Page 14 of Playing with Fire

“I am.” Chief Quinn dragged over a seat so he could sit beside my bed. “What do you have against the Lakers?”

“Nothing, except that’s a Los Angeles team. We’re in New York.”

“He’s doing it to piss you off, Gardener. He’s got his regular clothing in a bag just outside the door.” Perky peered at the monitor near the head of the bed. “Jesus. They still have you on the crazy stuff. Do us all a favor and get better already. Sir, please put on something nice for her so she doesn’t blame me when she believes Santa hates her.”

“No.”

It was my turn to sigh. “But Santa does hate me. So does Chief Quinn. It’s okay, Perky. This model talks to me.” I gave my crappy thin blanket a flick with a finger. “Dr. Valleychime hates me, too.”

Chief Quinn stiffened in his seat. “Why?”

“Pixie dust.” How could one stupid substance bring me so much misery? “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

There. After countless hallucinations, I’d finally managed to choke out an apology.

Perky cleared his throat. “I think it’s because Dr. Valleychime is a pixie doctor specializing in long-term recovery and the mental and emotional well-being of patients in this hospital, sir. He gets sensitive when he can’t just flutter his pretty little wings and make most patient satisfaction problems go away. Considering he’s packing the good stuff, she’s probably stung his pride a little. She’s good at that. She’s a rose, but she’s all thorns.”

I couldn’t argue with him. “I’m sorry.”

Hey, I got out two apologies in one conversation. Maybe there was hope for me after all.

“For once in your life, could you just be quiet, Gardener?”

The Lakers model hated me, too, and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry again.

My doctor fluttered in through the door, took one look at my imaginary visitors, and sighed. “If you can’t stop triggering depressive episodes with my patient, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Great. Dr. Valleychime was talking to my hallucinations again just to mess with me.

Chief Quinn snorted.

My doctor glared at the police chief before turning his attention to me. “Do you want me to have him removed, Miss Gardener?”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t just make a hallucination disappear, but if you could get him to take his shirt off, I’d be totally okay with that.”

At the rate my doctor was sighing, I worried he’d have an aneurism. Lifting his hand, he rubbed his temple. “What did I do to deserve this? Miss Gardener, Chief Quinn is not a hallucination, and neither is Dr. Perkins.”

I squinted at Perky. “You’re really a doctor? I thought you were some kind of awesome super geek who just happened to know a lot about forensics stuff.”

“I can’t tell if you hate me or like me, Gardener, and that’s really screwing with my perception of reality.”

“You don’t have a perception of reality. You’re a figment of my overactive and drugged imagination.”

Dr. Valleychime tapped on the monitor near my bed, probably to adjust my medications. “They’re both quite real. Now, granted, you’ve had several legitimate episodes involving hallucinations, but this is quite real. Unfortunately, so is that jersey.”

My doctor wasn’t supposed to try to trick me into believing my hallucinations were real. “I would like to dispute your claim.”

“Any disputes you might make won’t change reality.”

Scowling, I shook my head. “There is zero reason for either one of them to be here. I’m an insufferable bitch, Dr. Valleychime. I have no friends, and there’s a very good reason for that. Chief Quinn has at least a hundred good reasons to hate me, and don’t get me started on Perky. If murder were legal, I’m sure they would’ve gotten rid of me by now. They’d do whatever it is manly cops do to call dibs for the right to off me.”

“Yet you want Chief Quinn to take his shirt off.”

“Hell yeah. Are you blind? Take a good look at him. He’s proof God exists and wants to make women happy.”

My doctor coughed. “That was incredibly sexist. I’m genuinely astonished.”

“Hey, men might appreciate a chance to have him, too,” Perky added.