"What would the costs be, roughly?" she asked.
"Well, we have a fifteen hundred initial fee which covers a basic physical, some blood tests, a psychiatric consult, and preliminary assessment of strategies and options."
"Psychiatric consult?"
Dr. Silver chuckled quietly. "That's so we can understand your expectations and make sure you're psychologically suitable for the program, which can be rather rigorous at times. If we decide not to recommend treatment at our facility, we will of course refund the fifteen hundred dollars."
"Can you tell me a little about the doctors I would be working with?"
"Danielle Stein, our therapy director, has a doctorate in nutrition, and is also a certified Colon Hydrotherapist, Kinesiologist, CRA, Lymphologist, Herbalist, Homeopath, and Ayurvedic Practitioner. Dr. Rose Lanson is our psychiatrist. She is an expert in VR therapy as well as a general physician who has chosen to pursue natural healing protocols. And I have a PhD in physical therapy." He paused for another chuckle. "You might say I'm the one who trains you how to use all your newfound health for the power of good. Your own good, that is."
"Sounds impressive."
"And slightly intimidating, I'm sure. I'd recommend checking out our website. It might help fill in some of the details for you."
Alex didn't answer. She hardly dared speak, because ideas were flashing in her head, just as they did in the Verse. Without willing it, she'd gone into serious game mode. An extreme rarity for her in the Real. And where was it taking her? She could feel a major improvisation coming on.
"Did you have any other questions, Ms...?"
Still in game mode, Alex raced through the new possibilities and arrived at what felt like destiny.
"Morse," she said. "Brenda Morse."
"Good to meet you. Did you want to ask me something else, Ms. Morse?"
Alex drew in her breath and released it with a stoic smile. "Only one thing. How do I sign up and when is the earliest date I can schedule this initial meeting?"
HER MOM thought it was a great idea. Brandon, of course, was immediately suspicious, but ultimately accepted her story of discovering the place while searching for Dr. Evil. Brad approved of her decision and wished her luck over the phone, his voice sounding a million lightyears away. Alex half-wished she hadn't called him.
Driving to the airport felt like an old familiar routine until she arrived in the TSA line and shambled shoe-less through the scanners and was taken aside for an extended groping/"bomb-dusting" session by dull-eyed, grim-jawed agents with frisky hands. She noted that she was the sixth consecutive young female who'd been thus sequestered. Coincidence? Doubtful.
Alex boarded the plane and flew the five-hour, 1700-mile flight as both a world-weary veteran traveler and a commercial airline ingenue. It had been twelve years since her last flight (her parents preferred road trips of less than a day's drive). In the Verse, she was a million-mile flyer who'd seen much of the virtual world. One difference? Ear-popping. Also, slight nausea as the plane shook, rattled, and rolled into a landing at Lambert International. She clutched the small purse with the camera-eye opening that she'd purchased and modified especially for this mission.
The Best Life Wellness Clinic was in a residential neighborhood a scant six miles southeast of the airport. Alex was tempted to drive her rental Honda compact a few miles more to check out the great exercise in pointless, over-the-top architecture known as the Gateway Arch. Maybe later.
At the Best Life Wellness Center front desk, a young woman with a bright saleswoman-smile summoned Dr. Kyle Silver, a tall, tanned, forty-something dude with shiny spiked blond hair and an even shinier white-toothed smile. They shook hands.
"Glad you could make it, Brenda," he said. "Let's go back to my office and we'll start the ball rolling."
In the office, he had her fill out a basic information form followed by a five page multiple-choice questionnaire while excusing himself to set up the remaining steps of her initial visit. After completing her information sheet and questionnaire – filled with questions about her health and life-attitudes (Would you call yourself an optimistic person? 1) Agree, 2) Somewhat agree, 3) Somewhat disagree, 4) Disagree) – Alex followed Dr. Silver further into the bowels of the building to the office of Dr. Rose A. Lanson.
Just like that. Barely off the plane and into the lioness's den. The hypothetical lioness's den. Alex reached discreetly into her purse and switched on the camera, attached to a small hole on one bottom end. Her only idea was to provoke Dr. Lanson into saying something incriminating.
