Marissa sunk deeper into depression. Mark was calling her every few days to find out how she was. She tried to sound cheerful, but it wasn't working. She almost went to her safe deposit box to get her burner phone to call Braxton, but worried that the Cartel might have his phones bugged, so she nixed that idea.

One day, Mark showed up out of the blue. Marissa answered the door in her bathrobe. She wasn't bothering to get dressed unless she planned on going out. “Lydia, you look twenty years older!” he exclaimed when he saw her. He entered her apartment and looked around, noticing the untidiness. Taking a seat on her sofa, he said “What is wrong, Lydia? It's not like you to be messy or to not get dressed.”

“I don't know, Mark”, she lied. “I just don't feel like doing anything these days.” She sat down in the easy chair.

“I'm no shrink, Lydia, but I think you are depressed. I want you to see someone.”

“Who?” The only therapist she wanted to see was Braxton, but she played along with her boss.

“We have a couple here in Seattle who will see our workers. Let me contact them and get back to you. In the meantime, I'm going to ask your cleaner to come in and get your place in shape again. You aren't going on another trip until next week, so I'm hoping you can see the therapist at least once before then, maybe twice. You need to be able to act like you are on vacation and be happy about it. You can't show any signs of not wanting to be there or they will get suspicious.”

True to his word, Mark did find someone and a few days later, Marissa was sitting in the office of Dr Callie Lambert. Dr Lambert was a psychiatrist – Mark had thought that maybe she needed medication and a psychologist could not give that to her. She was in her mid 30's, about 5'8” with long legs which she liked to show off by wearing short skirts and dresses. Her blonde hair was in a pixie cut, her green eyes piercing. Callie's office was done in a modern style - Marissa found it to be too stark and not welcoming at all.

They sat down and the doctor asked her to tell her about herself and why she was there. Marissa's spidey senses were tingling again. Something about this woman told her she was not to be trusted, even though Callie assured her that whatever she said to her was completely confidential.

Because of her suspicions, Marissa did not tell the therapist about Braxton. She let her think that her depression was over seeing the mule collapse at the border, likely from a packet rupture, and that it scared her because it could happen to her.

“That is a rare occurrence with the organization you work for, Lydia. I know they take great care to ensure the safety of their workers, including spending more for newer, safer packets.”

“I don't care about myself”, Marissa blurted out. “But if I die, they will take it out on my family and I care about them!”

The outburst worried Dr Lambert. “Why don't you care about yourself?”

Marissa sighed. What to tell her? She decided on the truth. “If I die, I'm out of this miserable existence.”

“Lydia, are you thinking of harming yourself?”

“Oh, no, I would not risk my family getting hurt.”

“But you would if that were not an issue?”

Marissa wondered where she was going with this. “I don't know”, she replied morosely.

“Lydia, what I think you need right now is something to help lift that depression. I'm going to put you on Zoloft. That should help. I'll write down the pharmacy name and fax the prescription in – they will bill the organization, so you don't have to pay for it. I want to see you again early next week.”

Before she left, Marissa asked about something that was on her mind. “How can you do this?” she asked Dr Lambert.

“How can I do what? Be a psychiatrist?”

“Take patients from the organization and keep quiet about it?”

“You mean without going to the police?” Marissa nodded. “If I did that and this organization went away, another one would move in and take it's place - one that might treat it's workers rather harshly. My job is to help the people involved accept what they are doing and that this is their life's work from now on. Does that make sense?”

It didn't, but Marissa didn't want to keep talking about it. “I guess so.”

“We can talk more about your feelings about what you are doing at your next appointment. I know you are not a volunteer. The organization is trying to move toward only having workers who want to be there. They have found out that forcing someone makes them more likely to get caught or run. Try the medication - if you get out of this depression, you might not feel so down about your situation.”

Marissa wasn't convinced and she didn't really buy the doctor's explanation, though it did make sense to a point. However, she thought money was more likely the reason Dr Lambert did this - the Cartel was probably paying her quite well.

-------------------------

As soon as Marissa left her office, Dr Lambert picked up her phone and called Mark. He answered on the second ring. “Mark, it's Callie Lambert. Lydia just left my office.”

