Daire Meets Ever (The Immortals) Read Online Free PDF Page B

no idea who in the family might have gone psycho. Might’ve caused me, through some faulty genetic link, to go psycho too. Jennika is the only family I know. And while she certainly has her fair share of crazy, it’s normal crazy, not clinical crazy.
    Like any parent, her only goal has always been to protect me, but from the distraught look on her face, she’s beginning to doubt that she can.
    Dr. Ziati glances between us, his voice calm, face placid, looking as though he’s spent a lifetime dispensing exactly this kind of life-changing news. “I’m afraid your daughter is in serious need of help. Left untreated, this sort of thing will only get worse. And while we’ve managed to stabilize her for now, it won’t last. It is imperative that you return to the States as soon as you can. And when you do, you must get her to see a mental health care provider, preferably a psychiatrist, without delay. They’ve made great advances in psychiatric drugs in the past several years. Many people with imbalances such as Daire’s go on to live normal, healthy lives. With the right kind of treatment, regular counseling, and provided she stay on course with her prescribed medication, I see no reason why she can’t move forward in a productive and positive way.”
    Jennika nods, her eyes so watery, face so weary, I can tell she’s this close to crumbling.
    Then before either of us can form any sort of reply, the doctor reaches into his bag, retrieves a needle, flicks it on the side, squirts a spray of whatever into the air, and stabs me in the crook of my arm. Causing my body to sag, my tongue to grow heavy and flat, and my eyelids to droop until I can no longer lift them.
    Dr. Ziati’s instructions to Jennika are the last thing I hear: “This should hold long enough for you to pack up your stuff and make preparations to leave. When she wakes, give her one of these tablets every four hours to help you get through the flight. After that, you need to get her the kind of help she so desperately needs. If not, I’m afraid the delusions will only get worse.”
     
     
    ***

 
    “Close your window so I can crank up the heat—it’s cold out there.”
    I glance over my shoulder, long enough to shoot Jennika a scathing look, but I’ve been shooting her so many of them over the last few days it washes right over her. She’s grown as immune to my scowls as she has to my protests.
    I bring my knees to my chest, allowing my heels to hang off the edge of the seat as my index finger prods the small square switch next to my armrest.
    Pushing, then letting it go.
    Pushing until it’s almost there—then lifting my finger and watching it pause.
    The window rising and halting in annoyingly short little spurts, but she ignores that as well. Preferring to divert her attention to more pleasant things like driving within the lines, and fiddling with the rental car’s radio—correctly assuming her refusal to acknowledge my game will bore me into obeying.
    I force the window all the way up and shift toward the door until I can no longer see her. My shoulders hunched, arms hugging my knees, trying to make myself smaller, more distant, pretending as though I’m not really here.
    I wish I wasn’t here.
    My forehead pressed flush to the window, I blow a small patch of foggy circles onto the glass as I say, “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”
    “And you trust her?” My lip curls to a sneer. “You trust some woman you don’t even know? You trust her to tell you the truth—to not drug me—or—or do something worse? And what about the guy she’s sent to meet us? You’re just going to hand me over to some creepy old man you’ve never even met? What if he’s a pervert—or a serial killer—or both ?”
    The accusation hangs heavy between us, a barrier that cannot be breached—or at Aleast that’s what I think until she says, “I trust you .” And when she looks at me, my throat goes so lumpy I can’t speak. “I trust