“You’re awake, I see.”
Vincent.
“What’s going on? Why did you bring me here?”
There was movement, the squeak of wheels again. The cart being repositioned.
“When I was a boy,” Vincent said, “I suffered occasional bouts of depression. My mother and father, being the concerned parents they were, brought me to a hospital very much like this one used to be. To a doctor just like you.”
A penlight flicked on, shining directly in Tolan’s eyes. He squinted.
“The doctor felt I was in need of a quick fix. That medication would take much too long to kick in. So he prescribed six rounds of bilateral electroconvulsive therapy. And twice a week, for three long weeks, a very attractive young nurse marched me into a room like this one and strapped me down to a table just like the one you currently occupy.”
The fear in Tolan’s belly spread through him like a virus.
“Unfortunately,” Vincent continued, “rather than prescribe the usual anesthesia and muscle relaxers associated with the treatment, the doctor decided to administer it drug-free.”
“That’s barbaric,” Tolan said.
“Yes, I thought so. But I was only fourteen years old at the time. What say did I have in the matter?”
Despite the whisper, the voice sounded familiar to Tolan. But he couldn’t place it. Wished he could see the man’s face — not that it would do him any good.
Vincent redirected the penlight to the side of Tolan’s head. Leaning forward, he attached a wire to the right electrode, then shifted the light and attached another to the left.
“What about your parents?” Tolan asked.
“They were wonderful people, but not very sophisticated. They trusted the doctor. And why shouldn’t they have? He assured them that electroshock was safe and effective.”
Most people believed that ECT had been discontinued by the psychiatric community, but nothing could be further from the truth. Close to 100,000 people a year received the treatment.
“It usually is safe,” Tolan said.
“That’s up for debate. But it certainly doesn’t help when your doctor’s a sadist. And there’s no arguing about what it does to your memory.”
He was right. Studies had shown that electroconvulsive therapy caused short-term memory loss. People undergoing ECT had difficulty remembering events just prior to and during treatment.
Vincent turned away and Tolan felt a slight tug on the wires.
“What are you going to do?”
“That’s a silly question, don’t you think?”
Tolan heard the flick of switches, and panic rose in his chest. “You can’t.”
“I don’t think you’re really in a position to stop me, Doctor. Just think of yourself as a fourteen-year-old boy.”
Tolan tried to protest, but before he could get the words out, a rubber bite bar was shoved into his mouth and secured by a strap around his head.
Tolan tossed from side to side, using his tongue to try to push it out, but it was no use. The strap tightened, lodging it in place.
“Just a little precaution. I don’t want you biting your tongue off.”
An ECT instrument typically put out as much power as a wall jack, sending an electrical current through the patient’s brain. Tolan had never been a recipient of electroconvulsive therapy, had never administered it himself, but he knew that in the wrong hands, and without anesthesia, it could not only be painful and dangerous — it could kill you.
“What dosage do you think we should start with?” Vincent asked. “Too high will knock you out — and we don’t want that. Too low and we’ve defeated the purpose of the treatment in the first place.”
Tolan jerked his arms upward, straining against the restraints, trying to break the straps. But it was no use.
“Let’s start at two hundred fifty volts and work our way upward.”
Another switch was flipped and a faint whir filled Tolan’s ears.
Jesus Christ, he thought. Jesus fucking Christ. He’s going to do it. He’s going to—
Pain shot through Tolan’s skull, a piercing, hot blade of fire that expanded and spread throughout his body. A bone-cracking pain, worse than anything he could remember. He bucked involuntarily against it, squeezing his eyes shut, clamping his jaw down so hard on the bite bar that he thought his teeth might break, a muffled scream working its way between them.
Then it was done. Over.
And the relief was sweet. So fucking sweet.
Vincent reached down, loosened the strap, and pulled the bite bar free, letting Tolan spit away the foam that had gathered in the corners of his mouth. Then a wave of nausea swept over him, and for a moment he felt as if he might throw up.
“Jesus,” he said.
“I’m afraid Jesus won’t help you,” Vincent told him. “But an answer to my question will.”
“… What question?”
“You have to understand that I’ve always tried to be a fair man. I believe in due process. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.”
Tolan didn’t know how to respond.
“And while I’m reasonably certain of your guilt, I think it would be unfair to continue with the plans I’ve laid out for you, until I hear your confession.” He paused. “So tell me, Doctor. Are you ready to confess?”
“… you can’t do this,” Tolan croaked.
“Oh, I can and I will. Let’s ramp it up a bit, shall we?”
He shoved the bite bar back into Tolan’s mouth, tightened the strap, then flipped a switch and—
Pain shot through Tolan’s skull, vibrating through his body with such intensity that, for a moment, he thought he might burst apart. It was like sticking your nose in a light socket. And what popped into his head was the image of a cartoon wolf, his body lit up like a thousand-watt bulb, Bugs Bunny gripping the throw switch.
Then it was gone. Mercifully gone.
The bite bar came out again. Followed by another wave of nausea. More spitting. Bile stung his throat.
“Are you ready to confess? Or shall I kick it up another notch?”
“No…” Tolan said. “Please…” He could barely breathe. “Stop…”
“I have to hear the words, Doctor.”
Tolan thought about that last night with Abby. About his accusation. The slap. The blackout.
He shook his head. “I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t have. I loved her.”
“Oh, please, Doctor. The I-loved-her defense? Surely you can come up with something more convincing than that. Unless, of course, you aren’t entirely convinced yourself.”
“I could never hurt her. I’ve never hurt anybody.”
“Oh, really? Are you sure about that?”
“Yes…”
“What about Anna Marie Colson?”
Tolan felt another jolt go through him, but this one had nothing to do with the ECT machine.
“You didn’t think anyone knew about her, did you?”
Anna Marie Colson was a young coed Tolan had briefly dated back during his pre-med days at UCLA. One of his housemates. She had, in fact, broken his post-adolescent heart by hooking up with a law student and never looking back. Several months later, both Anna and her new boyfriend were killed in a street robbery gone wrong.
“She was mugged,” Tolan said.
“But they never found her attacker, did they? And I think the police were quite interested in you for a while there, weren’t they?”
“No, you’ve got it wrong, you’ve got it—”
The bite bar was shoved back in, the strap tightened, a switch flipped and—
Pain radiated through Tolan’s body a third time — the worst jolt yet — forcing him to buck and shiver, arching his back, bending his toes. His bones felt as if they might crack, his head ready to explode. And just when he thought he’d faint dead away, it stopped.