Delusions: Samantha Barclay Mystery, #2

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Christie Kraemer

Copy Edited by: Gina Marie Cadorette

Senior Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Trisha FitzGerald

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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Copyright © 2008 by Suzanne M. Hurley

ISBN  918-1-59705-347-1

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

October 2008

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Dedication

To Michael, truly an inspiration and someone I admire and love with all my heart. Thank you for your great faith in me and for the many hats you wear—as my webmaster, designer, consultant, publicist, personal trainer and chief cook.

To Jen, Frank, Mel, Jim, Joshua, Elliot, Noah, Holly, Emily, Bailey and Finn who I also love with all my heart. Thanks for your continual support and fun times.

To Paul, Pat, Jen, Jayson, Richard, Catherine, Teagan, Keira, Pete, Ann, Meghan, Erin and Ben and their new little one, Adam, Brian, Charlotte, Mary, Maureen, John, David, Catherine, Danielle—who I adore with all my heart. Thanks for your humor, fun and support. Special thanks to Maureen who promotes my books with enthusiasm, excitement and tenacity. Special thanks to Pete for your ideas and help with my manuscript.

To Doctor Mary Manno—truly a special lady who went beyond the call of duty to help me with my medical facts. Any mistakes are mine, not hers.

To Dorothy Bodoin for her invaluable advice, help, humor and editing solutions.

To Mary Lou Quealey for her never ending support.

To Lynda Simmons for her invaluable advice and never ending enthusiasm.

To Sheila Mazza for cheering me on.

To Nicole LeVatte, owner of the Dragonfly Bookstore in Caledonia, for her support as a champion of local authors.

To Teresa Thompson at the Caledonia Library for her enthusiasm.

To Lorraine, editor at Wings, for her support, patience, advice and guidance. To Christie Kraemer, an editor with great insight.

To Trisha Fitzgerald-Petri for her beautiful, thought-compelling art work and the creation of my cover. (face image by Ilona Mueller)

Each one of you plays a major role in my life and I thank you for this.

Prologue

They say that love is blind.

That it can spur you on to do things you never thought you could.

Good things, but in my case bad things.

Stuff that shames me.

Furtive activities I hide from my family and friends.

Worst of all, it can make you get involved in illegal actions.

At least that’s true in my case.

I fell hopelessly in love.

I was euphoric.

It was pure bliss.

I didn’t want to do this horrible thing.

I didn’t want to take part in something so evil, something that can hurt others.

It’s against everything I believe in.

Repeatedly I ask myself, How did it come to this?

No one would believe it.

But I guess I know the answer.

It’s all about love.

I am desperately in love.

Passion made me feel that I had no choice.

The idiom is true.

Love does blind you.

So day after day, I live a lie.

A lie, based on my feelings.

Sadly, I proved that I would do anything for love, even if it was corrupt.

I’m miserable about it, but I am still in love.

I AM ALSO STILL DOING BAD THINGS!

One

Ahand clasped my shoulder . I turned to see Mark Myton, our star basketball player. He was deathly white.

You’ve got to come to the girls’ washroom. Cindy’s out cold.

What? She can’t be. I just saw her.

Hurry.

He turned and I followed, keeping up as best I could, my heart racing.

My name is Samantha Barclay, Sam to my friends, and I am the full time counselor at Milton High School in Paxton, West Virginia. Cindy was a straight ‘A’ student I’d been counseling. It was Friday night and I was enjoying the impromptu dance put on by the cheerleaders. Our Mighty Cardinals had won the State Championship Basketball Game—their first in ten years.

Pushing open the door, I couldn’t believe what I saw! A motionless Cindy was lying on the floor, drenched in water. Several students stood nearby, hands to their mouths in shock. One of them, hunched over in hysterics, was repeatedly calling her name. Mark pushed her aside to make room for me.

Dropping to my knees, I yelled, Cindy, wake up.

Nothing happened.

