. “I’ll have him checked out.”
“Thanks.” I get up to leave. “Sydney,” Robert says, stopping me. “There is something else we need to discuss.”
I turn back to him. He looks up from the computer. “I spoke with Dan this afternoon.” I nod, my throat tight with anxiety. What now? “He is concerned that Homeland Security is closing in on us. Declan Doyle is making himself a nuisance. You know he’s been assigned to your mother’s case.”
I don’t want to talk about that. Lightning sizzles across my vision, and I close my eyes, willing it away; but the bright beam of electricity dances behind my closed lids and thunder crashes so loudly I feel its vibrations.
“Dan wants us to leave Miami,” Robert continues, his deep voice pulling me out of my hallucination. “I told him it’s not an issue. My contacts have assured me I’m safe. And you are under my protection.”
“Okay…”
“I thought you had a right to know his thoughts, though.”
“He couldn’t tell me himself?” I ask, cocking a hip, the familiar spark of anger giving me strength.
Robert sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers again. “He said he tried calling you, but you didn’t pick up.”
I nod, looking down at Blue, my righteous indignation fading in the stark light of the truth. I am willfully ignorant. “Yeah, right.”
“Why didn’t you answer his call?”
“I can’t deal with anything right now, Robert,” I answer, my voice low, my gaze still on Blue.
“That’s fine. I’m happy to care for you. But please, don’t act like I’m trying to keep things from you.” I raise my eyes to Robert. He has a point. I try to apologize, but the words just won’t come. Instead, I straighten my spine and glare at him, trying to kindle that sweet rage keeping me alive. Robert smiles. “Confrontational even at the very edge of madness.” He shakes his head, an amused smile playing over his mouth.
“Let me know what you find out about Dr. Munkin,” I say.
He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”
Dr. Munkin is in his mid-seventies, wearing thick glasses, a salmon-colored button down shirt and khakis. He’s pale, unlike the majority of Miamians, and gives me a warm smile as he walks into the room.
“Hello, Ms. Rye, how are you feeling today?” I force a smile onto my face, but that just makes him frown, his eyes softening with concern. Dr. Munkin sits on a wheeled stool and scoots over to where I wait on a lounge chair. There is a TV in the room, an IV stand, and soft music whispers from unseen speakers. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching for Blue, who inches closer, pressing his entire weight against my thigh, grounding me. “Well…this is all confidential, right?”
He nods, looking grave. I get the sense this guy takes his Hippocratic Oath seriously. The clinic is open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They save lives here. Save people from the demons inside their heads.
“I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“We have plenty of time.”
I stifle a laugh and he nods, his brows pulled into a furrow of concern, encouraging me to “let it out” with his gaze.
“It all started about five years ago, when my brother was murdered.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He does sound sorry but not shocked—he is used to traumatized people.
“So…” I look down at Blue; he’s staring up at me with his mismatched eyes. “I tried to kill his murderer.” I don’t look up, but I hear a sharp intake of breath. “The police weren’t going to do anything about it. The guy was very powerful, and I just couldn’t have him walking around, living his life, when my brother was gone. So, I tried to kill him, but I was too late--the guy had enemies far fiercer than me, and when I got to him, he was already dead. But, those fiercer enemies, they were also smarter than me.” I look up for a moment and find the doctor’s eyes wide, his mouth formed into a small o. “So they framed me. And I fled the country.”
The doctor nods, letting me know he’s with me, even though he looks a little like he just saw a pigeon get hit by a bus—something shocking and gruesome but not related to him.
I take in another deep breath and sink my hand into Blue’s ruff, massaging him. “I started working as a private investigator after that—so fast forward a few years, and I’m working a case in Miami—my brother’s ex-fiancé actually. Ex…is that the right term?” Hugh’s face crosses my mind—his wide smile and bowl haircut. The way his eyes light up when he talks about cooking. The way he made my brother laugh so hard James would bend over and slap his knee, his face going red and tears leaking from his eyes. A bolt of lightning sizzles, and I blink against the bright ray. Of course, that doesn’t help—the lightning in my mind cannot be escaped.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The doctor waits patiently. “My brother’s ex…Hugh, he was accused of murder, so I came here to clear his name and ended up getting doused with a highly potent strain of Datura.” The doctor nods, he knows the stuff—The Devil’s Breath is a powerful hallucinogen that leaves its victims trapped in a nightmare while their bodies become totally pliant. It’s mostly used to rob people. While under a Datura spell, victims will empty their bank accounts, lead their burglars to all their prized possessions…they will do anything anyone asks. “I was lost in the Everglades for several days during a big storm.” I bring my hand up and swirl it near my head. “And the lightning and thunder kinda stuck with me.” I try another smile and get that same sad frown in return. He won’t pretend it’s funny with me.
