Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller by Jeff Menapace

like Morris.
    Just check his room first.
    I knocked on Morris’ door. “Tim? Open up, it’s me.”
    I waited, periodically glancing over my shoulder at the man in the distance. He was stopped by the edge of the road now, looking as if he was uncertain whether or not he wanted to cross.
    Would a sleepwalker do that? Look both ways?
    I knocked again, harder now. “ Tim ? Tim, open up, it’s me.”
    “ Mags? ”
    “Yeah—open up.”
    The motel door opened. Morris stood there in boxer shorts and a tee, disheveled, sleep in his eyes. “What is it?”
    I opened my mouth, only to close it again without a word. I didn’t even know where to begin.
    “You all right?” Morris asked. “What’s wrong?”
    I looked over my shoulder towards the street again.
    The man was gone.
    I spun back to Morris. “You were just at my door,” I said. “I saw you. You were just at my door.”
    Morris rubbed at one of his eyes with a palm. “You were dreaming, Mags. I promise you, I’ve been asleep ever since we parted ways earlier.”
    “I saw you.” I looked over my shoulder once again. The man was still gone. “And then out there…” I pointed east towards the street and the field beyond. “I mean, I think it was you. It was you…I think.”
    Morris leaned his torso out the door and looked east. He then pulled it back inside, his tired face now growing concerned. “Mags, listen to yourself—what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. You were dreaming, that’s all.”
    “No, I was—”
    “You had three glasses of wine tonight,” he said. “Two’s your limit when taking a full dose of the drug; anymore gives you bad dreams. Do the math.”
    I did the math.
    Morris’ result was sound; mine was not.
    I did have three glasses of wine tonight instead of my usual two. The gravity of my life had unexpectedly emerged from its pit of suppression and I’d foolishly felt that a third glass was the weight needed to push it back down.
    One last glance over my shoulder. No man by the road. I turned back to Morris and found it tough to look him in the eye.
    “Okay, fine,” I said, “I was dreaming. Sorry I woke you.” I turned and started back to my room.
    “You gonna be okay?” he called after me.
    I reached my door and gave a half-hearted nod in his direction. I went inside and leaned my back against the door, letting out a long, frustrated sigh.
    “ You had three glasses of wine tonight,” Morris had said. “Two’s your limit when taking a full dose of the drug; anymore gives you bad dreams. Do the math, Maggie.”
    I did the math again. This time it didn’t add up.
    I’d never told Morris about the interaction between alcohol and the drug; my two-drink limit; the bad dreams.
    I’d never told him because he was my friend and partner, not Dr. Cole; Morris’ plate was plenty full as it was without heaping my issues on top of it all.
    I’d never told him because I thought it would be irrelevant; I never figured I’d be stupid enough to drink too much on the drug again.
    I’d never told him. Period.
    I spun and opened the door, hurried back towards Morris’ room, keen on getting an explanation. I hoped for his sake (and mine, especially mine) that explanation was damn good.

CHAPTER 14
    I was not courteous this time when knocking on Morris’ door. Didn’t even use my knuckles, but the bottom of my fist like a hammer: Whump! Whump! Whump!
    “Tim! Tim, open up!”
    Nothing.
    “ Tim! ”
    Whump! Whump! Whump!
    I pressed my ear to the door, hoping to hear him grumbling some kind of reply as he fumbled for the light.
    I heard nothing.
    “ TIM! ”
    Whump! Whump! Whump! Whump! Whump!
    “Can I help you?”
    I spun and found an annoyed-looking man staring back at me. I recognized him almost immediately as the motel manager that had checked us in.
    “I’m a federal agent,” I said. “You checked us in, remember? My partner isn’t answering the door; I’m worried something might be wrong. Would you open it for