Please, urged Mark. "Do something,"

Pulling out my cell phone, I shoved it at him. Call 911, then let Mr. Eckhart know where we are.

Summoning up my First Aid Training, I tilted her head back to open her airway, leaned over and watched her closely. No sign of breathing, nor did I feel air against my cheek. Damn! She was in cardiac arrest. Pinching her nose shut, I opened her mouth and gave two breaths. Oblivious to the growing number of students breathing down my neck, I started chest compressions. One, two, three... oh, God, please let it work. My arms started to ache but I kept on going. No way was I losing her. She had to live.

Hey, lady! I can take over now.

Ignoring the voice, I continued pumping. Come on, Cindy, you can do it!

Please, Miss. We’re medics. We’re here to help.

Arms reached down to pull me up and I turned to see Officer Al Michaels watching me, eyes full of concern.

You all right? he asked gruffly.

Shoving his hands off, I nodded.

Al Michaels was a deputy at the local Sheriff’s Office and a close friend of mine, or at least I thought so until the last couple of months. Something had changed and without warning or explanation, he’d begun avoiding me. I had no idea why.

Frustrated, edgy and in shock, I certainly didn’t need his empathy after the way he’d been treating me. Turning away, I watched Cindy get hooked up to a heart monitor and listened to the medics throw stats back and forth as CPR continued. I crossed my fingers.

We’ve got a pulse. One of them looked directly at me. Good job, lady.

Giddy relief shot through.

Seeing Cindy loaded up on a stretcher, the same vibrant girl I’d seen a few minutes ago was hard to take. I looked around, taking stock. One of the medics was talking earnestly with Mark, while Mr. Eckhart, Milton’s caretaker, showed the others the fastest way to get her out of here. Al moved to make a path through the students who were huddled by the door, inside and out, in various forms of hysteria. Cindy was popular and the news that she was in trouble traveled fast.

Torn between staying to console them and wanting to follow the ambulance, I made my choice when several teachers began mingling among the frightened students. I couldn’t be in two places at once. I was going to the hospital. I headed to my car when someone stepped in front of me.

I’ll take you.

Looking up I saw a compassionate Al.

I had no time for this. After barely speaking to me for months, he was now acting kind? Forget it!

Pushing past, I muttered, I’ll drive myself.

Two

‘B EEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP , BEEP...’

The heart monitor spewed out vital signs while I stared at the sad broken shape on the bed, oxygen mask looming large on her tiny face. Against my will, tears surfaced as I acknowledged the grim reality that the stats I glimpsed barely registered Cindy was alive.

It had taken me a lot longer than expected to get to Whitney General Hospital. I’d ended up stopping to comfort a couple of her friends, after all. Finally arriving, breaking all speed limits, Al met me at the door. Using his siren and flashing lights he had gotten here quickly and took me straight to Cindy’s curtained off cubicle in the E.R. No one stopped a deputy in full uniform.

A nurse was fussing around; making sure her IV was in place. Al introduced us—Clara was her name—and her blunt words confirmed my worst fears. She’s in bad shape. Drugs, I think.

No way! I said firmly. Cindy didn’t do drugs.

Facts don’t lie, spouted Clara. She shook her head and left.

I was angry. I don’t care what that nurse thinks. She wouldn’t touch them.

Al looked over skeptically, eyebrows raised. You sure about that?

She was dead against them. I would know. I’m her counselor.

The subject of drugs had never come up and not for a moment did I believe that she was involved with them, let alone could have overdosed. Cindy loved to talk, enthusiastically revealing every detail of her life, and I knew that she would have been honest if narcotics were a problem. Much to my embarrassment, tears drifted down my cheeks.

Handing me a Kleenex, Al said, Her mother’s on her way. She asked to see you.

I looked up in surprise, for I’d never met Mrs. Lowe. Cindy had insisted that our sessions be confidential.

