Page 59 of The Broken Places

“So it’s your belief that everyone who is diagnosed with a mental or psychological disorder is really suffering from trauma?”

“Don’t be naive, Inspector. There’s never aneveryonein either of our fields. If there was, it’d make our jobs much easier.”

He wasn’t wrong, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about this man. Now that she was looking directly in his eyes, she felt that he was hiding something. But what or why, she had no clue. “You talked about the lack of options and misdiagnoses of people suffering that way and mentioned the eye movement thing and the breathwork. But what about hallucinogens?”

The doctor paused, the expression on his face enigmatic. “Are you referring to ketamine therapy?”

“I don’t know. I’m not familiar with any of these treatments. I do know that ketamine is highly addictive and sold on the streets under the name Special K, or Vitamin K.” She’d heard others too ... Kit Kat, Cat Valium ... but the ones she’d mentioned were the most common.

“Yes. Ketamine is a dissociative anesthetic medication that is sometimes used off label to treat depression and anxiety disorders. It’s not currently approved by the FDA. But perhaps more importantly, patient results are often unsustained—especially without multiple sessions, which become challenging when dealing with certain populations.”

“I see. What about other hallucinogens?”

Again, he paused. “As they pertain to therapy? There is evidence that hallucinogens may stimulate nerve cell regrowth in sections of the brain that are responsible for emotion and memory. There are only animal studies thus far, but supporters of psychedelic drugs as a treatment for PTSD believe they can and should be used to decrease anxiety and fear pathways in the brain. Patients become highly suggestible when under the influence of these drugs, which can be used for good.”

“Or bad.”

“Potentially, in the wrong hands, yes. But that can be true of any drug, Inspector Gray, as I imagine you must know well.”

Yes, I do.“You cited studies, but do you have an opinion on the subject of hallucinogen use? Professionally or otherwise?”

“I think that there’s potential for hallucinogens as a treatment for PTSD in a medical setting under a doctor’s supervision. They can produce extremely intense experiences that are subjectively mystical andaccompanied by positive change in insight, motivation, and behavior. I’m hopeful about future studies. But as of now, therapeutic use of psychedelic substances has only been legalized in Oregon and Colorado.”

“As a well-known progressive state, California can’t be far behind?”

The doctor shrugged. “I don’t make the laws.”

“And you don’t break them.”

“No, I don’t break them. Look me up. You won’t find so much as a speeding ticket on my record.” He tilted his head as he studied her. “Have you experienced trauma, Inspector? Do you have any personal experience with it?”

“Haven’t most people to some degree or another? Life is often cruel.”

He smiled. “Life. Ah, yes. Lifeisoften cruel.” He paused, his gaze assessing. His phone began to ring, but he didn’t break eye contact. “But it’s the easier burden to bear. When humans are cruel, specifically the ones who are tasked with caring for you, it is the most unbearable cruelty of all.”

Lennon had thanked the doctor quickly so he could take his call. She had his information, and she couldn’t think of anything else to ask him. Though the talk he’d given was still swirling in her head, making her feel upset and distracted and sort of hopeless overall.What can we do?he’d asked in closing.We must do something.

What can we do?

She came in contact with the type of people the doctor was referencing all the time, and she had no answer to his question. Most mental health professionals were drowning too. And if they didn’t know, if they had no answer—then who did?

No one. No one does.

And so they all just applied Band-Aid after Band-Aid, knowing the underlying wound was growing more and more infected by the day.

She’d been walking slowly through the parking lot, lost in her own thoughts, when the sight of the doctor rushing to his car in the other direction caught her eye. He was still on his phone, talking animatedly. And then he stopped and hung up, seeming to dial again. She held back for a moment, then moved behind him as he resumed walking, the phone held to his ear.

A name caught her attention.Ambrose.Her heart sped, a zap of electricity moving down her limbs. The doctor unlocked his car, lights flashing as he stopped near the door, looking around. She ducked behind a minivan, unseen but still close enough to hear. “We can’t lay low. We’re on day five, and there’s no turning back. You know that.” Silence for a moment. “Okay. Yes. Be at the offices tonight. I’ll determine if we can move through six and seven more rapidly.”

She heard the doctor get in his car, and scooted to the other side of the minivan, moving quickly down the aisle of cars as she heard his vehicle start and then pull out of the parking spot, driving in the opposite direction.

She hurried to her car, easy to spot because of the window covered by plastic and duct tape, and answered her ringing phone as she walked. “Hello?”

“Lennon, Lieutenant Byrd. We know who he is. His name is Ambrose DeMarce.”

She stopped. “DeMarce?” SoMarswas an alias, but it hadn’t been far off. “Who is he?”

“He’s a bounty hunter. Mostly a lone ranger, but he’s contracted for the FBI and the US Marshals and who knows what other agencies. He went rogue by infiltrating our investigation, and no one knows why. But they’re also blocking any further action against him. For now, anyway.”

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