Memories of Megan. Rita Herron
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and interview patients when they first come in. Of course we take referrals from other physicians as well.”
“It’ll take you a while to get to know everyone,” Megan said, sensing he was becoming overwhelmed.
“Ms. Wells,” Janie, one of the volunteers called. “Can you come in here a second? Mr. Boyd is asking for you.”
“He’s been diagnosed with schizophrenia,” Megan explained softly to Cole. “But he’s been doing so much better with the new medication.”
Cole followed her inside the small room. Megan winced when she saw Daryl Boyd hunched into a ball on the floor, his hospital gown gaping. “Mr. Boyd, what’s going on?” she said softly, kneeling beside him.
A tuft of thin gray hair spiked haphazardly over his freckled head, his eyebrows were bushy, and his eyes wild. He glanced at Cole and pointed a shaky finger. “Who’s that?”
“This is Dr. Hunter,” Megan said. “He’s—”
“Get him out of here,” he screeched, “he’s one of them.”
Megan reached out to comfort him, afraid he’d lapsed into one of his exhaustive states. “One of who?”
“The bad doctors,” the old man said in a high-pitched voice. He rocked himself back and forth, hugging his arms around bony legs. “You don’t know what they do in here. I do.” Panic rose in his shrill voice. “Get him out of here. Make him go.”
Megan frowned. She needed to calm Boyd. “Mr. Boyd, Dr. Hunter is new on the staff—”
“No, I’ve seen him before. He does bad, bad things. Make him leave!”
Megan stroked his back while April ran in with an injection. Cole arched an eyebrow as if to ask if he should help, but Megan gestured for him to leave. As soon as he stepped from the room, Daryl Boyd broke down and began to cry.
“What happened?” April asked.
“He was asking for me,” Megan explained. “When I came in, he was agitated.”
“They hurt people, they—” the old man began to hum “—they hook you up to these wires and put this helmet on you and fry you. My head, it sizzled, it—” he grabbed his head, covered his ears and rocked faster “—I thought it was going to explode.”
“Listen, Daryl—”
“You got to be careful, Ms. Megan.” Boyd dropped his head forward like a child, emitting a low screech. “Don’t tell ’em I told you, don’t tell ’em,” he whispered. “Or they’ll kill both of us.”
Chapter Four
Cole stood in the hall, watching the hustle and bustle of the staff, troubled by the patient’s response to him. Schizophrenics often lapsed into delusional behavior, he reminded himself, so he shouldn’t be so disturbed that the man had accused him of doing disreputable things.
There was no way Daryl Boyd had ever seen him before.
The fact that he had a new face was proof of that.
But had he confused him with someone else?
He had heard about the trouble at the center a few weeks ago, that the CEO Arnold Hughes had disappeared and was thought dead, although some speculated that he might have escaped the explosion on his boat. That Hughes might return to Nighthawk Island to run the company or that he was still running it via some kind of secret mode of communication. Police suspected some questionable techniques were being tried at the center, and Nighthawk Island, with its special security and isolation was being scrutinized.
There couldn’t be any truth to the things the delusional Boyd had said, could there?
Why had Cole chosen to leave his old job and join the center with the negative publicity surrounding it?
Maybe because he believed in the research and development of the area; the doctors were doing revolutionary things and he wanted to be a part of it. Maybe because he’d believed all the trouble at the center had ended with Santenelli’s death.
Even as he rationalized the answer, it didn’t feel right.
Perhaps something had happened back at Oakland that had prompted him to transfer.
Megan Wells stepped into the hallway, looking calm in spite of the horrific wailing echoing from the confines of the room. “He’ll be okay in a few minutes, once the sedative takes effect. April’s going to stay with him until he goes to sleep.”
Cole nodded. “Does he have those episodes often?”
“No, that’s what’s so troubling.” Megan wrinkled her nose. “He’s usually very friendly with the staff. I’ve never seen him get so agitated with a doctor before.”
“Was he under your husband’s care?”
“Yes, but Dr. Jones is treating him now.” Megan folded her arms across her waist. “Boyd had been responding to this new drug. Hopefully Dr. Jones can adjust the dosage and stabilize him.”
“Right.”
“Are you going to be taking on patients right away?”
Cole’s hands tightened by his side. “No, not for a while. I need some time to acclimate. Review charts.”
Besides, how could he help others when he couldn’t sort out his own life?
“What’s your specialty, Dr. Hunter?”
“I…” he struggled to remember when the answer suddenly came to him. “Dissociative identity disorder. I was working on hypnosis techniques to help traumatized patients regain repressed memories.”
Megan’s gaze locked with his, her blue eyes sparkling in the glare of the hospital lights. His groin tightened, and the strong pull of sexual awareness thrummed through him. But he ignored the simmering attraction as research data on the disorder flashed through his head. The latest cases identified in the States. The patients here who were under Wells’s care.
Had he read about them or was it a memory surfacing?
“I should have known,” Megan said interrupting his thoughts.
“What? I mean why?”
“Because that was one of Tom’s areas. I suppose that’s the reason you were brought in to work with him.”
Cole nodded. “I’ll be looking over his files this week.”
April emerged from inside the room, thumbing her fingers through her bangs. “He’s finally resting. Did something happen to trigger his episode?”
Megan shrugged. “Not that I know of. He did get more agitated when Dr. Hunter came in, but he was upset before then.”
April introduced herself. She was attractive, Cole noticed, tall and slender with a heart-shaped face and almond colored eyes. Although she didn’t have the same gut-wrenching effect Megan Wells had on him.
Too bad; she was much more attainable than a woman who’d just been widowed.
Irritation hit him. How could he think about a flirtatious relationship with anyone, much less a dead man’s wife, when his life was in such turmoil?
For a brief second, April sized him up, a flicker of approval in her smile. “It’s nice to have you on board, Dr. Hunter. If you need help learning your way around, feel free to ask.”
“Actually, Me… Mrs. Wells has been giving me the tour.”
April’s smile seemed tight. So she had been interested.
“All right.” April brushed his hand with long nimble fingers. “I’d be glad to brief you on anything else you need.”
“Daryl mentioned something about patients being hooked up to electrodes,” Megan said,