Al, who had been giving me odd looks since the moment I arrived, stared at me for a moment, then leaned over to whisper, You might want to clean up first. A red blush crept up his face as he nodded toward the bathroom, handing me his jacket.

Confused, I ducked in and looked in the mirror. Much to my embarrassment, my top clung to me obscenely, like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest. I must have gotten soaked doing CPR, since Cindy had been covered in water. Mortified, I tugged on Al’s jacket. It looked ridiculous but at least I was decent, not ‘x-rated.’

Hastily wiping away remnants of tears, I decided I looked presentable, the best I could under these circumstances. I sucked in a huge breath, also realizing that I had to keep my cool with Al.

He had hurt me deeply. I had stayed up nights trying to figure out what I could have done to cause such a reaction. Finally, getting up the courage, I once asked. He shrugged and walked away. I was frustrated as hell, but fate seemed to have thrown us together again. Cindy was my first priority so I’d have to call a truce. I couldn't let my annoyance with him distract me. Taking another deep breath, resolving to put my confused thoughts on hold, I rejoined Al who winked and gave me a thumbs up.

Crossing my fingers, I stared again at the monitor, hoping to see signs of improvement. No such luck! Feeling weak in the knees, I let my breath out in a loud ‘whoosh’ and plopped down on one of the black metal chairs leaning up against the wall. Cindy and drugs! There was no way! Surely, there was some mistake or at least a reasonable explanation.

Commotion in the hall got my attention. A stocky, tear-stained, obviously grief-stricken figure raced into the room. It was a woman. She stared for a moment at Cindy, then, ignoring the many tubes attached to her, threw herself down on the bed screaming, What’s happening to my baby? Cindy... Cindy... wake up! Wake up! The IV bag flew off the metal holder and hit the ground. Saline solution spilled out in a slow steady trickle, as an alarm sounded.

I jumped up to help, but then stood back as a couple of nurses rushed in. One proceeded to help the distraught woman, who I presumed was Cindy’s mother, into a chair. Another grabbed the IV bag, replaced it with a new one, and then checked to make sure that everything was plugged in, intact and attached, as it should be. Fortunately, she hadn’t dislodged the needle in her arm, which would have created unnecessary pain if they had to reinsert it. Nurse Clara shot the mother a dirty look, then proceeded to mop up the spill.

I also took note of a man who had trailed in behind. He visibly whitened at the prone figure in the bed, observed the chaos, and promptly took up a position against the wall, fists clenched. Cindy’s dad, I guessed.

As Mrs. Lowe curled up into a classic fetal position, staring blankly at her daughter, I mentally prepared myself to approach her.

As a counselor, I found it fascinating meeting parents, for I knew many of them only through their son or daughter’s eyes. During introductions, especially on Parent Night, their children’s comments would race through my head. Some were humorous; some bred curiosity, while others filled me with disgust. The Lowes tweaked my interest. Cindy had shared vivid, heated accounts of their divorce proceedings and the numerous fights. She felt caught in the middle, too many times to count.

I took a moment to observe Mrs. Lowe. Tousled gray hair, make-up free face, baggy brown sweats and a stained white T-shirt stretched tightly over her well-rounded physique. She looked much older than her forty something years. To be frank, she was a mess.

Her ex-husband was a definite contrast. Garbed in a gray suit complete with a starched white shirt, not a stitch was out of place. Immediately I became self-conscious at my own untidy appearance and tugged Al’s jacket closer. I also noticed that he was slim with a lean, wiry athletic build. Right now he appeared weary with lines of stress etched across his forehead and worried eyes that darted about. In contrast to Mrs. Lowe, he had definitely noticed Al and me, had started toward us a couple of times, then stopped, and chose for whatever reason to remain quiet. Taking it all in perhaps, or wanting to avert a possible scene with his ex wife.

Their combined body language spoke volumes for each parent had positioned themselves in a way that insured that they could safely ignore the presence of one another. Cindy’s fervent declaration that they hated each other rang true, and that was noticeable even before speaking to either one of them.

