Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“This? You mean tweaking your brilliant drug concoction to better meet my needs? Because the results have given me joy. Why else?”
But how? How had he managed to get to so many people needing—
The air released from his lungs in a gust. Franco had offered them false hope and healing. And it was all a cruel lie. “You said you could help them,” he guessed. “You promised you’d put an end to their torment and then lured them to their personal hell.”
Franco smiled, lips tilting, eyes dead. “They tell stories about your magical treatment in the TL,” Franco said. “They’ve all talked about it or heard someone who knows someone who knows someone. It’s a fairy tale. A half-baked theory. They speculate on those who’ve gone through your tests and been deemed a poor candidate and turned away. Turned away from what? A miracle that they weren’t quite qualified to receive. No one listens, of course. And more often than not, in the midst of their constant inebriation, all that talk is forgotten or dismissed. Addicts are good for one thing, anyway. Keeping secrets.”
Sweeton’s heart was pounding in his ears, his vision growing foggy. “You told them you worked for me?”
“No. I told them I was a competitor who offered the same services. Only I didn’t turn anyone down. I didn’t require scans and questionnaires. I told them where to show up, and they marched straight to their death.”
The doctor clenched his eyes shut, reeling with despair. It was horrendous, what Franco had done to people so desperate they’d believe most anything. The exact opposite of what he’d spent his career working to do. Suddenly his whole life seemed foggy, motivations questionable, when he’d always been so sure. “Why did you bother using the ‘BB’ imprint?” he managed to ask. Bluebird. He’d imprinted his own pills that way as a reminder that every treatment session was in honor of his Nancy.
“Because I wanted you to see me,” he said. “I wanted you to know what you’d done. And I wanted you to watch me flush your work straight down the sewer, where all your patients dwell.”
“Why now, though, if you’ve had the formula for so many years?” Nancy had been dead for two decades now.
Franco eyed him. “It’s not the easiest of tasks, saving the money to set up a lab worthy of the scope of my project. You should know that, Doc. And then there’s the gathering of the ingredients. Psilocybin from Ecuador? Really? That wasn’t specified. It took me many iterations to get that right. Do you even know how many species of mushrooms I had to gather and test? But if you’re asking what really sent me down this path? I saw one of them eight years ago. One of the parasites who killed my mother. She obviously hadn’t served her full sentence. She was passed out in a doorway. I gave her an injection and watched her die. And it wasn’t satisfying. I could’ve done more. Why didn’t I? And then later, I remembered what Nancy had given me. All those years, I’d kept it. I’d stuffed it in a book to use as a bookmark, and it was still there, sitting on my shelf. My mind went everywhere. I started thinking bigger. Much bigger.”
Behind Franco, Sweeton saw Ambrose and Lennon come in the front door, clearly breathless, heads pivoting in all directions. Franco began to turn, and the doctor said quickly, “I understand the desire for revenge. I do.” Franco halted and faced him again. “I don’t know if you know what happened to Nancy . . . why she . . . became what she did. But she was savagely victimized. I brought her to the clinic where I did volunteer work when she was only a little girl. She went down the street to get a slice of pizza, and members of a street gang pulled her into an alley. She spent four days tied to a dirty mattress on the floor of a garage, being raped.” He pulled in a breath. Nancy. Even after all these years, and even with the knowledge of her betrayal, the thought of that garage where her soul had been stolen still caused an internal scream of anguish. He was supposed to protect her, and he’d failed. “But what you did, Franco, it didn’t vindicate your mother. It will never bring her back.” He didn’t dare set his gaze behind Franco again, lest Franco follow it and see help on the way. But the doctor saw Ambrose and Lennon moving forward through the tables.
They know. They’re looking for Franco.
Franco tilted his head. There was no compassion at all in his expression, merely derision. “Do you think I have any illusions that this will bring my mother back? I don’t. It will, however, make it far less likely that another innocent victim will suffer what my mother did. In any case, this is for me, Doctor. It’s been great fun. And despite that you’re talking in past tense, the fun is only just now beginning.”