A Cure for Madness

A Cure for Madness Read Online Free PDF

Book: A Cure for Madness Read Online Free PDF
Author: Jodi McIsaac
Tags: Fiction, Psychological, Medical, Thrillers
out, having found my voice.
    She sighed loudly. “Well, that’s good. He can take care of you.”
    I actually smiled at her. It wasn’t a happy smile, although the thought of my brother taking care of me would have been amusing before today. I smiled because I pitied her and her narrow, fearful worldview. And because if I didn’t smile, I would disintegrate in the seat beside her and have to endure her “comfort” for the next several hours.
    “My brother is mentally ill,” I said. “So I’m the one who will be taking care of him.”
    I was almost finished with my book by the time we began our descent.
    The pressure in my ears grew, along with the pressure in my chest. It was like breathing through a thick blanket. I tried to keep reading, but Cronin’s monsters could no longer distract me from what lay ahead. The problem was, I had no idea what lay ahead.
    I looked out the window at the tops of the trees. It was hard to believe we were nearing any sort of civilization; from our vantage point up in the air, we might have entered the Mesozoic Era, when the world was little more than foliage. Clarkeston wasn’t one of those iconic Maine fishing villages you see on postcards. It was a midsized college town near the Canadian border, about two hours inland. When Wes and I were kids our parents would take us to the coast on summer weekends, to play in salt water and sand dunes and swaying grasses on rocky beaches. Maybe that’s why I loved Seattle—it reminded me of home, without reminding me of home.
    Too soon, the jarring rumble of asphalt beneath our seats signaled that the trip in the magic tube was over. I had been transported to another world.
    The rickety stairs leading down to the tarmac creaked as I descended, as though they might give up the ghost at any moment. Every time I came home I was amazed how rural it felt—the weeds growing out of cracks in the runway; the tiny, one-gate airport surrounded by forest; the John Deere hats and fanny packs on the passengers around me. I peeled off my sweater in the July heat, wondering if Latasha had packed mosquito spray.
    I’ll just borrow some from Mom. Then my heart contracted and I stopped cold just outside the terminal entrance. Shit. I moved to the side to let a family go in ahead of me and texted Latasha.
    Arrived. About to meet my uncle.
    She texted back right away. Take care of yourself. Keep me posted.
    The terminal was exactly as I remembered it. Large windows lined one wall, where people could watch the planes and wait for their friends and families to arrive. There was one small carousel for luggage. A backlit billboard advertising the town’s oldest hotel stood behind it. Against one wall was a rack of tourist brochures and postcards. It was small, quaint, and quiet, just like the people here.
    “Are you going to be okay, dear?” My seatmate from the plane had appeared beside me. She had clearly gotten over the shock of hearing about my brother. “Is someone here to meet you?”
    “My uncle is coming, thank you,” I said. I took a bottle of water out of my bag, wishing for something stronger.
    “You know, if you grew up here, then you probably know my husband,” she said, indicating the stout, gray-haired man who was walking toward us, blowing his nose into a large beige handkerchief.
    I did a double take. “Mr. Sweeney?”
    “Hello, hello,” he said, looking at me curiously after kissing his wife.
    “This is probably one of your old students, Richard,” the woman said. “Though I suppose you can’t remember them all.”
    “Yeah, I took English 201 and 301 with you,” I said. He held out his hand, having stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, and I shook it. “Clare Campbell.”
    “Clare . . . Clare . . .” he muttered. “Yes, of course. Very bright. Wanted to be a writer. How did that work out?”
    “Well, I’m a copywriter now,” I said. “So . . . it sort of worked out.”
    “Clare’s parents were murdered
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