Deciding my moment was up; I gathered my courage and made my way over to the mother. Counselor or not, I was innately shy, and still struggled with what to do or say during moments like these. My heart went out to her as I noted tears pouring down her face and sad frightened eyes. I hunkered down in front of her.

Mrs. Lowe, I said softly. I’m Samantha Barclay. You were asking for me?

To my surprise, she jumped up, pulled me with her and hurled herself in my arms.

Almost losing my balance, I corrected myself and managed to hold her up. Her ex-husband glanced at us, shook his head and grunted his disgust. To be honest, it felt odd clasping someone I had never met before, and after a reasonable amount of time, I pulled back.

Have you spoken to the doctor? I was wondering if she had more information than we did.

Just on the phone, she whispered. He’s on his way over.

My curiosity ever at the forefront, I wanted to ask why she had requested to see me; however, I held back my question as she dropped her hold on me and started blowing her nose loudly.

I wasn't complaining, just confused. Was there something I needed to know?

Sobbing, Mrs. Lowe spoke again, her voice coming out in choppy, breathy sentences. Thanks for all you’ve done for my little girl. I’ve been so worried about her lately. I tried to get her to go to a psychiatrist but she said she was talking to you and didn’t need a shrink.

She was worried about Cindy? I wondered why. I thought she was doing well.

Wildly shaking her head, she grabbed my arms again. I just can’t believe it! My daughter overdosed!

Indignant, I was just about to refute her overdose statement, confidant that I knew Cindy better than she did, when Mr. Lowe moved away from the wall.

Do you know what’s going on? he said accusingly. I can’t trust a thing she says. He nodded his head toward his ex-wife.

No, I don’t, I answered quickly. He didn’t seem like a man to mess with.

She didn’t talk to you about doing drugs?

Not a word.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye distracted me and a large figure loomed by the open curtain. I didn’t have time to register who it was before Mrs. Lowe abruptly let go, pointed and screamed.

Three

"E cstasy! That boy told the paramedics that Cindy took a drug called Ecstasy. What are you doing here?"

So that was why the nurse thought it was a drug overdose—someone said so.

All of us turned to look.

I just want to know how Cindy is, the newcomer said quietly, a terrified look on his face.

Mark! I had forgotten all about him. He stared at me. Miss Barclay, is she okay?

Of course she’s not okay, Mrs. Lowe interjected. She overdosed.

I wished they would stop saying that.

She’s still alive, I whispered, at least reassuring him about that.

Mark was a great kid, a sandy haired, blue-eyed heartthrob adored by everyone. He was one of my Peer Counselors, a group of students who I called upon to help others in need. He was a hard worker, one of our school’s finest role models, and had saved many a student over the years from being a victim of insufferable behaviors, such as bullying or name-calling. To be honest, his kind approach to life reminded me a bit of Al, or at least the Al I used to know.

I knew Cindy had a crush on him—what teenage girl didn’t—but I wasn't aware that they hung out together. After all, she was two years younger and most of the older boys stayed away from the juniors. He actually thought Cindy took Ecstasy?

I knew its official chemical name was MDMA, which stood for ‘methylenedioxymethamphetamine’—a hard word to remember—and it was a psychoactive drug. The students at Milton called it the big ‘E’ or the ’hug drug’ because it made users ‘affectionate’ toward each other, for lack of another word. It encouraged feelings of elation, lessened inhibitions and enriched tactile and emotional experiences. They used it at parties or Raves but so far, no one had been caught with it at a school dance. I knew that Cindy would never have touched it. That would have been idiotic for such a smart girl. I moved closer to Mark hoping to get the scoop on what was going on with him as well. Was he involved somehow? I knew he was the one who came to get me at the dance, but was there more to it?

Mrs. Lowe noticed my movement. "Stay away from him, Miss Barclay. That boy’s a murderer." I stopped in my tracks.

