“I’m sorry,” Moreland said. “Have you had any progress?”

“For short periods, yes. But never without relapse.” Memories of therapy drifted through her mind—hundreds of hours of the stuff. Each hour spent carefully retracing her past, searching for that switch they hoped would turn all this off. They had managed to pull the shades a time or two, but never a switch.

Sherry looked at Piper and saw that his lips no longer pressed together. His eyes had softened. Maybe the human being in him was surfacing. She looked away, not wanting to see his pity.

“You lived with family after that?” Moreland asked.

“I lived with my adopted grandmother, Helen Jovic, until I went to med school. My uncle’s mother-in-law, if that makes any sense. She was the most helpful despite all her antics. More helpful than all the quacks since then.”

“But none of this has helped?” Moreland pressed.

“No,” Sherry answered. She suddenly wondered if telling them would be her undoing. The whole hospital would be buzzing with rumors about the intern who woke up screaming each night because her parents were slaughtered when she was a kid. Poor girl. Poor, poor Sherry.

She shifted in her seat. “And if you wouldn’t mind, I’d really appreciate you keeping all this to yourselves. I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple.” Piper, the Brit, was speaking. “I’m afraid you have more to fear from yourself than from others.” Sherry faced him and saw the dispassionate look in his eyes. Heat flared up her back.

“Meaning what?” she asked.

“Meaning, irrespective of what others think or say of you, Miss Blake, the fact remains that you are a danger to your own career. And to others. A condition as severe as yours that depends on a regular dose of uppers will one day kill a patient, and we simply cannot have that at Denver Memorial.”

“I’ve given my life to becoming a doctor. You’re not actually suggesting—”

“I’m suggesting that you need a rest, Sherry. At least three months. We’re talking about the lives of patients here, not your precious little ego. You missed a call last week, for goodness’ sakes!”

Sherry felt a chill wash over her skin. Three months for what? To see one more quack? She stared at the man for a full ten seconds, thinking she was losing her mind. When she spoke, her voice held a tremor.

“Do you have any idea how many hours of study it takes to finish at the top of the class, Mr. Piper? No, I suppose you wouldn’t because you finished near the bottom, didn’t you?”

A twitch in his right eyebrow indicated she had struck a chord there. But it didn’t matter now. She had gone too far. Sherry stood to her feet and turned to Moreland. Every bone in her body wanted her to scream, “I quit!”

But she couldn’t, not after seven years in the books.

She drilled him with flashing eyes, spun on her heels, and strode from the room, leaving all three doctors blinking.