“How did it go, Callie?”

“She's very secretive - didn't say a word about her friend in Denver. She said she was upset over witnessing the death of the woman at Customs. She doesn't care if she dies, her only concern is the safety of her family.”

This worried Mark a great deal. “Do you think she will try to run?”

“No, not in the immediate future. She seems resigned to her fate but she is in a pretty deep depression. I prescribed her an anti depressant in hopes that it will help her come out of it.”

“When will you see her again?”

“This coming Monday, but I don't expect an improvement for a few weeks. All anti depressants take a while to work.”

“Thank you, Callie. Please keep me posted.”

“I will. Oh, and there's one other thing. She asked me how I can do this and keep quiet about it.”

“Was it just a curiosity, do you think?”

“I don't know. It could be. But she could also be going through a crisis of conscience. As you know, the mules who are forced into it as opposed to volunteering are more likely to be a problem.”

“Yes, you are right.” Mark sighed. He liked Marissa/Lydia and wanted to keep her on, but the organization had been good to him and he could not turn his back on it.

He paced his apartment. The call from the psychiatrist was concerning. He was not reassured by her saying that she didn't think Lydia would run. He knew that if a mule got depressed enough, he or she would not think of their family, they would just run. Or they would be so sullen at the border coming home from a trip that the Customs agents might get suspicious and insist on an x ray of their body. He didn't want to call his superior, but he felt he had no choice. John told him that he would consult with his superiors and get back to him. In the meantime, he was to cancel Lydia's scheduled trip next week.

----------------------------

Marissa picked up her medication after leaving Dr Lambert's office. She wasn't keen on taking medication but she figured she had nothing to lose. Maybe it would help. She hated this funk she was in, but she did not trust this doctor at all. Not about the prescription, she knew Zoloft was an anti depressant. But she didn't feel she could be completely open with the therapist. She had to be very careful what she said to her, in case any of it got back to Mark.

Before going home, she went to the library to do some research using one of their computers so as to not leave any evidence on hers. She looked for a storage facility near a highway leading out of town as she did not want to use the one the Cartel had used to store her furniture when she was living with April. When she found a facility that looked appropriate for her needs, she took a taxi there and rented a very small unit using her real name.

Back at home, she put some clothes into a suitcase, including Braxton's and the dress and shoes he'd given her. She took the money and jewellery out of her safe and put it in the luggage as well, along with most of her other jewellery, leaving only the pieces she didn't care about. Finally, she put an extra toothbrush, tube of toothpaste and hairbrush in before closing it. On her way back to the storage facility, she stopped at the bank and took everything out of her safe deposit box. At her storage unit, she put those items into the suitcase and left it in the unit.

Marissa was exhausted after doing all that, so she went home and took her first dose of Zoloft before lying down. She didn't know why, but she had just felt a need to put a suitcase together and get it out of the apartment, in case something happened while she was away and she couldn't get back home. She fell asleep, thinking of Braxton and hoping he was well and happy.

--------------------------

Braxton finished grading papers and left for home. He had been teaching psychology in LA for a few months now. While he enjoyed it, he'd rather have his own practice. He missed being a therapist. But he knew he could not go back until he could give 100% to his patients during their sessions. Teaching was different - he was doing most of the talking so he couldn't get distracted.

He drove home to his small bungalow. He'd thought of getting an apartment, but felt that having a house and grounds to take care of would keep him occupied when not at work. Once there, Braxton poured himself a drink, then sat down to check his voice mail and go through the snail mail before getting supper. This was his after-work routine. As usual, there were no messages from Marissa. He kept hoping that she would call Logan to get his new number. He again considered finding a therapist of his own. Part of him didn't want to move on, but he knew he had to. He had gone out a few times since moving to LA. The women were nice, but just not for him so he rarely asked for a second date. If he could get over Marissa, maybe he would be able to date without wishing that the woman he was with was her.