At the same time, Mr. Lowe pointed at his ex, saying in a calm but deadly voice, "Ecstasy! That’s ridiculous. Cindy would never touch that stuff. I don’t understand why you would believe that. You’ve got to be the worst mother on earth. His finger stabbed the air as if ticking facts on a list. You’re never consistent; you give her too much freedom and you’re a lousy parent. Look at you. He pointed at her clothing with disgust. You can’t even dress properly. He turned to glare at Mark. And as for you, young man. How dare you say such a horrid thing about my daughter?"

Shut up, Mrs. Lowe screamed.

Mr. Lowe swung his head away from Mark. Don’t you dare tell me to shut up!

A ghastly showdown began as both parents hurled insults at each other. Mark hung his head. Then, as if in sync, both of them moved closer to the devastated teen and made him their new victim, coming at him verbally and physically.

Killer! cried Mrs. Lowe.

I’ll make you pay for this, young man, yelled Mr. Lowe.

As Al stepped in between all of them, I was desperately trying to figure out how to ward off this inappropriate emotional display. I was a counselor for heaven’s sake. I was supposed to know how to handle dicey situations.

BEEP... BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...

The heart monitor’s alarm sounded off, piercing the air with its urgency, as a nurse and doctor ran in.

Oh no! Could Cindy hear all this?

Nurse Clara shushed everyone with a fierce look, and rushed to her patient’s side for the second time. A doctor garbed in a stained white lab coat just stood there, hands on his hips. His tag read Dr. Fields and as I watched him survey the scene, it was obvious that he was assessing the situation.

Frowning and clearly annoyed, yet struggling to remain professional, he said firmly, Quiet! All of you. You’re upsetting this patient.

Four

After making sure Cindy was stable, Dr. Fields ushered us out into the hall. First, he admonished our behavior, and then proceeded to give an update. It was not good.

Your daughter’s in critical shape. Right now we’re doing every test possible to determine the cause of her collapse.

Was it drugs? Mrs. Lowe asked.

At this point I can’t be certain. Once the results are in, I’ll know more.

What can you tell us so far? insisted Mr. Lowe. I’m not sure I even understand what happened.

From what I gather she suffered a cardiac arrest back at the school. She was resuscitated, but on the drive to the hospital, her pulse was faint and she slipped into an unconscious state. She was in what we call Cardiogenic Shock. I’ve pumped a drug called Adenosine into her but she has yet to regain consciousness. I’m still trying to come up with the best plan to help her, but I need the test results to do so.

Surely you can fix this, begged Mrs. Lowe. There must be some procedure you can do.

The doctor lowered his eyes for a moment. It was worse than I thought. Mrs. Lowe burst out into another bout of tears and to be honest, I wasn't far behind.

We’re trying, Dr. Fields said quietly. That’s all I can promise. He glanced at Mark. Is this the young man who found her?

Aroused anew, Mrs. Lowe turned to Mark and said, albeit a bit quieter out of respect for Dr. Field’s wishes, I told you once already! Get out of here!

No... please, Doctor Fields said, giving her a stern look. I need to speak to him.

Rolling her eyes in disgust, she stared down at the floor, a loud ‘humph’ radiating out from her.

Trying to ignore the blatant hostility surrounding him, Mark nodded. Clenching his hands, obviously expecting the worse, he sighed heavily.

Doctor Fields asked, Are you positive it was Ecstasy she took?

Yes, sir. I saw her take it myself.

My head reeled! So it was true! Cindy had taken drugs. The fact that Mark actually witnessed it hit me hard because I knew he wouldn’t lie at such a critical time. I backed up against the wall for support. Al took one look at my white face, moved closer and grabbed my hand. In shock, I accepted it. I just couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around the fact that Cindy was into this kind of stuff and hadn’t told me. Al gave me a knowing look and squeezed my hand tighter.

