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“No.” She pauses. “Not directly, at least.”
“How else do you explain the ‘convenience’ of it then? Do you think there’s some ultra-violent guardian angel looking out for you?”
“I don’t know how the hell to explain it, Aaron.”
“Then stop trying, Holl.”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because two of my clients are dead!” She lowers her cup. “Both of whom would still be alive if they had never met me.”
Aaron silently agrees. But he also understands that once Holly’s shock and outrage recede, they will be replaced by guilt and self-recrimination. She came to him first for a reason. And he intends to be there for her, protecting her however necessary.
“A hundred years ago,” he says, “when I was a junior psychiatric resident, I did an elective at this clinic in Sausalito called the McMaster Institute. Have you heard of it?”
“I don’t need an equivalency tale right now, Aaron.”
“Hear me out. Please.”
She shrugs.
“The McMaster was a well-regarded private psychiatric institute,” he says. “Most of the residents were highly intelligent and educated. A couple were even former college profs. But they all suffered from debilitating illnesses ranging from schizophrenia to severe PTSD. All of them had been institutionalized at the McMaster for decades, after failing to cope in the outside world. By the time I got there, there were only nine residents left.”
“Aaron…”
“While I was there, the psychiatrist who had been running the place forever dropped dead. And no one was willing to take the job. Also, remember that at the time there was intense public pressure to deinstitutionalize such patients. In the end, the board decided to close the place and relocate the residents back into the community.” He pauses, but she only stares at him. “Within one week of the announcement, four of the nine residents attempted suicide. And three succeeded.”
Holly reaches out and strokes his arm. “I appreciate what you’re doing. And I love you for trying. I do. But comparing a group of displaced, institutionalized residents to my high-functioning clients… that’s no comparison at all.”
“High-functioning or not, your clients were addicts. Their risk was always going to be much higher than others.”
Holly shakes her head. “Not this high. No way.”
Aaron glances down at her hand where it rests on his elbow. “You’re going to have to accept that you might never know why they died. That you probably won’t.”
“Maybe.” She releases her grip. “But I have to at least try to find out.”
“How do you intend to go about it?”
“To start with, by figuring out how their deaths are connected.”
“If they are—and that’s a huge if—how will you do that?”
“I have no idea. But Elaine overdosed right after she launched a mission, misguided as it was, to expose me for sexual misconduct. And then JJ allegedly killed herself within days of admitting that she might have been the last person ever to speak to Elaine. And that she should have ‘told’—though I think JJ really meant ‘warned’—Elaine about something.” Holly locks eyes with Aaron. “What are the chances they’re not connected?”
“You think JJ felt responsible for Elaine’s death and the guilt of it drove her to kill herself?”
“That’s one possibility.”
He squints at her. “What else?”
“There are five other clients in our group. All of them desperate to continue their psychedelic therapy. To not have it disrupted by scandal or anything else.”
Aaron clicks his tongue. “That sounds like a reach.”
“I have to fill in some of these gaping blanks. I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t.” Holly swallows the frog in her throat. “Poor JJ. Despite all her wealth, she suffered. The alcohol… those lost pregnancies… And she cared about the tribe. She really did. Maybe too much.” She also can’t help thinking of Reese, wondering how the young lawyer is coping with the sudden loss of her best friend and primary ally in the group.
