Forgotten Place by LS Sygnet

the
kitchen.  Forestalling the pity was easy enough.
    "Don't mind me.  Lesson learned. 
Pickles and oxycontin do not mix well.  What did I miss?"
    I turned away from the group and headed
toward the tea kettle on the stove.  Two minutes never passed
so quickly.  The kettle's low whistle prompted me to dig
through the cupboard for tea.  The only box available was
Sleepy Time, a gift from Maya when I wasn't able to relax a couple
of months ago.  Before the injury. 
    "Johnny thinks we should do some digging
into Linder's background, see if there's a link between him and
Datello.  What do you think, Helen?" Crevan asked.
    I kept my back turned and
pretended great interest in steeping the hot tea.  "I don't
think we should rule anything out at this point.  We all know
how I feel about coincidences.  The timing of this
attack…"  Something utterly case related tickled at my brain
along with the last words I heard Orion speak.  Journey
Ireland hadn't really spoken to us.  Had her attacker inadvertently
succeeded?
    "Helen?"  This time Crevan's voice
spiked with concern.
    "Excuse me for a moment."  I abandoned
the tea and left the kitchen again.  This time my destination
wasn't a hiding place with a lock on the door.  I made a bee
line for the study.  Footsteps were right behind me.  I
ignored them and moved straight to the bookshelf and the bible for
my type – the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, or DSM, the
diagnostic guide of all guides for mental disorders.
    "What are you doing?" Crevan
asked. 
    "I thought of something."
    Sometimes a silent grin is audible.
    "What?"  I peeked over one
shoulder.  He was shaking his head and laughing
silently. 
    "It's good to have you back, Helen. 
That's all."
    "Don't be an ass."  I skimmed the table
of contents and found the section I needed and walked past him back
to my guests.  The case blocked out Johnny's presence
effectively for the moment. 
    "What's that?" Devlin wondered.  Poor
guy had to feel like his head was spinning by now. 
    I looked up at him and grinned. 
"Inspiration, Dev.  Something we talked about earlier at the
hospital and what Orion said about Linder possibly being ordered to
shut Journey up.  It made me think of something."
    Johnny spoke directly to me for the first
time in months.  "Except he didn't really shut her up did he,
Helen?  She's still alive."
    I glanced at Devlin.  "You didn't tell
them?"
    "We hadn't gotten that far into the
conversation before the Twilight Zone –"
    "Okay," Crevan interrupted.  "You made
your point.  We're all back on track."  He deposited my
brewing tea in front of me.  "Drink before the pickles decide
to make another appearance.  You," eyes speared Devlin, "start
talking about what we don't know."
    "Journey Ireland didn't
actually say a
word to us this afternoon," he said.  "Helen had the nurse
call the surgeon, but nobody seems to know why she can't
talk.  Everything she communicated was in writing."
    "Really?" 
    I peeked up for my first look.  Johnny
frowned, and his eyebrows were doing that cartoonish thing they
did, the devilish look.
    "Yes, really," I said.  "And unless Dr.
Waters comes up with a medical explanation for why Ireland can't
talk, I think I might have an idea or two that could explain
it."
    "Please enlighten us, Dr. Eriksson," Johnny
said.
    I glanced around the table at five waiting
stares.  "There is a chance, though it seems remote to me,
that Journey's inability to speak is related to trauma from the
endotracheal tube inserted in her throat during surgery.  It
probably isn't that common, but I'd have to talk to Dr. Waters to
verify that."
    "How does this explain her inability to talk
if this tube didn't damage her vocal chords?"  Johnny
asked.
    I held up my bible.  "It's called
conversion disorder."
    "So…"
    "Be patient, Orion.  Conversion
disorder is the manifestation of physiological symptoms in response
to psychological trauma.  It's not all that common either,