The thirtyish woman behind the gleaming cherry-wood desk had a café au lait complexion and cool, greenish-brown eyes. She was both prettier and lighter-skinned than her internet photos had suggested. Her smile held neither warmth nor hostility. She gave no hint of recognizing Alex.
"Dr. Lanson," said Kyle Silver, "this is Brenda Morse."
Dr. Lanson rose and they shook hands over the table. Alex sensed a gym-bred strength in her grip, which left Alex wanting to massage her hand afterward. Purposeful – or was the doctor unaware of her own strength? Alex was betting on purposeful. This lady was in charge and wanted you to know it.
"I'll leave you two," said Dr. Silver. He set the completed information sheet and questionnaire on Dr. Lanson's desk. "I hope to see you later, Brenda."
Alex sat down facing the doctor. Adrenaline drove the moisture from her throat. She swallowed, touching the small bulge under her blouse for reassurance. Not that Dr. Lanson gave any predatory indications.
"Please give me a moment to look these over," she said, tapping the papers Dr. Silver had deposited on her desk.
While Alex perched her purse on one knee, angling its camera up to capture the doctor's model-grade face, Dr. Lanson lifted the information sheet and leafed through it with a neutral expression. At one point – reading about my Friedreich's ataxia, which she'd surely know about if she'd, researched me? – a tiny cleft indented her brow, but it smoothed over almost as it formed. Dr. Lanson then devoted a minute or two perusing her questionnaire before raising her cool hazel eyes to meet Alex's gaze.
"You have Friedreich's ataxia?"
"Yes."
"When did you first notice symptoms and when was it officially diagnosed?"
"Six going on seven for the first symptoms, nine when I was officially diagnosed."
Dr. Lanson studied her. Was she starting to become suspicious or was she simply the studying-people type? Fuck it. Alex studied her back. Perhaps twenty seconds passed before the doctor cleared her throat.
"I see," she said. "That presents some special, and in my opinion insurmountable, issues. The causes of FA are genetic in nature, and short of gene therapy, treatment options are limited and largely ineffective."
Alex felt a different kind of anxiety invading her, supplanting her concerns about the doctor: disappointment tinged with anger. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how taken she was with the possibility of treatment.
"Dr. Silver indicated you'd had good success with treating FA." She didn’t bother eliminating the note of irritation in her voice.
"Yes, well, he may not be aware of that patient's latest status. We heard from her about a month ago complaining about the reappearance of her major symptoms. From what I understand, she had relapsed to the point where she'd been when we first admitted her."
Alex simmered, locked in what seemed to be a staring contest with the pretty doctor for several moments. Dr. Lanson's explanation was perfectly plausible, though it seemed odd that Kyle Silver would be so out of the loop. But Alex's spidey-game sense was tingling again. And since "Always trust my gut" was her gaming motto...
"Dr. Silver indicated I might be able to talk to her. I think I'd like to do that."
"Unfortunately, we cannot give out patient information to unauthorized individuals."
Neither a regretful smile nor a hint of sympathy graced the doctor's smooth-skinned face. Alex regarded her with a reciprocal lack of warmth.
> "Dr. Silver said he'd be willing to contact her, and that if she agreed, we could talk."
"As I said, Dr. Silver may be unaware of this latest contact."
"I came here with the assurance that FA treatment was available. I flew here from California and reserved a hotel. So I'd say your clinic owes me airfare and hotel expenses. Not to mention compensation for fucking wasting two days of my life."
Alex did not have to feign her anger. Dr. Evil or not, this lady was acting like a total cunt, and Alex's disappointment burned in her chest.
"I will speak to Dr. Silver, Ms. Morse." Did Alex hear quote marks around her name? "Perhaps compensation is in order. The clinic will be in touch, I'm sure. I'm sorry we were unable to help you."
Alex made no motion to rise. She continued to return the woman's cold stare, even upping the coldness ante. She allowed an icy smile to play on her face. Oh yeah, this was her, all right. I see you. Well, game on, bitch.
