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Jessie opened the car windows to fight off the exhaustion.

Between Ryan’s recovery from being poisoned a month ago and her own struggles with sleep—a result of her concerns about her increasingly uncontrollable urges—she found it hard to keep her eyes open on the drive home.

After two minutes of that, she gave up. The noise and exhaust fumes were almost as bad as the fight to stay awake. She closed the windows and decided to try something else.

“Call Dr. Janice Lemmon,” she said loudly.

A moment later the call connected and Lemmon answered.

“Talking to you twice in the same day,” the psychiatrist said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I just wanted to chat after a hard day at the office,” Jessie said.

She knew that after-hours calls with one’s psychiatrist were usually verboten. But the decade plus-relationship between the two women—and the horrifying challenges they’d faced together—had long ago led the doctor to abandon those restrictions.

“Are you having that hard a day?” Lemmon asked, her tone losing its playfulness.

“It hasn’t been the greatest,” Jessie said. “I already haven’t been getting the best sleep. Then, right after our session this morning, I got called in on a case. But the murder took place off the coast on a boat, so the Sheriff’s Department has jurisdiction. And the detective I was paired with is a real piece of work.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s rude, dismissive, and kind of lazy,” Jessie explained. “For a stretch there, I was more pissed off at him than whoever stabbed our victim about a dozen times.”

“That doesn’t feel like an appropriate reaction,” Lemmon said, her tone detached.

“Yeah, I know,” Jessie said. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m having inappropriate reactions, Doc. I’m thinking that I might want to test out that medication you gave me the sample of. What do you think?”

“Where are you now?” Lemmon asked.

“Driving home,” Jessie answered. “I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“I have reservations,” Lemmon said, “especially since it sounds like you’ll be picking up this case again tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The medication can have side effects in some people,” Lemmon told her. “For the first few days there can be significant drowsiness, until your body adjusts.”

Jessie understood that the psychiatrist had to warn her, but they both knew that she’d taken her fair share of strong medications in the past, often prescribed by Lemmon, and she almost never had a reaction to them.

"Look, it's still only 5:52," she said. "I doubt it'll have any effect. But even if it does, if I take it soon after I get home, it should have worn off by the morning, right? And then I can see how my interactions with this jerk go. If his crap rolls right off me, we know it's working. If I still want to cut him into little pieces, maybe not so much."

"These kinds of meds don't typically work like a light switch, Jessie," Lemmon said. "You know that. It usually takes a little while to build up the desired brain chemistry reaction."

“Well, it can’t cause any reaction until I start taking it,” Jessie countered. “So the way I see it, the sooner the better. Maybe it’s a blessing that my partner is so lazy. A lot of times, I’m working through the night on a case. Now I actually have the whole evening and overnight to let this stuff start to work its magic. Who knows when this opportunity will come again?”

“Jessie,” Lemmon replied, in that extra-composed style that she adopted when she wanted to make a point categorically clear, “I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea. I understand that you are worried about the urges you’ve been having and that they could resurface at any time. But this feels rushed. I recommend you get a good night’s sleep, and we reconvene tomorrow.”

Jessie exited the freeway and allowed her body to unclench a little. She had made good time and was only ten minutes from home now.

“All right, Doc,” she said resignedly, “we’ll try it your way.”

“Thank you,” Lemmon said. “Check in with me tomorrow and we’ll come up with an action plan that works for you.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. “Talk tomorrow.”

She hung up and lowered the windows again. Now that she was off the freeway, the noise and smells weren’t so unpleasant. She thought about how much she respected Dr. Janice Lemmon, who had helped her since she was a college student a decade ago. She’d helped her navigate the aftermath of a first marriage to a sociopath who had tried to kill her. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Lemmon had been a lifesaver more times than she could count.

But she wasn’t the one who felt like she was in a cage of her own making, designed to keep her from ripping out the hearts of those she deemed unworthy. Jessie was the one who faced that constant struggle. And she was sick of it. So tonight, the psychiatrist was on the losing end of things.

Jessie would be taking that pill the moment she got home.