"I shot him six times in the head, but I didn't kill him."
"Something's eating my brain."
"They're going to kill us today. You have to help us, doc."
I've always been curious about abnormal psychology and, well, monsters. That's part of the reason I became a medical doctor.
But today, patients pour into the emergency room with stories of murder and mind control. They whisper about a cult that worships a monster named Cthulhu. Cult members will stop at nothing, up to and including taking my beloved Tucker hostage or blowing up our entire Montreal hospital.
Normally, I'd figure out a way to kick their culty asses. I've got a few hidden talents up the sleeve of my white coat. No, I don't mean my stethoscope. I mean like talking to ghosts. Weird gifts you wouldn't expect from your average M.D.
But I can't think while they have Tucker.
I can't think, period. My brain feels … empty.
Like something's eating my brain.
What's happening to me? To us?
How can I save Tucker from this killer cult when all I want to do is take a big, fat nap forever?
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