Yesh, he says. Maybe.

Okay, she says. Your choice, I guess.

Not angry, not anything he can understand, she pulls the door shut behind her and leaves him to himself. And that is when he knows something important is happening that he cannot access from this side of his medication. No matter how difficult, he will have to come off. And in any case, his appearance at April Smith’s trial is looming. With the media hungry for every detail of her mental state, he cannot risk going blank in the witness box. It is time to face whatever is underneath.

‌Off

The doctor is off with stress. Either a euphemism, Logan thinks, or he’s wary of his own prescriptions; some cooks lose their appetites. The locum, Logan detects, is somewhat nervous, perhaps because he knows his patient, too, goes by the professional title of Dr. They discuss the local cricket team before settling on a schedule for reducing the dose. Stopping cold is not an option.

Over the following week, Logan cuts down by degrees, splintering his pills into quartered crumbs, removing only a fraction of the dose at a time. The more he cuts down, the more his blankness grows. The doctor had warned him: Anesthine patients taking the drug for anxiety called it fear of the fear. As the masked emotion rises, fear of that emotion also rises and the Anesthine still in the system is constantly tripped. In Logan’s case, it’s not fear of the fear, but fear of the grief. The result is alarming: for whole sections of the day, he simply can’t function. He returns to the doctor, who signs him off sick for a fortnight and suggests he go away for a while. Staying at home, he says, you’re more likely to be surrounded by things that could trigger emotion.

Like the wife, Logan jokes, and the doctor smiles.

Very good, he says. Exactly. Like the wife.