Maybe Ash was pregnant?

Or working for the cartels?

Or wanted to pursue a career in acting?

Becca’s imagination was active enough without Nina adding to her worries.

“You’re talking nonsense. No more discussing Christian or Ash. Let’s focus on the call,” Becca said. They both climbed out of the car and headed across the street.

“All right, Ortiz, but this isn’t over. I’m going to get to the bottom of whatever is bothering you. I always do,” Nina said knowingly. She gave Becca a quick smile and focused her attention on the first officers on the scene. “Hey, guys, we’re with the SMART team? Sgt. Stanton. Dr. Ortiz,” Nina said, all semblance of teasing and joking vanished. Each and every call they responded to required ultimate vigilance and a laser-like focus.

After a quick briefing, it was decided that Nina and Becca would take point, and the other two officers would back them up. Nina motioned for Becca to follow her. Standing on the porch, Mrs. Parsons stood motionless, still angrily clutching a baseball bat. Becca’s heart ached for this woman; pain etched on her well-lined face. As they grew closer, the woman’s body tensed, raising the bat higher.

“Ms. Parsons, we understand you’ve asked your daughter to vacate the premises and she refused. I want to confirm that you’d like us to remove your daughter from your residence,” Nina said, her tone compassionate yet firm.

“I don’t want her hurt,” Mrs. Parsons said. Becca could tell the woman was having second thoughts now that they were here.

“We’re not going to hurt her, Mrs. Parsons, but you called us. I need you to put down the bat. We’re not the enemy.”

Mrs. Parsons snorted. “Tell that shit to someone who doesn’t watch the news.”

Standing a few feet behind Nina, Becca quietly assessed Mrs. Parsons. She was rail thin, her hair graying, eyes bloodshot; the strain of the situation was weighing on her. Fortunately, Nina’s words resonated. Mrs. Parsons held the bat out and Nina reached for it, setting it down out of reach.

“Thank you. My colleague Dr. Ortiz is a psychologist with LAPD’s Mental Evaluation Unit. She’s here to assess your daughter and make sure she’s not a danger to herself or others,” Nina said, gesturing to Becca.

“Mrs. Parsons, I’m not sure if you remember me.”

Mrs. Parsons’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah, I know you. You’re a goddamn liar. You’re the one who said my girl would be okay,” Mrs. Parsons spat out.

Becca winced, remembering her last visit almost six months ago. She’d been partnered with a different officer when they got the call that Raya was in the throes of a massive schizophrenic episode. They arrived and found Raya, her hand bleeding from a self-inflicted knife wound. She was convinced aliens were invading her body. The only solution, she told Becca, was to cut them out with a butcher knife.

After an intense negotiation, Becca was able to convince Raya that the hospital would have proper tools for alien extractions, and she finally relinquished the knife. Raya was taken to a psychiatric hospital and kept on a 5150, what they called a seventy-two-hour hold so doctors could evaluate her. Throughout the ordeal, Becca never made any promises about Raya’s condition to Mrs. Parsons or Raya. A cure wasn’t something she would ever promise. There was no cure. Raya’s illness was a life sentence filled with trial and error, trying to find the right combination of pills, struggling to remember all the medicines, battling the terrible side effects. She promised Mrs. Parsons that the doctors would do everything they could to control and monitor Raya’s condition. The trouble was people heard what they wanted to, which often made Becca’s job difficult.