Dream Family

I’ve been working on the fourth book in this series, “Dream Family.”  And it’s gone in a completely different direction than I had anticipated.

It takes place a year and a half after the previous book.  Sara has finished her residency, and she’s moved from Philadelphia down to Washington, DC to open her own pediatric practice along with another doctor.

On her very first day, though, the police arrive and, to her complete shock, arrest Sara for writing illegal prescriptions.  Sara is completely unable to cope with the experience of being in jail, and even though she’s released on bail the next day (and the culprit who actually forged the prescriptions is uncovered shortly after that), the damage is already done.  Sara suffers a psychological breakdown.

As the book goes on, Sara will have to fight to recover her confidence and her sense of self.  At the same time, her dreams will start up again.  While she’s overcoming the effects of being arrested for something she didn’t do, she’ll have to figure out a way to prevent the same thing from happening to her godmother.

I’ve got about 20,000 words written so far.  It’s much darker than any of the previous books so far, and I honestly  think probably the best writing out of any of them.  Here’s a bit that takes place the morning after Sara’s arrest, when she’s still in jail:

I walk out of the holding cell, the dream fading from my mind.  My hands are behind my back already.

I am an animal, just like they think I am.  I knew it last night.  I’ve been tamed.  Domesticated.  A moment later I’m in handcuffs again.  It’s beginning to feel almost normal.  I wonder how long it’ll be before it feels strange not to have my hands locked behind my back for hours at a time?    I’m dragged back to the booking room, chained to the bench yet again.

Time passes.  I’m not fed breakfast.  I’m not given the chance to go to the bathroom.  I’m not going to ask.  I doubt they’d let me go anyway.  They’ll just tell me I should have gone in my cell.  Then they’ll laugh and watch me soil myself, and probably punish me for it afterwards.

More time passes.  It feels like at least an hour, or maybe even two.  Nobody’s spoken to me or even approached me.  I’ve just been left here.  I should be at work right now.  No, that’s not right.  Sara should be at work.  I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.