Finally, Braxton decided he needed to do something. He'd given up his practice, sold his house in Denver and moved out here hoping a change would get his mind off Marissa. He had to stop pining for her. He made an appointment with his new family doctor and asked for a referral to a therapist. He was able to see Dr Brayden Harding within a few days. Dr Harding was in his late 40's - a few years older than Braxton. His brown hair was heavily flecked with grey, and was overdue for a cut. He normally kept it just past his ears, but it was a bit longer now as he never seemed to have time to go to the barber. He had a thick moustache, which was also flecked with grey. Behind his black framed glasses, he had kind, gentle eyes of brown. A gold band on the third finger of his left hand indicated his marital status.

The psychologist met his new patient at the door and shook his hand warmly. “Come on in Braxton”, he greeted him. “Or should I call you Dr Jagger?”

“Braxton is fine, Dr Harding.”

“Please call me Brayden.”

They sat down in Brayden's office, which was warmly decorated in a homey style similar to the office Braxton had had in Denver. He sat down on the tan coloured sofa across from the doctor's leather chair. The first thing he noticed was the medium brown wood bookcases lining one wall. “You must be a reader”, he said. “I am, too.”

Brayden smiled. “I am. Why don't you tell me about yourself and why you have come to see me?” Braxton told him a bit about his upbringing and his former practice, then got into the reason he was there - to get help in getting over Marissa. He told him everything, from when he first saw her looking up at his office in the rain, to coming home from tending to his injured mother to find she'd left town while he was gone. And of deciding to close his practice and relocate in a futile effort to move on.

“You say you can't move on”, the therapist said when he'd finished. “Is there anything that you do that you think might stand in the way of getting over her?”

“I keep thinking about her all the time. That's why I closed my practice. I wasn't able to give my patients 100% of my attention. Teaching, while not what I really want to do, at least keeps my mind occupied since I'm the one doing the talking. I can forget about Marissa while in class.”

“What about when you are not in class, but still working? Like planning lessons or grading assignments?”

“Most of the time, I'm okay. I can concentrate on that because I have to get it done in a certain time frame.”

“Is there anything else that may be hindering you from moving on with your life?”

Braxton fidgeted. “I can't get to sleep unless I have an article of her clothing with me.”

“What do you mean?” Brayden asked.

“Marissa had been wearing my clothes when she was taken to hospital that first day I met her. Hers were soaking wet so I was drying them for her. I kept forgetting to return them to her and she must have forgotten to give mine back. I have her jeans, blouse, sweater and jacket. I need to have something - most often I choose the sweater - in bed with me. I hold it to my chest and if I am tired enough, I can get to sleep.”

“Have you tried sleeping without it?”

Braxton sighed. “Yes, a few times. I toss and turn until I finally get up and do some paperwork.”

“I think that may be the key to helping you, Braxton. You have to wean yourself off of sleeping with Marissa's clothing.” Braxton looked distressed at the thought of this. “Don't worry, you don't need to do it cold turkey. With your permission, I am going to phone your GP and get him to prescribe you a sleeping pill. Before your next session, I would like you to sleep just one night without anything of Marissa's in your bed. Where do you keep her clothing?”

“In my closet and the sweater in my dresser.”

“Do you have a chair in your bedroom?”

“No, but I can put one in there.”

“Do that, and put a piece of her clothing on it the nights you don't have it in bed with you. Put the chair reasonably near your bed. Eventually, I will have you leaving all of her clothes in the closet or dresser, but don't worry about that for now. Do you think you can do one night without having something of hers in bed with you?”

“I will try.”

“Good. That's all I ask.”

--------------------------------------

Marissa answered the knock at her door. It was Mark. He always used his key to get in the door to the building but he rarely used the key to a mule's apartment - only in an emergency, like when Marissa had been beaten up by Tomas. “Hello, Lydia”, he greeted her. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come in”, she replied. “Would you like coffee or tea or something else to drink?”

“No thank you. I'm fine.” They sat in the living room and Mark got right to the point. “Lydia, I need all of your identification except for your Lydia alias. And I need the driver's licence for that one.”

“Why, Mark?” Her heart sank. She felt like they were putting her on an even tighter leash.

