The Hungry 4: Rise of the Triad (The Sheriff Penny Miller Series) Read Free Page A

and anxious? But who is “they”? Why is this happening?
    “Yeah, I saw something,” Alex said as calmly as he could. “I saw some woman go nuts on the beach and kill a friend of mine.”
    “Tell me about that.”
    Alex did his best to recount what had happened. Once he started talking his old training failed him. He shivered in the chill air and babbled along. He said everything and anything. He even talked a little about having been up all night screwing. Said how the waves were uninspiring, and that he’d been stoned and had gotten hungry. One part of his mind told him to shut up, or at least edit himself, but he was too frightened and cold and tired to obey. Finally Alex talked about the crazy lady who had bitten Carlos. How she’d torn his throat out. How Leslie had screamed and the soldiers had come running. When he got to the part about being arrested and pepper-sprayed, the man asked him to stop.
    “Is it possible that you are mistaken?”
    “About what?”
    “About what you thought you saw.”
    “Not really,” he said, cautiously. “I’m pretty damn certain my friend Carlos got his throat torn out by that woman.”
    “Think hard, Alex. Are you absolutely certain that that is what happened?”
    Alex’s anxiety went up about ten notches. Something was very, very wrong here. He felt paranoid and scared he was being asked to do something strange, and he had no idea what it was. The guy was playing some kind of mind game. Alex swallowed bile. He heard a beeping sound. The man took the small handheld computer out of his coat pocket again. He read something on it and nodded. Then he pursed his lips and looked up.
    “I’m waiting, Alex,” he said.
    Alex tried something else. “I think it might be better if you told me what you think I should believe happened.”
    The man smiled. “Very good, Alex.”
    Alex smiled, weakly. He nodded, sort of like the two of them were old friends sharing a secret.
    The man said, “I understand you were in the Marines, that you saw combat, and that you have been treated for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
    Alex blinked. “Yes.”
    The man pursed his lips. “You mentioned being high, and the report I just received confirms that you do a lot of drugs. So here is what I think happened, young man. What I think happened is that you were hallucinating. You imagined most of the terrible events you just described.”
    “Hallucinating.” Alex made it a statement, not a question. He wanted to please the man and get back to his beach shack, but he was uncomfortable with the word. He didn’t care for this turn of events. “Sir, I’m pretty certain that that event was real.”
    “No,” said the balding man. “It was not, Alex. At least not the way you remember it. You need to concentrate and regain your grasp on reality before it’s too late. We found traces of amphetamine in your system, along with a heavy dose of THC. These are drugs that can cause psychosis, especially in someone who has already experienced delusions.”
    What is this? Reefer madness? he thought, but instead said, “I told you I’d been partying the night before and that I blazed before surfing.”
    The man stared back, his face devoid of emotion. “Alex, listen up. This is what happened. There was no crazy woman on that beach. The only person who attacked that poor short order cook was you. You are the one who killed him.”
    “No, sir. I did not.” Alex’s heartbeat was racing, and he felt the pounding of blood in his ears.
    “It was you, son. You tore your friend Carlos apart with your own bare hands.”
    Alex sat up straight. His mind shouted but his voice whispered. “Bullshit!”
    The man sighed. “Alex, I’m sorry to tell you this, but given the results of your blood test, the consensus of the doctors here is that you’ve had a severe psychotic break, PTSD from combat, exacerbated by the ingestion of both a hallucinogenic and an amphetamine. It was you all the time, Alex. Your own