"I guess it would be rather galling to approve treatment of someone you hate," said Alex. "The person who totally fucking kicked your ass in the Verse and destroyed your entire game there."
"Excuse me?"
Dr. Lanson appeared surprised, but not quite surprised enough, Alex thought. Still, she felt an annoying trickle of doubt.
"So that's how you want to play it?" Alex growled. "You don't have to pretend with me, Henna. I know it's you."
"I know you're deluded. Perhaps to a clinical degree."
"You told me you know where I live. Well, now you know I fucking know where you live."
"You can take your classless foul-mouth and paranoid delusions out of my office. I suggest you do so before I call security."
"Security?" Now the trickle of doubt was starting to resemble a stream. Was it possible she was wrong? "What? You're not strong enough to remove a poor little cripple by yourself?"
Dr. Lanson regarded her as if she were actually considering that. But then she pulled out her cell and raised it to her lips.
"Okay," said Alex. "I'm leaving. See you around, Dr. Lawsone."
The doctor lowered her phone. All the sitting and jet lag had taken a toll on Alex's body, and it took a severe act of will to push herself to her feet and shuffle semi-erect out of the room. She noted Lanson's thin smile of apparent amusement and felt her face flush. We'll see who's the last one smiling.
Alex spotted Dr. Silver sitting at a desk a few rooms down the hall.
"Hey," he said, looking up from his laptop with surprise. "That was fast."
"Yeah. Your so-called psychiatrist blew me off."
"Pardon me?"
"She told me they don't have good 'treatment options' for people with Friedreich's ataxia."
Dr. Silver sat up, his tanned, youthful face developing an alarming set of puzzled wrinkles.
"I don't understand," he said.
"I didn't, either. Why don't we go talk to her about it?"
"I think that's an excellent idea."
Alex smiled. She liked the way this was shaping up. Dr. Silver led the way with the long, springing strides of someone who ran track or played tennis. His strides lost some of their buoyancy as they approached Lanson's office. She looked up from her laptop when they entered. A flash of surprise in her face gave way instantly to a cold impassivity.
"Rose," he said. "Ms. Morse says that you rejected her because of her Friedreich's ataxia."
"That's not precisely true," said Dr. Lanson. "I suggested that our resources for dealing with her disease are limited. When I said that she responded with an irrational rage and bizarre accusations."
"Bizarre accusations about what?" Silver looked from her to Alex.
"She believes we're involved in some form of virtual reality vendetta," said Lanson.
Kyle Silver turned to Alex. "Is that true?"
"Yep."
"What kind of vendetta?"
"How much do you follow events in the Verse?"
"Not that well. It's hard enough to keep up with real news."
"Have you heard of The Highwayman?"
"A killer of people, mostly families and on major highways, in the Omniverse?"
"Right." Alex nodded to the psychiatrist. "You're looking at her."
Kyle regarded Dr. Lanson with a heavy air of reluctance. Lanson met his gaze and raised her eyebrows as if to say, "See what we're dealing with?"
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I find that absurd. Dr. Lanson is one of the most respected medical professionals in the city."
"Is it that absurd?" Alex asked. "You know that she's heavily into virtual reality, right? She teaches a class in applying VR simulations in medical emergencies and even pioneered some VR teaching techniques." Alex had learned that on her flight out. "Turns out she's using VR to practice more than medicine."
"What's your evidence for that?"
"I found her working at a hospital in Manson, North Carolina, under the name of Dr. Ana Lawsone. She had dual certifications in psychiatry and general medicine there just as she does here."
"Even if that's true, what does that have to do with the virtual Highwayman?" Kyle Silver's puzzled forehead wrinkles had returned.
"They're one and the same. Both avatars of your Dr. Evil here."
Lanson snorted a laugh. Dr. Silver smoothed back the blond bristles on his head.
"You now see, Kyle, why I rejected Ms. Morse," said Dr. Lanson. "It wasn't primarily about the FA. I may not share your optimism about our FA treatment protocols, but that's your and Danielle's call, not mine. In my opinion, this is a deeply disturbed young lady, which utterly disqualifies her as a patient. In a way, she's a product of the times – young people obsessed with all things virtual, particularly the Omniverse."
