girls?”
“Girls?”
“Yeah, dipshit. He still buyin’ girls?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I ain’t seen him for a minute.”
“Do me a solid —go see him. Ask him if he still got the hook-up on buyin’ bitches. I got a fine one for him.”
“ A’ight, I’ll check and hit you up.”
Tate placed the phone down on the dash. Sharon Miller got into her car and fiddled with her stereo before pulling away. Tate started the RV and followed.
11
Stanton sat in Dr. Vaquer’s waiting room. He was hunched over, staring at the floor, when her doors opened and she said, “Please come in.”
He rose and followed her inside. The office was always the same, not a painting or stapler out of place. Some psychiatrists used the method to offer their patients consistency.
He sat down on the couch and leaned back. The ceiling fan wasn’t on. Instead, the window was open, and Stanton could hear the traffic outside. Dr. Vaquer must’ve noticed, because she rose and closed the window before sitting back down across from him.
“Tell me about the attack,” she said.
“My chest started feeling tight. Then my vision was affected. It was like I was looking through a rolled-up piece of paper or something. Myopic. I kept blinking to make it go away like it was something in my eye. Then my thoughts jumbled, and my chest felt like it might burst open from the pressure. I passed out, but luckily, I was leaning against a tree. When I woke up, I think a couple of minutes had passed. But I don’t know for sure.”
She stared at him a moment. “Was there something unusual or particularly stressful that you feel triggered it?”
“A collar I had on a murder. He grabbed a gun from the officer guarding him when he went in to feed him. He shot himself. I got a confession out of him by lying to him that we’d found the murder weapon. When he found out that wasn’t true, he killed himself.”
She nodded. “Jon, I’m very worried about this attack. You haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. And this one sounds particularly worrisome because you fainted.”
“I know.”
“I’d like to put you on another medication. Xanax. It should help with these attacks.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. They’re rare enough that they don’t interfere.”
“I won’t contradict your wishes , of course, but that’s the wrong choice. It’s okay to need help sometimes.”
He was silent for a while. “I’ve been having nightmares again.”
“What of?”
“Last night, I saw myself in a car. It was a luxury car, a Mercedes or something. I was driving it for someone else. They had asked me to take it somewhere. The road was really dark. All I could see were the lines speeding past me and darkness everywhere else. The car kept going faster and faster, so I put my foot on the brake, but it didn’t work. This red circle came on in the dash—a warning light that isn’t actually on a dashboard. I didn’t know what it was. I called the Mercedes dealership, but no one answered.”
“ What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, but when I woke up, my pillow was soaked. I thought it was sweat at first , but I wasn’t sweating. I was crying.”
“You were weeping in your sleep?”
He nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”
She considered that a moment then said, “Jon, this is very important. I would like to put you on Xanax to control the anxiety attacks. And I’d like to increase the dosage for the Prozac.”
He shook his head. “Medication isn’t the answer.”
“Then what is?”
“There ’s something… I don’t know. It feels like I’m being told something.”
She placed her hands together, casually rubbing them before leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs. “We’ve talked about this before. Your belief in visions. I know you have a very powerful belief in God. Do you believe God gives you visions?”
“Yes.”
“Is it just because of your Mormon faith, or do you think
“Girls?”
“Yeah, dipshit. He still buyin’ girls?”
“Shit, I don’t know. I ain’t seen him for a minute.”
“Do me a solid —go see him. Ask him if he still got the hook-up on buyin’ bitches. I got a fine one for him.”
“ A’ight, I’ll check and hit you up.”
Tate placed the phone down on the dash. Sharon Miller got into her car and fiddled with her stereo before pulling away. Tate started the RV and followed.
11
Stanton sat in Dr. Vaquer’s waiting room. He was hunched over, staring at the floor, when her doors opened and she said, “Please come in.”
He rose and followed her inside. The office was always the same, not a painting or stapler out of place. Some psychiatrists used the method to offer their patients consistency.
He sat down on the couch and leaned back. The ceiling fan wasn’t on. Instead, the window was open, and Stanton could hear the traffic outside. Dr. Vaquer must’ve noticed, because she rose and closed the window before sitting back down across from him.
“Tell me about the attack,” she said.
“My chest started feeling tight. Then my vision was affected. It was like I was looking through a rolled-up piece of paper or something. Myopic. I kept blinking to make it go away like it was something in my eye. Then my thoughts jumbled, and my chest felt like it might burst open from the pressure. I passed out, but luckily, I was leaning against a tree. When I woke up, I think a couple of minutes had passed. But I don’t know for sure.”
She stared at him a moment. “Was there something unusual or particularly stressful that you feel triggered it?”
“A collar I had on a murder. He grabbed a gun from the officer guarding him when he went in to feed him. He shot himself. I got a confession out of him by lying to him that we’d found the murder weapon. When he found out that wasn’t true, he killed himself.”
She nodded. “Jon, I’m very worried about this attack. You haven’t had a panic attack in over a year. And this one sounds particularly worrisome because you fainted.”
“I know.”
“I’d like to put you on another medication. Xanax. It should help with these attacks.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. They’re rare enough that they don’t interfere.”
“I won’t contradict your wishes , of course, but that’s the wrong choice. It’s okay to need help sometimes.”
He was silent for a while. “I’ve been having nightmares again.”
“What of?”
“Last night, I saw myself in a car. It was a luxury car, a Mercedes or something. I was driving it for someone else. They had asked me to take it somewhere. The road was really dark. All I could see were the lines speeding past me and darkness everywhere else. The car kept going faster and faster, so I put my foot on the brake, but it didn’t work. This red circle came on in the dash—a warning light that isn’t actually on a dashboard. I didn’t know what it was. I called the Mercedes dealership, but no one answered.”
“ What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, but when I woke up, my pillow was soaked. I thought it was sweat at first , but I wasn’t sweating. I was crying.”
“You were weeping in your sleep?”
He nodded. “I’ve never done that before.”
She considered that a moment then said, “Jon, this is very important. I would like to put you on Xanax to control the anxiety attacks. And I’d like to increase the dosage for the Prozac.”
He shook his head. “Medication isn’t the answer.”
“Then what is?”
“There ’s something… I don’t know. It feels like I’m being told something.”
She placed her hands together, casually rubbing them before leaning back in her seat and crossing her legs. “We’ve talked about this before. Your belief in visions. I know you have a very powerful belief in God. Do you believe God gives you visions?”
“Yes.”
“Is it just because of your Mormon faith, or do you think
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