Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Yes, I went to the doctor’s talk.”
He did look at her then. “I heard. But you know from experience too. You know because you’ve met those people. You’ve peered into their eyes.”
She looked away first, but she didn’t deny what he’d said. “Nancy attempted suicide multiple times,” he went on. “She went to rehabilitation centers. She got clean, then she relapsed. Dr. Sweeton had been having success with veterans suffering from PTSD. He was using some hallucinogens to bring them back to the scene of their trauma in a safe way. But Nancy’s trauma had happened when she was very young, before her mind was mature enough to fully parse the event. And so those treatments simply didn’t work on her. He needed to go deeper. And so, over the years, he developed the mix of substances and the protocol for what is now known as Project Bluebird.”
“What happened to Nancy?”
He paused. He didn’t want to start off this way, but it was the beginning of the story, so she had to know. “Nancy died.”
“How?”
“In a nutshell, her mind couldn’t take the influx of trauma, and she had a heart attack.” He’d seen the video of events, because they all had to understand what had happened to Nancy and how to ensure it would never happen again. Her eyes had bulged, and she’d gotten that forever scream on her face as the machines went wild and her body started seizing, and then a massive heart attack killed her where she sat. Long-term drug use had weakened her heart, but it had certainly been the regression back to the moment of trauma that ended her life. “Because of what happened to Nancy, Dr. Sweeton spent a year perfecting the treatment. And then, when it was applied again, it was slowed way, way down. Instead of a single session, it’s done over seven days. The patient is kept in a coma in between the delivery of hallucinogens, and in some cases are put in sensory deprivation tanks. It depends on the results of the tests that are run and whether attachment bonds are present in the individual, and a whole battery of other factors.”
Lennon let out a small laugh barren of humor and massaged her temples. “This is too crazy to be real. My God.” She stood, crossed her arms over her breasts, and paced in front of the coffee table. “You can’t mess with people’s minds like that! It’s deeply unethical. And because of it, someone died. His own daughter!”
Ambrose stood, too, facing her. “These people are already dead. You have to see that. Or if they’re not dead, they’re dying. A slow, miserable death. Lennon, there are laws about the right to try experimental medication once all your other options have failed. These people are hopelessly sick, too, their brains twisted in ways that can’t be untwisted through traditional psychological protocol. They’re suffering more immensely than I can communicate, and I’d make the argument that they’re suffering far worse than someone with an inoperable tumor or other physical disease. You’ve grieved, Lennon. You’ve felt that crushing horror that goes on and on and on.”
“Don’t. You don’t get to use what I shared with you when I thought you could be trusted.”
He exhaled a sharp breath. Okay, he deserved that. But it still hurt. “Imagine that pain, but more extreme. Imagine knowing that that pain will never end. What would you do? You’d do anything. You’d do anything at all. Don’t others deserve the option?”
She pressed her lips together, turning her face from him. “It’s . . . no. I don’t know. It’s too risky.”
“These people, Lennon, they’re dying on the streets right in front of us. They’re scratching and screaming for help, and we walk right by. They’re begging for mercy, even though they have no earthly idea what mercy is.”
She met his eyes. “Not all of them are looking for mercy. Some of them kill and rape and hunt.”
“Yes, and in those cases, it’s too late. I respect what you do. You stop those people. You take them out of society. But it’s not too late for everyone. Dr. Sweeton helps the ones he can. We keep them safe during their treatment. We treat them with respect.”
“I saw it, Ambrose. I walked in.”
“I know. And it shocked you. But you weren’t looking at it with the right vision.”
She gave her head a shake, as though denying his words. And he understood. He did. Because if he’d walked in on the treatment at any phase of it without knowing what was going on, it would seem to him like a drugged-up, unclothed person was being taken advantage of. It looked strange and hard to make sense of. But that was because there was literally nothing like it. The doctor had come up with the protocol, and the plan, and it was something no one else had ever done. “When you do, if you do, you’ll see that it’s the most loving, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It’s how it looks to give someone back their own mind.”