Alex was not enjoying this quite as much as she'd anticipated. In the cold light of day, she had only circumstantial evidence at best. She didn't know that Lanson, whatever her personal faults – no doubt legion – had done anything wrong in the Real. That was pure supposition. Her "gut instincts" wouldn't mean shit to Kyle Silver.
"What happens in the Verse doesn't always stay in the Verse," said Alex. She gave an inner shudder of disgust. Lame. "It's not uncommon for people o practice committing crimes there, in case you didn't know."
"All I'm hearing are a lot of unsubstantiated allegations, Brenda," said Dr. Silver. "Could I ask – is this the reason you came here? On some kind of vendetta? Did you have any actual interest in treatment?"
"I did. It was a killing two stones with one bird sort of deal." Double lame.
"I think we've heard enough," he said. "Have a nice flight back to California, Ms. Morse."
THE STING of disappointment and humiliation dissipated somewhat on her flight home. By the time she met up with Brandon in the luggage area, she'd mostly convinced herself that the trip had been worthwhile. She had a reasonably positive identification of the former Highwayman and plenty of grist for future investigation.
"Sorry things didn't work out," said Brandon. "You didn't show it, I know how much you were hoping it could work. Though I'm somewhat confused about why they turned you down. Why did that doctor tell you they had success with FA and then shoot you down when you got there? And what was the problem with the psychiatrist? You hinted there was more to it than what you told me."
Alex nodded. She hadn't told him or her mom much: just that the psychiatrist hadn't liked her attitude and had claimed that their "treatment protocols" for Friedreich's ataxia were lacking.
"Yeah," she said. "What I didn't tell you is that the psychiatrist was Henna Flowers/Dr. Ana Lawsone – aka The Highwayman."
The van swayed on the highway as Bran jerked around to face her.
"Careful," said Alex.
Brandon steadied his grip on the steering wheel. He stared at her with the stern, appalled expression of a preacher who'd just learned his teenage daughter had sinned profusely.
"What the fuck," he growled. "You're telling me you found where 'Dr. Evil' worked and you went there to confront her? All you
r talk about therapy was complete bullshit!"
"In a nutshell, yeah. Though I actually hoped the therapy could help me."
Bran made a noise like a teapot hissing under water. A hiss combined with a rumbling snarl.
"Jesus Christ, Alex."
"Yes, my child?"
"You actually think lying to my face is funny?"
"Not really, but you should see your expression. Apoplectic leaning toward apocalyptic. You look like a preacher about to deliver a hell and brimstone sermon."
Brandon's fierce scowled loosened. He sighed. "For whatever good that would do. You're beyond divine help."
"Thanks."
Bran glanced at her, a resigned half-smile squirming through his fierce scowl. He shook his head.
"I'll bet you went into that office with your gun and knife ready to blow her to hell or disembowel her."
"I was carrying, yeah, but more importantly, I had a camera in my purse recording everything. You might be interested to see what I filmed."
Brandon brightened up a bit. "Did she confess?"
"Nope. But when she figured out who I was, she booted my ass out of her office. Next best thing to a confession, in my opinion."
"Hmm." Brandon sounded far from convinced. "You sure she knew who you are?"
"Yeah. Pretty damn sure."
Bran rubbed his face. "If you're right, that must've been a shock."
"I think so, but she covered it pretty well. She kept her cool. Didn't say anything incriminating."
"Maybe she didn't have anything incriminating to say?"
Alex frowned. "That did occur to me. But my instincts are telling me she's the one. You should check out my video of her and see for yourself."
Bran thought for a moment. "You eat anything on the plane?"
"Nothing worth mentioning."
"Let's stop somewhere and you can show me the vid."
They pulled off the freeway and into a Red Lobster. Good, Alex thought. She was getting a little low on mercury. But there wasn't much of a crowd and the server happily granted their request for a quiet corner table. They ordered some wine – Alex assured him she was paying – and she broke out her camera. He watched the video with her at his side, sipping his wine reflectively.
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