Free Delirious by Daniel Palmer Page B

of a steeply sloping hill. The apartment was barely furnished, but the cost of what little he owned could buy enough furniture to fill homes three times the size. Monte rubbed against his legs and gave a soft bark, fair warning that he needed to be walked soon, or else. Charlie didn’t react; his mind, already racing, even with what little caffeine he’d had, was replaying his meeting with Rachel. She hadn’t administered any mock tests or tried to delve deeper into his unexplained experiences. Instead she had suggested a medical MRI. Perhaps a brain lesion or even a tumor—uncommon, but known to cause hallucinations similar to schizophrenia—was to blame. Rachel hadn’t ruled out work pressures as being a cause, but she hadn’t jumped on the theory, either. There were other possibilities she’d suggested, infection being one, though she’d thought that unlikely given his lack of other symptoms. A comprehensive psychological evaluation and further medical testing, she’d insisted, were the only legitimate path to a diagnosis.
    She had also provided the names of several doctors at Walderman who were accepting new patients. That had stung. He had crumpled the paper with the phone numbers on it and thrown it in the trash as he left. He was desperate to find any reason to discredit her professional assessment that he should seek psychiatric help. The MRI was at least medical—hopeful, so long as the cause was curable.
    The stress of the last several days had left Charlie with dark circles under his eyes and an ashen complexion. The idea that his mind was a ticking bomb, perhaps ready to detonate, perhaps destined to send him to the same fate as his father and brother before him, went far beyond any corporate stress he’d ever faced. He knew he needed to find the real Anne Pedersen, but he had no idea where to start. He jotted himself a note to call Corner Ticket and get the Sox tickets he’d promised Lawrence. Right now Lawrence was his only hope of tracking her down.
    Crossing his sparsely furnished living room, Charlie went to his computer, which stood on a drafting table he’d bought at a Scandinavian design center. Monte continued to shadow him and barked louder this time to get his attention. Charlie bent down and petted him gently on the head.
    “I hear you, Monte. Just need to check one thing and we’ll go for a long walk today. Sound good?”
    As if Monte understood, he barked again, turned, and trotted off into the kitchen. Charlie heard him lapping at his water bowl. His computer powered on, Charlie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief that he could still access the SoluCent corporate network, through the secure VPN connection. Not that he had expected otherwise, just that with the Anne Pedersen situation escalating the way that it was, he could no longer take anything for granted. He opened Outlook and scanned his in-box. Charlie prided himself on never having taken a sick day in his more than two years at SoluCent—the Cal Ripken of software engineering, someone once had dubbed him. Charlie was about to break that streak with a quick e-mail to his boss, Mac.
    Unfortunately, Mac had contacted him first. Even worse, it was his first day back from vacation. His message was characteristically short, but from the scathing tone it was evident that both Leon Yardley and Jerry Schmidt had given Mac earfuls.
    Mac had meetings until 11:00 a.m. and expected Charlie to contact his assistant Jean for an appointment with him in the afternoon. Typical Mac, not a “manage by walking around” guy. You had to make an appointment if you wanted to see him. Seldom did anyone want to.
    His promised long walk with Monte finished and shortened considerably, Charlie dressed in gray slacks, a blue oxford, and a gray sports jacket. He studied his sunken face in the mirror and decided against shaving. There was no reason to pretend this was just another day at the office.
    “Be good, boy, okay?” Charlie said, hand-feeding