“He said he’d take care of him. No maybe about it.”

Charley could be imagining it, but Kayla’s expression seems to have changed, softened a bit, become less skeptical. She wonders if that’s going to be the key; that with each passing minute she doesn’t change her story, or lose her grip on the details, or do any of the other things that suggest someone suffering from a delusion or advancing a lie, Kayla will come to believe her.

“I want you to see a doctor,” Kayla says. “If you won’t come into the city, I’ll find one in Modesto or Fresno. But you need to—”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I’m not talking about a psychiatrist, Charley. I’m talking about an internist. You were given a strange drug. You need to have blood work done. Get your vitals checked. Everything.”

“I don’t feel sick.”

“You don’t know what you are because you don’t know what’s in these pills! It might not be a good thing that your bruises from the car wreck are healing so fast. There could be something wrong with your blood. Maybe it’s not clotting properly. There’s just too much you don’t know about this drug right now, and the only way to learn is to put yourself at this psycho’s mercy again.”

“What’s some random doctor going to be able to tell me about the effects of a drug that shouldn’t exist? Unless I tell them about the drug. Which would be reckless.”

“So you’re not interested in finding out how this drug really works?” Kayla asks.

“Oh, I am,” she says.

Marty stiffens, studies her closely.

“In the field,” Charlotte says.

“I’m sorry.” Kayla’s voice is a strained whisper. “The field?”

“A test. Look at it this way. You’ll get to find out if I’m delusional or not.”

“And how exactly are you going to conduct this test?”

“Jason was a trigger. That’s how Dylan described him. Zypraxon is a drug that converts fear into strength, but it needs a trigger. A strong one.”

“It converts your fear into strength,” Kayla adds. “If we believe this story that you’re the only one to take it and live.”

“Right. So to do another test, I need another trigger.”

She thinks back to those terrifying moments before the drug took effect. Knowing someone else was in the house wasn’t enough. Otherwise she would’ve torn the toilet paper dispenser off the wall while she was peeing. Knowing someone was approaching her from behind wasn’t enough, either. Otherwise the Diet Coke can she’d been holding as she stood at the sink would’ve exploded in her grip. Was it the stark terror of finding herself face-to-face with Jason? Or was it being attacked?

Maybe it was all of it in combination—a destination she can reach after mounting a staircase of increasing fear. There’s only one way to find out for sure.

Marty clears his throat. “Why don’t I just try to run over you with my car and see if you end up tearing the grill off with one hand?”

“I’m open. But the first time the bikers surrounded me during the drive home, it wasn’t enough to trigger me. It was Jason breaking into my house and attacking me when I tried to run that did it. So I’m thinking we’ll need to find something . . . similarly terrifying.”

“Are you in favor of this, Marty?”

“Guess that depends on what kind of trigger we’re talking about.”

“Nobody has to get hurt,” Charlotte says. “Now that I know what I can do while I’m on it, that’ll be easier. Did you bring a gun, Marty?”

“Yep.”

“Kayla?”

“As a lifelong member of the Democratic Party who supports sensible gun control I refuse to answer that question. And I don’t like where this is headed.”

“Why?” Charlotte asks. “We’re not going to commit any crimes. We’re just gonna find a way to stop someone from committing a crime against me.”

“What’s happening to you, Charley?” Kayla asks.

“I told you what happened to me, and you still don’t believe me, so I’m trying to get you to understand that this is real. That a man who stalked me for most of my life, a man who idolizes serial killers for Christ’s sake, broke into my house, and I was able to bring him down in thirty seconds with my bare hands even though it’s been five years since I’ve gone for a jog.”

“Don’t make this about me. You were administered a drug without your knowledge and without your consent by someone who lied about who he was to get you to take it. Someone who may in fact be a trained killer. That’s the story here, Charlotte. We need to find out who the players are before we do anything else.”

“It’s not the whole story, and you will see that if we do a test.”

Without meaning to, she’s cornered her. If Kayla admits to being afraid Charlotte might snap someone’s neck by accident, then she’s admitting to believing more than she’s letting on about Dylan’s magic pills.

But there’s something else in her lawyer’s eyes now. The fire of curiosity. The gradual acceptance that if this pill is truly what Charlotte says it is, its implications are more than this tiny safe house can contain. But Kayla’s fighting it.

“There could be a corpse in your house right now,” Kayla says. “The corpse of the guy you filed a restraining order against years ago. And when Dylan told you to run, he might have done it so that he’d have evidence against you. We need to deal with that, Charley.”

“I’ve got a cell phone with an extended text thread between him and Jason planning a breakin of my house.”

“And you haven’t gone to the police with it.”

“Is that really what you recommend? Going to the police with this story? When Dylan, a man I don’t know, a man I can’t trust, might be in possession of all the evidence?”

“I recommend a change of focus here.”

“Marty, you’ve pulled drunks out of some of the worst bars in the Central Valley. Take us to the worst one.”

“Charley!” Kayla snaps.

“I’m not going to hurt anyone, Kayla. I’m just going to show you what this stuff does.”

“All right, well, if you’re doing this on my account, forget it! I don’t want to know.”

“Yes, you do. You want to know for every woman who has to walk home alone at night. Just like I want to know for every victim of the Bannings, including my mother, all of whom would be alive today if they’d had something like this in their system.”

“Apparently not, because it only works in you, according to Dr. Nutjob.”

“Well, I guess that means I have a responsibility then.”

“No, no, no! You do not have a responsibility to this insane man.”

“I have a responsibility to them!” She’s spent so much of the past year alone she can’t remember how long it’s been since she raised her voice like this. Kayla flinches as if she’s been slapped. Marty’s still as a statue and trying to keep whatever he’s really feeling out of his expression. They know who she’s talking about when she says them. Maybe, like her, they’ve memorized the faces in the photo collage of the Bannings’ victims the media uses whenever Abigail makes some wacko new statement from behind bars.

“Maybe he’s dead, Kayla. Maybe he didn’t take care of those guys. Maybe he’s one of the eleven bodies out there, and these pills, they’re all that’s left of whatever it was he was trying to do. He’s got the number to Jason’s cell phone, but he hasn’t called. So maybe these pills are mine now, and it’s up to me to figure out if they can ever help anyone the way they helped me last night.”

“You were not helped last night. You were violated. Charley, you’ve spent most of your life afraid. I understand that. And your fears were justified. But don’t let yourself become a victim of this guy’s crazy schemes just because you’ve—”

“Kayla, don’t patronize me, and don’t force me to be alone with what this really is. There is a science to this. A science to what happened to me last night. And that’s bigger than Dylan Thorpe or whatever his real name is. It’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than all of us. You’ll see that if you let me show you.”

“And maybe this was his real plan!” Kayla gestures to Charley.

“What?”

“Getting you addicted to his drug. Getting you so amped about what it can do you’re going to ignore the real threat against you.”

“Which is what exactly? The Scarlet Police Department?”

“Try the FBI or the ATF. That’s who’s investigating this biker massacre.”

“Dylan says this is bigger than them.”

“So he mentioned them specifically?”

“No, but since neither of those agencies has a drug that provides superhuman strength, I’m going to assume it is.”

“Oh, I get it.”

“Get what?”

“You’re trying to figure out how to use this drug so you can fight off law enforcement if they come for you?”

“I’m done with this conversation, Kayla. I’m sorry I brought you into this. You’re free to leave. I won’t hold it against you. I promise. But seriously. Enough.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”