“How long were you in the Datura haze?” he asks.
“A few weeks.” I turn my gaze back down to Blue. “My dog, Blue, he rescued me, kept me alive in the Everglades, and brought me to safety. Then my friends took me to a private hospital and looked after me. But I can’t seem to get rid of this lightning and thunder. I know what’s real. But it’s still annoying.”
He nods. “Are those the only residual effects?”
I chew on my lip for a moment. Should I tell him the rest? “It’s okay,” he says, “you can trust me.”
I release another sigh. “Well…a couple of months back I almost died.”
He grunts. “May I ask, was it suicide?”
“Sort of. See, this assassin, he tried to kill me, and I couldn’t just let him, but I also was kinda ready to go.” I stroke Blue between his eyes, running my finger out to his wet, black nose. “But Blue really wanted me to stay. I was bleeding a lot, and this woman found me.” I look up at the doctor. “She was a surgeon and saved my life, but I don’t remember the months I spent with her recovering. I…” How do I put this? “I kind of convinced her to say she was a prophet from God and start a…a kind of…well,” I take in another deep breath. Just get it out. “A revolution. You’ve heard of the Her Prophet?”
“Of course.” By now anyone who listened to the news had heard of the burka-clad woman hiding in the wilds between Syria and Iraq, claiming to be a messenger from God, telling women to rise up and force men to accept and acknowledge their value. To let the wolf out. I look down at Blue again. His eyes are closed, long dark lashes spread against white fur. He sees the whole world in black and white.
Thunder rumbles so loudly I have to close my eyes and let it rage over me. I’m not sure how long I stay like that, but when I open my eyes, the doctor is still sitting in front of me, his gaze holding mine. “Anything else?”
“My mom got shot. She almost died.” I shake my head. “I have not seen her…we have issues.” He gives me a warm smile, like he knows about Mommy issues. He waits and I go on, weirdly desperate to fill the silence. I know that trick, and yet I’m falling into it.
“I’m in love with someone who doesn’t even know I exist.” He cocks his head, this one seeming out of context with the rest of my saga. I swallow and look down at my hands. Clean and healed. The hands of a civilian. Not the calloused, wounded weapons of a warrior. Not right now.
“His name…” I can’t say it out loud. Mulberry. I blink away tears. “He was injured, badly. Because he went looking for me. Lost part of his leg, lost a lot of blood. Almost died.” I look up at Dr. Munkin again, and he’s giving me that same soft, understanding smile. Like this isn’t freaky. Like I’m just another hurting person. “He has amnesia and doesn’t remember me. And—” Sucking in a deep breath, I sit up taller, strength seeping into me as I force myself to speak. "He’s happy now. Not remembering—it’s better.”
Dr. Munkin purses his lips but does not argue with me. “I think I can help you,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I send up a prayer to a God I don’t believe in…don’t let Dr. Munkin be full of shit.
“Sydney,” Robert’s voice pulls me from my memories back onto the gently bobbing boat. “Should we grab dinner before heading back?”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a smile. “Where do you want to go?”
“You still haven’t gone to see Hugh, right?”
“No,” I answer quietly.
Robert sighs. Hugh’s restaurant is his favorite in Miami. “Fine, Saphina’s then?” Robert turns the engine over, and I help him bring up the anchor—I drive the winch as he maneuvers the lithe boat.
We take off across the bay, headed for Saphina’s, the casual French bistro Robert likes almost as much as Hugh’s restaurant; James.
If I go to see Hugh then Miami will be home, and I won’t ever want to leave. I watch Robert’s hair twisting and fluttering in the wind and know I should leave. And soon.
It’s dangerous to get too comfortable. People die when I’m happy.