Mark cast a quick glance over at the Lowes before continuing, I told her not to, but she said she was all bent out of shape and needed a high. He shook his head. Before I knew it, she was moving around like a crazy person. She danced the whole time we were setting up the gym, even before the actual celebration started. She wouldn’t stop. Then she started handing out punch to everyone. She was going so fast it was painful to watch. He slumped back against the wall and said quietly, almost in a whisper, I can’t talk about this. He was clearly upset and on the verge of shutting down.

My counseling skills finally surfaced. I broke away from Al and took charge.

You need to tell us, Mark. This will help Cindy. What happened to her? The doctor has to know.

As if in slow motion, Mark looked up as Dr. Fields nodded. He then glanced at me, dropped his eyes as if embarrassed, but continued, All of a sudden she put the tray of cups down and said she felt sick. She looked horrible; feverish, pale and her eyes were all blurry and bloodshot. She also said there was a weird kind of pounding feeling in her neck and that she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. His voice rose, taking on a note of urgency. She grabbed a cup and went to the washroom, muttering that she was thirsty. I waited outside, as it was the girls’ room and all. But she was in there so long I couldn’t take it. He grimaced and his voice softened. I went in and there she was, on the floor, drenched. Her empty cup was lying beside her like she’d just thrown the water all over herself. Mark buried his face in his hands. It’s all my fault. I should have tried harder to stop her.

That’s right, young man, said Mr. Lowe. Glad you realize that! She was your date, dammit. If I understand correctly, it was you who convinced my daughter to go to the dance. Begging her mother, who of course gave in. He took a step forward. I have strict rules about what social events my daughter attends. I wouldn’t have allowed her to go with an older boy. In case you don’t know, I’m a lawyer and I’ll see that you pay for this.

Mark and Cindy were a couple? One more thing she hadn’t shared with me.

Cindy always described her father as a self-absorbed egotist and said that within ten minutes of meeting him, he would let you know that he was a big shot lawyer. Sometimes she timed him and found that he usually never made it to the ten-minute slot. How right she was. He came across like a pompous jerk.

I watched him closely as he turned to his ex again, waving his arm. Is this the kind of trash that you allow our daughter to associate with? Someone who gives her drugs?

I didn’t do that! Mark cried.

Shut up. All of you! Mrs. Lowe stepped forward, forcibly slapping her husband’s hand away. Don’t you dare point your finger at me. Hands on hips she glared at him. For goodness sake, I can’t keep her locked up. She’s old enough to date.

It was the first time I’d seen a glimpse of the strong, capable woman Cindy had said her mother used to be. She was standing up for herself and all I could think of was ‘you go girl...’ But couldn’t she have picked another time or place to do it?

Al stepped between them while Dr. Fields said; pointing toward Cindy’s room, Get hold of yourselves. This is no time to be debating parenting skills. Cindy needs quiet. You’re not helping her by screaming and fighting. He turned to Mark and said sternly, Young man, go to the lobby and wait for me. I may need to talk to you again. Keep thinking about what happened and if you have any more information make sure you let me know.

I was sure he was wondering as all of us were, if Cindy had dabbled in anything else as well.

His head held down in obvious shame, Mark left.

Mr. Lowe shouted after him, This conversation is not over. I’ll be in touch. You might want to get your own lawyer.

Mark’s back twitched as if shuddering, but he kept right on going.

Once again, Dr. Fields shushed the Lowes, Another outburst like that and I’m throwing you out. Right now, I need you to come over to the nurse’s station and give me your daughter’s medical facts. Enough of these petty arguments.

Al and I followed Mark. It was the right thing to do. I was sure that after speaking with Dr. Fields, the Lowes needed time alone with their daughter without all of us hanging around. It was also a relief to get away.

God help the medical staff left to deal with them.

Five

Al took off, muttering about needing coffee, while I stepped into the waiting room. Mark had chosen to sit off in the corner and deciding to give him space, I huddled up in a chair a few seats over. He gave no acknowledgment of my