Stardust (The Starlight Trilogy #3) by Alexandra Richland Page B

property paid for by his wife’s monthly checks.
    In their household, it was assumed Nathan would help his father run the ranch full time after high school. But Nathan wasn’t interested in that life. He planned to tell his father in his senior year but never got the chance. Lloyd was killed when one of his stallions kicked him in the head, rendering him unconscious, and he choked on his own liquor-saturated vomit. Nathan discovered his bloody body the next morning. He never returned to high school after that. Neither did he become a full time rancher.
    Following his father’s death, Nathan couldn’t reach his mother—calls to her West Hollywood, Malibu, and New York homes yielded no response—so the bank seized the property. He didn’t particularly want to keep the ranch, but it was still tragic to lose it under such circumstances. When his mother finally contacted him, from a foreign address in Manhattan she referred to as her new main residence, he wrote her back with news of her husband’s death as well as the foreclosure. He never received a reply.
    Six months later, Nathan relocated to New York with barely a nickel to his name. Fast-paced urban life was very different from what he was used to. The streets were crowded, the housing options he could afford were dismal at best, and the air was thicker, infused with a chemical smell that burned his nostrils. Nevertheless, the energy of the city and the seemingly endless professional opportunities inspired him. There were many esteemed national newspapers based out of New York. He hoped to get a job at one of them and work his way up the ranks to become a columnist eventually.
    Living in New York also meant he was closer to his mother. Nathan had visited the address accompanying her last correspondence, but the doorman said she’d moved out years ago, which meant she wasn’t living there when she sent him the letter. Questions clouded Nathan’s mind. Today, he wanted answers.
    “May I help you, sir?”
    Nathan stopped in front of a workstation occupied by a nurse. “Hello. My name is Nathan Taggart. I’m here to visit my mother, Marion Taggart.”
    “There’s no one here by that—” The appearance of her smile eroded the tension in her face. She looked young, perhaps only a few years older than him, but the clinical coolness in her eyes suggested she’d experienced far more than he ever would at that age. “Oh, you mean Marion Whitney. I apologize. It’s easy to forget that Taggart is her real surname, given, well, who she was.”
    Was.
    Nathan cleared his throat. “I received a telegram requesting my presence here immediately.” He withdrew the cable from his pocket and held it up. “I’m not sure who sent it. It’s unsigned. I just know that it came from this institution.”
    “Ah, yes.” The nurse pursed her lips. “Mr. Taggart, why don’t you sit on one of the chairs behind you, and I will let Doctor Littman know you’re here. He is the head psychiatric practitioner at Bellevue.”
    Nathan sat down and placed his fedora in his lap. He rifled through a back issue of National Geographic Magazine until the doctor’s arrival.
    “Hello, Mr. Taggart.” The physician extended his hand. “I’m Doctor Peter Littman.”
    Dressed in a tweet suit jacket and slacks, the man didn’t look like a physician, but the confident way he spoke and carried himself held a scholarly significance that somehow confirmed he couldn’t be anything else.
    Nathan stood to shake the doctor’s hand. “Good morning.”
    “Please accompany me to my office and I will explain the reason for the telegram. It’s best if we speak in private.”
    Nathan picked up his hat and followed the physician. At the end of the hallway, Dr. Littman unlocked a door decorated with his nameplate, and they entered a wood paneled room that smelled of smoke and freshly brewed coffee. Nathan sat in the seat offered to him.
    Dr. Littman claimed the chair on the other side of the desk and lit