Exodus 2022 Read Free

are you treating us like this? What are you thinking?”
    Goss swiveled on his stool, removed his glasses, and fixed Ella with a contemptuous gaze.
    “I’m thinking,” said the doctor, “that your pal here single-handedly trashed a wonderful island business this morning, and hurt a very good friend of mine in the process.”
    “Wait a second. Joe didn’t—”
    “I’m thinking ,” Goss continued, “that this is some kind of game you two are playing.”
    “Game?” Ella yelled.
    “Doctor Goss,” said Joe, “I can’t explain what happened at the motel. I can’t even remember most of it now. But I swear to you, I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, and I wasn’t playing games.”
    Goss said, “I talked to the detective, Mr. Stanton. I read the health history you gave the nurse. You suffered, allegedly, a stupendous hallucination this morning. A hallucination you shared with everyone at the Breakwater. You screamed, at the top of your lungs, about a kidnapping. A murder. An imaginary kid. Acted completely out of your mind. Such a hallucination could mean that you were suffering from, say, posttraumatic stress disorder—except that you aren’t in the military or any similarly stressful line of work. You could be psychotic, or schizophrenic, and yet you report no history whatsoever of mental illness.”
    “Doc—”
    “You could have a high fever, or a catastrophic disease, yet clearly, you do not. This could be drug-induced. But, of course you both swear no drugs are involved.”
    “You can’t just diagnose off the cuff like this,” Ella said. “He needs tests. An MRI, a CAT scan. Joe could have a brain tumor or something.”
    The doctor shrugged. “Anything’s possible. And if you’re not both full of shit, I’d urge you to get it checked out. We don’t have that equipment here. Catch the next ferry for Seattle. Or better yet, an air-evac helicopter. Get those tests. By all means. Right away.”
     
     

CHAPTER 7
    A NURSE FOLLOWED Joe and Ella outside, into the clinic parking lot. “I’d like to apologize,” she said. “For Dr. Goss’s behavior. I’m Carla.”
    They stopped and turned, Ella still furious. “What the hell was that?” she asked. “Why is that guy allowed to see patients? Why is such an asshole allowed to go anywhere near patients?”
    “He should have retired a long time ago,” admitted the nurse. “A lot of us think so. I’m really sorry.”
    The apology seemed to soothe Ella, and she and Carla discussed Joe’s ordeal, talking in medical jargon about tests and procedures. Joe pretended to listen, but soon zoned out. Not because he was tired or disinterested. It was more than that.
    The hallucination had come back.
    The realization made him catch his breath, like a quick jab to the gut.
    It’s back.
    It was there, on the periphery of his conscious mind. A glimmer. A mirage shimmering in the distance.
    Joe’s heart began to thump.
    I’m afraid , Joe thought.
    Afraid of what? he asked himself.
    Afraid of losing my mind. Afraid of— he went ahead and thought it— dying.
    Don’t write the script. It was something he told parishioners in counseling. You don’t know what this is.
    I know it’s bad. I know hallucinations are rare. Drug addicts hallucinate. Serious alcoholics. Mental patients. If you’re hallucinating and you’re not any of those things, it means you’re sick. Maybe really sick.
    Don’t write the script.
    His heart thumped harder, his fear edging toward panic. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He could feel himself drifting into the hallucination again.
    Breathe. You’re in control. You’re okay.
    Ella and Carla kept chatting in the sunshine, oblivious to his discomfort.
    I’m okay. I’m just afraid. And that’s okay.
    Breathe.
    The self-talk worked, or seemed to. His progress toward the hallucination stopped. It was still there, like a storm beyond the next ridge, but it was no longer drawing him in.
    Breathe. I’m in control.
    What is this? Joe