Chapter 40

Tuesday, April 23

Patients lie. All the fucking time, one of Holly’s early mentors used to love to tell her. It’s a lesson that has been reinforced over the years.

But Holly has never viewed her role as one of fact-checker. If a client chooses to lie, they have their reason. God knows they lie enough to themselves. Consequently, Holly has never before looked for objective sources to corroborate what a client told her. Until today. Now Holly is desperate to learn as much as she can about Liisa. And as she studies the Google page in front of her, she can only think: How could I have been so na?ve?

Liisa’s practice in Huntington Beach is closed. As best as Holly can tell, it has been shuttered for over a year. There are oblique mentions of disciplinary actions against Liisa, along with some scathing reviews from clients who felt abandoned by her in mid-therapy.

Tanya knocks at her open door. “She’s on the phone again.”

Holly closes her browser. “Who is?”

“Katy Armstrong.”

In light of all that has transpired in the past week, the reporter had slipped her mind. Holly could only imagine how quickly she would jump all over the deaths associated with her ketamine practice and, for a fleeting moment, wonders if she should just tell Katy. To see if the dogged reporter could sniff out how it was all interconnected. But she dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it forms. “Not now, Tanya.”

Her assistant nods. “That’s what I thought. Also, Liisa is here for her appointment.”

“OK.” Holly’s neck tightens. “Please bring her in.”

A minute or two later, Tanya leads Liisa into the room. Rising from her desk, Holly wills herself calm as she greets the psychologist.

Liisa looks confused as she settles into the interview chair across from Holly. “I don’t understand. No ketamine today?”

“Later.” Holly forces a smile. “I thought we’d talk first.”

Liisa accepts it with a shrug. “All right.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your group lately,” Holly says. “Did I ever tell you how I chose its membership?”

“Not explicitly, but it always seemed obvious.”

“Oh? How so?”

“All of us high-functioning professionals, artists, or influencers who excelled in our spheres despite having what could be considered crippling addictions.”

“Exactly. But apart from that, you couldn’t be much less alike.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

Holly interlocks her fingers and leans forward in her seat, keeping her body language as neutral as her tone. “Tell me more.”

“Even putting aside education, wealth, and entitlement, there are parallels,” Liisa says. “Simon and Salvador are both artists with predictably histrionic and narcissistic traits. Baljit and Reese are two driven, ultra-competitive corporate types. The textbook definition of alpha females. And of course, Reese and JJ are—was, in JJ’s case—both childless alcoholics who became fast friends.”

“True enough. What about you, Liisa? Who are you most like?”

She thinks about it for a second or two. “You, I suppose.”

“Maybe so.” Holly swallows her disgust. “Do you recognize the other common thread among the members?”

“No. What’s that?”

“There are actually two of them. First, like most people with addiction, all of you have suffered major traumas in your pasts. And the second is the secrets you keep.”

Liisa crosses her legs. “Everyone harbors secrets.”

“Maybe. But it’s a matter of scale. By necessity, high-functioning addicts have to hide massive secrets to survive in their worlds.”

Liisa tilts her head from side to side.

“Take you, for example, Liisa,” Holly says. “A therapist who has to deal with addiction and trauma every day while hiding a benzodiazepine dependence of her own. That can’t be easy.”

Liisa laughs uncomfortably. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Weren’t there times when you felt as if you couldn’t offer your clients the hard truths they needed to hear because of your own… situation?”

Liisa’s gaze drops to her lap. “I’ve been able to compartmentalize my professional and personal lives.”

“You’ve been working throughout the worst of your addiction, then? You’ve never had to take a break, right?”

“There have been times when I’ve had to cut back,” Liisa says without making eye contact.

“How many days a week do you see clients now?”

“It varies from month to month.”

“This month?”

Liisa’s mouth tightens, and she sits up straighter. “What’s this about?”

“You’re not practicing at all, are you, Liisa?”

“I’m on a sabbatical.”

Holly peers at her over the rim of her glasses. “A sabbatical from a clinical practice?”

“I needed a break,” Liisa mutters. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with our ketamine therapy.”

“One of the main points of group therapy, Liisa, is to share your vulnerabilities, not to hide them.”

“I’ve shared plenty. More than what I wanted or intended to.”

“Did you choose to close your practice?” Holly presses. “Or did the Board of Psychology force you to?”

Liisa’s nostrils flare slightly. “How is that any of your business?”

Holly only stares at her.

“All right,” Liisa says. “Yes, there was a disciplinary action. One of my clients reported me after I fell asleep during a session. It had been a long day, and I hadn’t slept the night before. But no, the Xanax did not help the situation.”

“Is that right?”

“There were a couple of other complaints, too. Both trivial in my opinion. And not reliable complainants. But after an aggressive and, frankly, biased investigation, my license was suspended. And I was forced to seek treatment.”

Holly is certain Liisa must be downplaying the incidents if they led to a suspension. “And that’s how you ended up here? With me?”

“Not directly. As I told you before, none of the other programs I tried worked.”

“You came to see me because you had no choice.” It all begins to make sense to Holly. “You were extremely resentful about it, though, weren’t you?”

“No, I was doubtful,” she said. “That is, until your therapy began to help me. And then, as I’ve told you, my doubt turned into belief.”

Holly chooses her words carefully. “But while you were still ‘doubtful’—when you hadn’t yet found sobriety—did you speak to the others in the tribe about me?”

“In what sense?” Liisa shifts in her seat. “We all discussed you and our therapy with one another.”

“Did you encourage Elaine to pursue her allegations against me?”

Liisa’s upper body stiffens. “Elaine came to me. She told me about her concerns with you and the way you’d touched her… hugged her.”

“And what did you tell Elaine?”

“I told her it seemed far-fetched.” She hesitates. “But stranger things have happened.”

“Is that all?”

“I also told her the truth. That it’s rare for a victim to misinterpret abusive intentions.”

“You did encourage her to pursue it, then?”

“I encouraged her not to bury her feelings. To speak to you. To clarify what really happened.”

“What about the other women in the group?”

The color leaves Liisa’s cheeks. “What about them?”

“Did you suggest to any of them that I might’ve also been abusing them under ketamine?”

Liisa hops to her feet. “What is this? I feel like I’m back in front of the Board. Another inquisition!”

Holly rises from her own chair. They stand a few feet apart, the air electrified between them. “What have you done, Liisa?” she asks in a low voice.

Liisa shakes her head and begins to pace. She waves her hand around the office, contempt contorting her features. “Look at you!” she spits. “With your designer office. Your multimillion-dollar practice. Your celebrity clients. Is your board hounding you over your reliance on psychedelics? No! You’ve become rich and famous off them! While the Board of Psychology has turned me into a pariah!”

Holly gapes at her. “Does your resentment and bitterness run so deep that you’d throw away everyone’s shot at sobriety? Including your own?” Would you kill for it, too?

Without saying another word, Liisa snatches her bag off the chair and storms out of the office.