Chapter 4

Mom didn't even look at them. Instead, she turned to the police officer and said:

"You saw it yourselves. Someone here is deliberately trying to commit murder."

The Advisor swallowed hard.

Boris was swaying on his feet, close to collapse.

Mom stared at Boris with a heavy gaze and pointed at him:

"I will not let you get away with this."

"You dared to sell a depression patient's medication—you murderer."

The police were about to photograph and document the evidence, but Mom took me to the hospital first for emergency treatment of my condition.

The Advisor tagged along with a forced smile.

Mom pulled out my old medical chart with practiced ease, and the doctor's expression turned serious the moment he glanced at it.

"This is the newest antidepressant. You can't buy this in the country, can you? The withdrawal from this drug is no small thing."

Mom nodded.

I added in a low voice:

"Other medications don't work well for me. Only this one does."

The Advisor suddenly spoke up from the side:

"Withdrawal? How bad can withdrawal be just from not taking your meds?"

The doctor gave him a look.

"If you stop this drug abruptly, the negative thoughts it was suppressing come back many times over. Clinically, plenty of people have died from going off this medication."

When I first started taking this drug, Mom had already warned me that I could absolutely never stop.

Even if my condition improved and I needed to lower the dose, it would have to be done as an inpatient at the hospital.

If she could have, she wouldn't have wanted me on a drug this dangerous, but there was no other way—every treatment available in the country had already been tried.

Mom had brought me to the hospital for two reasons: first, to urgently treat my condition, and second, to collect evidence.

We were already very practiced at this kind of thing.

When the Advisor heard me say I'd been off my medication for three days and that seeking help from the teacher had gotten me nowhere, he cut me off again.

"You can't write the medical chart like that..."

I watched him quietly.

"Didn't I tell you my medication had been switched?"

"Didn't I say that I felt terrible once I ran out, and ask you to help me get it back?"

"Didn't you refuse?"

"You said, 'You seem fine without the medication.'"

As my words landed, the doctor's hands paused over the keyboard, then came down hard again.

Doctors are very careful when a dispute is involved.

But psychiatric charts just record whatever the patient says—very plain, very easy to understand.

In the recommendation section of the outpatient chart, the doctor wrote:

"Given the patient's strong thoughts of self-harm and suicide, and considering the special nature of the medication, it is recommended that the medication be taken as prescribed and not stopped rashly."

"Should the medication be stopped, prompt medical attention is advised."

The doctor prescribed a temporary supply.

The Advisor's face went grim, and he made a phone call to report what had happened here.

Funny.

When I'd run out of medication, he hadn't tried to fix it.

The moment it involved him, though, he pulled out every trick he had.

After taking the medication, I felt drowsy, and Mom told me to sleep.

By the time I woke up, the police and the school administrators had been waiting for a long while.

Seeing so many people, I felt instinctively scared, and Mom gently comforted me.

"Felix, the police are just here to take a statement. They're here to help us."

The officer was holding the outpatient chart, reading it very carefully.

"You discovered three days ago that your medication had been swapped out for vitamins?"

I nodded.

"Why didn't you tell your parents?"

I lowered my head, and only after a long moment did I answer:

"This medicine is hard to get. You can only buy it in the Harborview District, and only a half-month supply at a time. I was afraid my parents would worry, so I told the teacher first."

The officer kept his voice soft, asking his questions one by one, but the school administrators' faces grew uglier and uglier.

Beads of sweat the size of soybeans rolled down the Advisor's forehead, but under the officer's warning glare, he didn't dare cut in.

When they got to how I discovered the medication had been sold, I finally produced Boris's phone.

The officer told Boris to unlock the phone.

Boris unlocked it in a daze.

The officer's sharp eyes fixed on Boris:

"What's this about? You just said Felix was mistaken."

Boris tried to explain, but he'd barely gotten out a single word when a panicked voice came from outside the door.

"Officer, someone sold this to me—I didn't know it wasn't his medication!"