“Right. I’m going to tell her my mom’s illness sparked my interest in psychology, and that I figured there was no better person to intern for than the woman who treated her. If she’s actually the one who wrote those reports, she’ll have to pretend the appointments really happened.”
“And who am I?” North asked.
“My boyfriend,” I replied, and smiled. “I’m sixteen. It’s not weird that I’d bring you along.”
“Come in!” A woman’s voice called when we knocked on her door. I took a breath and turned the knob.
On the other side of the door was a cramped office. The woman behind the desk wore vintage horn-rimmed glasses and had a mane of fiery red curls that cascaded halfway down her back. The hair would’ve looked amazing on a girl my age, but Kristyn Hildebrand was at least fifty years older than that and twice as many pounds overweight. She wasn’t unattractive, just incongruous. Even more so hunched over a cheap metal desk. There was an older-model Gemini at her elbow and an unopened Gemini Gold box on the bookshelf behind her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, peering at us through thick lenses. “I don’t recognize you. Are you students of mine?”
“Uh, no,” I said, tentatively stepping inside. “I, uh— I think you may have treated my mother.”
“Oh?” Dr. Hildebrand pushed her glasses up on her forehead. “What was her name?”
“Aviana Jacobs,” I said. “She was a student at Theden Academy. I think you treated her at the health center there? It would’ve been in April 2013.”
“Nope,” the woman said, sounding very certain. “I never saw patients at Theden. I was doing research at a lab there in 2013 and had a Theden student as a research assistant, but her name wasn’t Aviana.”
“So you’re absolutely certain you didn’t treat my mom? She suffered from akratic paracusia.”
Dr. Hildebrand pinned her eyes on mine. “Are you symptomatic?”
She caught me off guard. My eyes flew to the ceiling, then the floor. “Me? No.”
“Then what are you doing here?” She wasn’t being antagonistic. Her brown eyes were curious.
I faltered. My interested-in-psychology cover story was on my lips, but something stopped me.
Tell her the truth, the voice said.
I chewed my lip. The truth. How little of it I had.
“I found my mom’s medical file a few weeks ago,” I began. “And there was a series of entries signed by a doctor named K. Hildebrand at the Theden Health Center. Psych evaluations. Diagnosing my mom with APD and recommending that she be institutionalized.” The older woman’s eyebrows shot up. I took a breath and continued. “But I don’t think my mom actually had APD. I think those entries were fake.”
“Well, I can tell you I didn’t sign them. When did you say it was?”
“April 2013.”
“Well, there’s your answer. My computer was hacked that spring.” She shrugged. “Whoever did that could’ve written those entries, I suppose.”
“Any idea why you were hacked?” North asked.
“Oh, I know why,” Hildebrand replied. “I was working on what would’ve been a landmark clinical trial that spring, and someone wanted to make sure I never published. They doctored my data using my login credentials so it appeared as if I’d done it myself.”
“What was the clinical trial?” I asked.
“We were looking at whether nanorobots could be used as a synthetic replacement for oxytocin in the brain.”
We’d studied oxytocin in Cog Psych. “Oxytocin,” I said, mostly for North’s benefit. “That’s the love hormone.”
“Yes,” Dr. Hildebrand replied. “Well known for the role it plays in maternal bonding, childbirth, and orgasm”—I felt myself blush—“but I was more interested in its influence on human trust. Particularly, whether we could simulate what psychologists call a ‘trust bond’ between total strangers.” She sat back in her chair. “I can’t tell you more than that. As part of the settlement after the disciplinary hearing, I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”
“Disciplinary hearing,” North said. “Because of the logs?”
Dr. Hildebrand nodded. “I couldn’t prove that I’d been hacked. My data was solid, but to the FDA it looked like I’d doctored my results to make it appear that SynOx was more effective than it was. So they shut down the trial and took my medical license.” She flashed a rueful grin. “What is it they say? Those that can’t do, teach?”
“You said your research assistant was a Theden student,” I said. “What was her name?”
“Patty. No. Penny. I think.”
“Is there any way you could check? It’s kind of important.”
Dr. Hildebrand studied me for a second. Then she nodded and swiveled in her chair. On the shelf behind her was a row of six white binders. She reached for the one marked 2013 / SYNOX.
“I was supposed to destroy my logs as part of the settlement,” she said, pushing her touchpad aside to put the binder on her desk. “But I couldn’t bring myself to destroy perfectly good research. So I kept a paper copy.” Her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose as she flipped pages. “Her name should be in the acknowledgments, at least.”
“How’d you end up at a lab at Theden anyway?” I asked. “Did you go to school there?”
Dr. Hildebrand laughed. “Ha. Not even close. Public school all the way through. Which is why it was such a big deal when the Theden Initiative gave me a grant. They hardly ever fund non-alumni projects.”
The hair on my arm prickled. The timing was so odd. I’d just read about the Theden Initiative on the train, and here they were again. But what did it mean? Why would the Initiative fund this particular study, and what did it have to do with my mom? I stared at the binder on Dr. Hildebrand’s desk, desperate to read every page. There was a plastic DVD case tucked into the inside front pocket, and I imagined myself reaching across the desk to snatch it.
“Peri Weaver,” Dr. Hildebrand said, tapping the page with her finger. “Does the name mean anything?”
I shook my head.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you,” Dr. Hildebrand said, returning the binder to its shelf.
I didn’t want to leave, but I knew there was no way she would give us that binder, not even if I begged. Reluctantly, I got to my feet.
“I have to see that binder,” I hissed at North when we were back in the hall.
“I know,” he replied, already on his iPhone. “I was thinking about it the whole time we were in there, trying to come up with a way to get her out of the office.”
“And?”
“I might be able to set off the fire alarm. Assuming I can find the control panel. Just give me a second.” He chewed on his lip as he typed and tapped at his screen. A few minutes later I heard the shrill scream of an alarm. As doors along the hallway opened, North pulled me into a vacant office, out of view. We waited until Dr. Hildebrand shuffled past our doorway and into the stairwell, then we peeked into the hall. It was empty. “I’ll go,” North said.
“No. I’ll do it,” I insisted. “You can’t afford to get caught.”
“And you can?”
I ignored him and dashed to Hildebrand’s office. Her door was slightly ajar.
I grabbed the binder and started for the door, then stopped. If I took the whole thing, she’d notice its absence immediately. I shoved the plastic DVD case under the waistband of my jeans and was just about to snap open the rings of the binder when I heard footsteps in the hall. I dropped to my knees with the binder, heart pounding.
“I knew we weren’t scheduled for a drill,” I heard Dr. Hildebrand say. “I should’ve checked Lux before I left my office. Would’ve saved me four flights of stairs.”