Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

He takes a step toward me, eyeing Mr. Ang, who has said nothing this entire time. The man just stands there, staring at Conaty’s prone form, and I wonder if seeing her like that has released him from her spell somehow.

I wipe cold sweat from my brow, and in doing so notice the words on my hand once again. Yep, still need help.

“Clara, are you back there?”

She emerges from the hallway at the back of the station, Taser held in one hand. At the sight of the bodies and the fake blood on Doc’s neck, she blanches.

“It worked?” she asks, bewildered by the scene.

“It worked.”

“No one tried to run out the back,” she says. “Kinda bummed about that. I was ready if they did.”

“So I see.”

Her hand comes to her mouth when she sees my blood-soaked shirtsleeve. “Holy crap, Mary.”

“Doc,” I say over my shoulder, “you want to examine Conaty’s skull or something?”

“No.” He sits on the bed, rocking back and forth.

“Maybe look at Mary’s arm, then,” Kyle suggests.

“Yeah, asshole,” Clara adds.

But Doc doesn’t move. Nor do I.

The room moves, though. Tilting to one side.

I somehow manage to smile as I collapse. I’ve lost too much blood, I know, and didn’t get the wound bandaged in time.

But I still feel happy. And that’s not entirely from the lack of blood.

We did it. Kyle with that speaker. And Clara… bless her lack of guitar skill, it just saved all our asses. I could kiss her.

Can’t see her, though. There’s just the floor, racing to meet me.

Me and my broken nose.

I’m in the Mansion again, and my instinct is to flee.

The beige walls, the window, the bright light above me. And Doc, leaning over, injecting something into my arm.

All I can manage is a groan of protest.

“Welcome back,” Doc says.

He has a woman’s voice.

“Huh?” I say, my voice no more than a croak. I blink, lift my head up.

It’s not Doc at all, but a nurse in scrubs. She’s checking an IV drip running into my wrist. My whole left arm feels numb and, also, tingly somehow.

“Where…” I want to say, but my mouth feels as if it’s stuffed with dry grass.

“Providence,” the nurse replies.

The hospital. I lean my head back, exhausted.

Sometime later I wake once more, and though I’m groggy, this time there’s no confusion as to where I am.

The nurse has gone but the room is not empty. Sheriff Davies sits next to me, reading his phone. When I stir he glances at me, smiles, and puts the device away.

“About time,” he says, kindly.

“Where’s Kyle?” I try. My mouth barely works. “Clara?”

“They’re fine. Here, have a sip of water.”

He holds a straw to my lips and I take a sip. It’s ice cold. I take another, then six or seven long swallows, greedy.

“Don’t hold back. The nurse said you can have as much as you want,” the sheriff says.

I drink and drink, then slump back, tired again from the effort. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I can’t even imagine how much paperwork I’ve created.”

He chuckles at that, dryly. “Oh, you have absolutely no idea. Right now, Mary, I can’t even remember all the three-letter government agencies involved in the cleanup of this. It’s truly epic.”

“Agencies?”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Hell yeah. FBI. CDC. FDA. Seems like every one of them has someone here asking questions about Conaty’s little project. And her… uh, clients.”

I blink, absorbing this. “Wait, how long—”

He glances at his watch. “About three days,” he says. “You lost a lot of blood.”

“I guess I did.”

We sit in companionable silence for a time. Sheriff Davies happy to wait for me to recover, and me waiting for the fog to clear from my brain.

“Sally Jones!” I suddenly blurt. “Her kids. I have to get back up there. She might—”

He pats my hand. “Clara told us. Don’t worry. There’s an army of people on the mountain helping out, including assisting Ms. Jones.”

I hold his gaze for as long as I can, then lean back, eased by his words.

“So the feds, huh?”

“They’re anxious to speak with you,” he says, nodding. “They all are.”

“I’m surprised you’re the one sitting here, then.”

He shrugs. “I’m supposed to let them know when you’re awake and alert. Happy to keep that info between ourselves for the moment.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

I close my eyes, and when I open them again, it could have been a minute that passed, or an hour. I glance at Davies. “Sheriff,” I start.

“Call me James.”

“James, then. Look. I’m exhausted. I just want to listen. Can you tell me what you’ve figured out? What they were up to? Why they did it? I have theories, but…”

He shoots a slightly nervous glance toward the door. “I’m not really supposed to say. But, fuck it. You’ve earned some answers.” He sighs, takes his hat off, and begins to spin it around with his fingers, slowly. “It’s muddy, and I’m not being told much, but one of the FBI guys is a friend of a friend, and he shared a little.” James eyes me, a silent oath of secrecy being requested and one I’m content to grant. At my nod he continues. “You’re aware that the Conaty family has had a pharmaceutical division for decades?”

I nod again.

“Well, Sandra Conaty was in charge of it. Mr. Ang worked for her. A scientist, and a brilliant one at that. From what I understand, he was working on some new drug to combat anxiety and phobias, which had a side effect of screwing with people’s instincts.”

I hold up a hand, which takes more effort than I expect. “Wait. How’d you guys learn all this? I can’t believe any of them are talking, not with the kinds of lawyers Conaty has.”

“Oh,” James says, and smiles brightly. “That’s the best damn part of this. The irony is absolutely wonderful.” He leans forward, eyes twinkling. “Most of it’s