“It comes from people higher than me, Lydia. They are afraid you are planning to run.”

“Well, I'm not. And how can I go on trips without ID?”

“I will come over with the appropriate set the day you leave and you can give it to your escort before he leaves with the product when you get home.”

“How long will this go on, Mark?” she asked.

“I don't know. Until my superior says you can have them all back.”

“I'm not happy with this.” Despite her intentions, her irritation was showing.

“Like I said, it's not me, it's people above me calling the shots.” Mark was beginning to get fed up with Marissa's protestations. He'd thought he could trust her, but now he was not so sure. “Please just go along with it, you need them to trust you again to get anywhere in the organization. You don't want to be a worker for the rest of your life, do you?”

She didn't, but she didn't know if she could teach recruits again, which was the next step up the ladder. “No, of course not. I will try my best.”

“There's the old Lydia coming back! Now, we aren't sending you on a trip next week, we want time for your medication to start working, so just relax for a couple weeks and keep your appointments with Dr Lambert.”

“How did you know she put me on Zoloft? I thought everything was confidential?”

“What you say to her is, but the pharmacy needed authorization for payment.”

“Oh, okay.” Mark breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had almost ruined it by letting on that he knew anything about what had happened at her appointment. He needed her to trust the psychiatrist so that she would hopefully confide in her if she was planning anything. “I will be in touch with you next week. Rest and take care, Lydia.”

Marissa saw Dr Lambert twice a week for the next three weeks, being very careful what she said to the therapist. She did not talk about Braxton at all and the doctor made no mention of him, so Marissa did not know if Mark had told the doctor about him or not. She talked very minimally about her family in Canada, only to say that she was only working for the Cartel to protect them. She did talk about her hatred for what she was doing and how she had always detested hard core drugs and the people who brought them into the country. She even went so far as to wonder out loud if God was punishing her for something, though she couldn't imagine what transgression she had committed to warrant being forced to do this.

The Zoloft finally started working and she began to climb out of her depression. The first thing Marissa did was give her apartment a thorough cleaning. It needed it and it kept her busy since she wasn't going on trips at the moment. When she was feeling a bit better, she started getting dressed in the mornings again. She had been eating even less than usual and consequently had lost a bit of weight so she had to shop for new clothes.

Dr Lambert, of course, was reporting back to Mark after each session with Marissa. She was guardedly optimistic that the medication was going to get Marissa back to her normal self, so he began to rest a bit easier about her. After the third week, he and John, his superior, decided to send her on trips again. They sent her to the Bahamas the first time back, since Mark knew his mule really liked it there. He wanted it to be as pleasant for her as possible.

Marissa was happy to be back in Nassau despite knowing what she would be doing before going back and after getting home. She was hoping to see Kezia, the tarot reader, again. On her third day, she got her wish. She was sitting at the bar outside her hotel when the gypsy woman joined her. “I had a feeling I would find you here, Marissa. How are you doing? Have you taken my advice?”

“I haven't been able to yet - but I am working on it.” It wasn't a total lie as she was trying to figure a safe way out of the Cartel and she'd put a suitcase in storage in case she needed it if she did leave.

“I am glad you are working on it. Keep doing that. You need to get out of your situation in order to see your friend again.”

Suddenly, Marissa thought of something. “Kezia, why did you ask me how I am? Shouldn't you know?”

The fortune teller laughed. “I don't know everything about you, my dear. I see things, but not everything. And I see that your health is getting worse, even if you don't feel sick right now. You need to get the treatment that has been recommended before it's too late.”

Marissa was gobsmacked. The first time Kezia had mentioned her health, it was vague enough that it could be said to anyone. But she was more specific this time. “I don't know if I can.”

“You have to, Marissa - if you want to be alive to see your friend again.”

“You really think I will see him again?”

“I know you will. If you take care of your health.”

That night, Marissa lay awake, trying once again to figure a way out of the Cartel. She had to get out in order to get her cancer treated as she could not tell Mark about it - for all she knew, the organization whacked mules who had the big C. If Kezia was right and she would see Braxton again, that gave her the incentive she needed to want to live.