"Is that black ice on the bridge?"
What was the wolf on about? The sun high in the sky and the temperature in the eighties on Thursday. "No." Thankfully, Samuel was feeling more himself after three days of rest. Now he needed to sort through a weeks worth of patient files.
"Samuel, you're not even looking at the road. At least Troy was paying attention."
Samuel marked his place and looked up at John. The man was hardly a teenager, with questionable judgment stacked on top of inexperience, needing to be watched closely. But they were traveling on a winding mountain road, which led Samuel to question his own judgement. "I'm sorry, John. Slow down a bit before the turn. The goats like to gather on the road for the next mile and a half."
Samuel waited for John to navigate the curves and then opened the newest can of worms. "I'm becoming increasingly concerned about Amanda's lack of recall."
"So still no progress? Is that normal?"
"Many people avoid discussing painful events by claiming to have no recollection, but I have always perceived a certain amount of deception in those claims. If Amanda is hiding memories, she has done an excellent job of deceiving herself as well."
John clenched his jaw for a moment. "That makes no sense. If she had completely repressed the memories, then why the nightmares, why cut off her hair?"
"Precisely, but I searched both the conscious and sub-conscious portions of her mind. I found no sign of modified memories either. Perhaps the anti-anxiety meds are interfering..." Samuel let the thought hang between them.
"What happens if you stop those meds?" By the tone of skepticism, he knew John could reason out the ramifications of taking them away.
"Likely more nightmares, panic attacks, isolation leading to depression. But she will deal with the memories one way or another, have no doubt. I still hold out hope that we can minimize the severity of the impact on the rest of her life. She will have to face it, she needs to remember and recognize that she survived." Come on Samuel, channel your inner bastard. "I'm going to start weaning her off the meds early next week. I can't handle that and the full moon at the same time."
He was surprised when John nodded. "That sounds prudent. Can you help me find my way through town?" And they were back to the mundane flow of navigating downtown Missoula. "Bribe a wolf with crepes?" John asked as he parked the Bronco.
Samuel had returned his attention to the files on his lap, so he answered with a distracted "Uh huh, in an hour."
After John had turned the corner, Samuel rested his feet on the dash, creating a table of sorts with his legs. He began spreading pages to compare notes from different sessions with the heiress. He asked himself if he was being paranoid, but the worry refused to be dismissed. He pulled out his phone. "Judge Bradly, please... Dr. Samuel Crane... Yes I'll hold." Why did it all have to go to hell at the same time? He tried to lose himself in mundane details over the next hour.
In the cafe, Samuel chewed slowly, hardly tasting the food as he carefully weighed the risks of digging skeletons out of his client's closet. If any of this found its way into the press, he would undoubtedly be facing a large lawsuit from a very powerful Hollywood family. However, if his concerns proved to be true... it was simply too gruesome to contemplate. John was staring at him again, so Samuel forced himself to chew with more enthusiasm. "I suppose you feel you deserve that chocolate monstrosity."
"Samuel, what's wrong? Do we need to go home?" John folded his napkin and stood, he didn't seem to mind that he was giving up dessert. "I think it would be best if I drive. You have barely enough focus to avoid choking on your food."
They had passed the last house in East Missoula when Samuel's phone began singing its stupid little rendition of Bach.
"No fair, my phone doesn't even pick up a signal out here." John looked honestly distressed.
"Sorry, John. You have to choose between good local coverage or any national coverage at all when you live this far from civilization. I really need to take this call." John nodded and looked back at the road. Thankfully the man was a cautious student driver.
Samuel answered just before it went to voicemail. "This is Crane... Thank you for returning my call, I'm sure you're very busy... I trust that you've spoken with Judge Bradly and understand the importance of discretion... Right, just fax the entire file to my office, I need a well rounded picture of the progression... The girl's been ill for some time now, maybe you could run the tox-screen under the guise of follow-up blood work... Please, don't mention any of this to the family until we know for sure... I hope I'm wrong, too." He closed the phone carefully.
"Munchhausen's?" How did John know about that?
"Munchausen's by proxy, actually. Tell me John, how does a person who asks me twice a week about the difference between neurosis and psychosis know about Fabricated or Induced Illnesses?" Samuel searched the man's face for any hint of deception.
"Its become a popular topic in fiction and movies in recent years. The Baron Munchhausen himself, comes from literature, arguably as a teller of tall tales. Did you know that?" Right, Professor Wolfe taught British and World Lit nine months out of the year.
"The point, John, is that as much as I wish to be wrong; if I am, and this reaches the press, she has a strong case for slander." Altruism aside, Samuel didn't want to be known for spilling secrets anymore than he wanted to be sued.
"I won't breathe a word to anyone. But I can't decide whether I hope that you're wrong, or that you're right." The sharp crease between his eyebrows lent an air of sorrow and concern for people John had never even met.
"What on earth do you mean. Of course you hope that I'm wrong and that she isn't harming her children..."
"But that leaves them with an illness that continues to defy diagnosis. If you're right, at least the doctor can treat them."
Samuel hadn't wanted to entertain these thoughts. But he had known all along that there couldn't be a happy ending for this family, no matter what they discovered. And when he thought of them as more than unknown people with money and power, but as people with grief and heartache, it was harder for him to distance himself from the outcome of the questions he was asking.
"I need to stop. Now!" He could feel the world spinning around him. His face burned with heat, his palms were slick and clammy. The Bronco had slowed to a roll when he jumped to the ground and rested his hands on his knees.
"Easy, Samuel. Better?" John's hand curled around Samuel's ribs as he gasped for cool air. He felt better on solid ground, but the smell of gasoline kept him mildly queasy. "Maybe you should stop reading in the car. Will you make it home if we roll down the windows?"
Carsick? How humiliating. He'd never had an occasion to find out until now. Troy had certainly avoided learning to drive until he was enrolled in Paramedic classes and a few of the girls offered to help him earn his license. Jack didn't even own a car. It had been nice this morning to sit back and let John play chauffeur. Maybe the air was all he needed. Oh right, no reading either. He decided that he could live with it if the wolf would sometimes drive.