Cassi was stunned. Thomas pushed the door shut with his hip. In his hands he had a plate of scrambled eggs and a carton of milk. He came over and handed her the food. He was unshaven and his face looked haggard and sad. “Dr. Ballantine said you needed something to eat,” he said softly. Cassi took the plate automatically. She was hungry but too shocked to eat. “Where is Dr. Ballantine?” she asked hesitantly.
“Cassi, do you love me?” asked Thomas in a pleading voice.
Cassi was nonplussed. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Of course I love you, Thomas, but…”
Thomas reached out and touched her lips, interrupting her.
“If you do, then you should understand that I’m in trouble; I need help, but with your love I know I can get better.”
Cassi’s heart turned over. What had she been thinking? Of course Thomas had nothing to do with the terrible events of the previous night. His sickness was making her equally crazy.
“I know you can,” said Cassi with encouragement. She’d not thought Thomas was capable of having such insight into his own problems.
“I have been taking drugs,” said Thomas, “just as you suspected. I’ve been better this last week, but it’s still a problem, a major problem. I’ve been fooling myself, trying to deny it.”
“Do you really want to do something about it?” asked Cassi.
Thomas’s head shot up. Tears streaked his cheeks.
“Desperately, but I can’t do it alone. Cassi, I need you with me, not against me.”
All at once Thomas appeared like a helpless child. Cassi put the plate down and took his hands in hers.
“I’ve never asked for help before,” said Thomas. “I’ve always been too proud. But I know I’ve done some awful things. One thing has led to another. Cassi, you must help me.”
“You need psychiatric attention,” said Cassi, watching Thomas’s response.
“I know,” said Thomas. “I just never wanted to admit it. I’ve been so afraid. And instead of admitting it, I just took more drugs.”
Cassi stared at her husband. It was as if she’d never known him. She struggled with the desire to ask if he’d been responsible for her insulin overdose, or if he had anything to do with Robert’s death, or with any of the cases in the SSD series. But she couldn’t. Not then. Thomas was too broken.
“Please,” he begged. “Stand beside me. It’s been so difficult to admit all this.”
“You’ll have to be hospitalized,” said Cassi.
“I understand that,” said Thomas. “It just cannot be here at the Memorial.”
Cassi stood up and put her hands on his shoulders.
“I agree, the Memorial would not be a good idea. Confidentiality is important. Thomas, as long as you agree to professional care. I’ll stand beside you for as long as it takes. I’m your wife.”
Thomas clasped Cassi in his arms, pressing his wet face against her neck.
Cassi hugged him reassuringly. “There’s a small, private hospital in Weston called the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. I think we should go there.”
Thomas nodded in silent agreement.
“In fact I think we should go immediately. This morning.” Cassi pushed Thomas away so she could see his face.
Thomas looked directly at her. His turquoise eyes seemed clouded with pain. “I’ll do anything you think I should, anything to relieve the anxiety I feel. I can’t bear it any longer.”
The doctor in Cassi conquered all other reservations. “Thomas, you’ve driven yourself so hard. You wanted to succeed so much that the process of winning became more important than the goal. I think it’s a common problem with doctors, particularly surgeons. You mustn’t think you are alone.”
Thomas tried to smile. “I’m not sure I understand, but as long as you do and you won’t leave me, it doesn’t matter.”
“I wish I’d understood sooner.”
Cassi pulled Thomas back into her arms. Despite everything, she felt she had her husband back. Of course she’d stand by him. She of all people knew what it was like to be ill.
“Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “We’ll get the best doctors, the best psychiatrists. I’ve done some reading about impaired physicians. The rate of rehabilitation is almost one hundred percent. All it takes it commitment and desire.”
“I’m ready,” said Thomas.
“Let’s go,” said Cassi, taking his hand.
Like lovers, Thomas and Cassi ignored the morning crowds pouring into the Boston Memorial. Walking arm in arm to the garage in the early morning light, Cassandra kept up a steady stream of enthusiastic conversation about the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. She even told Thomas she had a specific psychiatrist in mind who’d had lots of experience treating other doctors.
After they’d climbed into the Porsche, Cassi asked Thomas if he felt well enough to drive. Thomas assured her that he was fine. Cassi reached up and pulled down her seat belt. As usual she had the urge to tell Thomas to do the same, but she thought better of it. She had the feeling that his emotions were so volatile, he would explode at the slightest frustration.
Thomas started the car and carefully backed out of the parking lot. After they’d passed through the automatic gate, Cassi asked how Dr. Ballantine had found Thomas so quickly.
“I called him during the night when I couldn’t find you,” said Thomas, stopping for a red light. “I had a feeling you might go to see him. I asked him to call me in my office if he heard from you.”
“Didn’t he think it was a little odd? What exactly did you say?”
The light changed and Thomas accelerated toward Storrow Drive. “I just told him you had another insulin reaction.”
Cassi considered her own behavior. She recognized that her actions would appear irrational, especially signing out of a hospital against medical advice when she had barely been stabilized. Then hiding from everyone.
As usual Thomas drove recklessly, and when they reached Storrow Drive Cassi braced herself against the door for the sharp left turn that would take them toward Weston. Instead Thomas swung the wheel to the right, and Cassi had to grab the dash to keep from falling against him. He must have turned out of habit, thought Cassi.
“Thomas,” she said. “We’re heading home rather than to Vickers.”
Thomas didn’t answer.
Cassi turned to look at him. He seemed to be holding the wheel in a death grip as the speedometer gradually inched upward. Cassi reached over and put her hand on his neck, massaging the tight muscles. She wanted to get him to calm down. She could sense that he was becoming enraged.
“Thomas, what is the matter?” asked Cassi, trying to keep her fear in check.
Thomas did not respond, driving the car as if he were an automaton. They rose up the ramp, banked, and merged into the multiple lanes of Interstate 93. At that time of the morning there was no outbound traffic, and Thomas let the car go.
Cassi turned toward him as much as her seat belt would allow. She let her hand trail down Thomas’s side, at a loss as to what to do. Her fingers hit something sharp in Thomas’s jacket pocket. Before he could react, Cassi reached in and pulled out an opened package of U500 insulin.
Thomas snatched the package away, returning it to his pocket.
Cassi turned and watched the road rush toward her in a bewildering blur. Her mind was racing as she began to understand the cause of her last insulin reaction. There could only be one reason for Thomas to have U500 insulin. It was a rarely used drug. He must have replaced her U100 insulin with the more concentrated drug, forcing her to give herself five times her normal dosage. It would have been easy enough to do, forcing a syringe through the sealed cap in the same way that she drew out her regular dosage. If it had not been for her glucose solution, she’d have been in a coma now, or maybe worse. And the hospital episode? She hadn’t been dreaming when she smelled the Yves St. Laurent cologne. But why? Because she, like Robert, was analyzing the sudden death data. Suddenly it was clear that Thomas’s performance before they left the hospital had been a trick. With horror she realized that Ballantine must have thought she was the mentally troubled person, not Thomas.