There are hidden messages in the music . . . messages that can drive a person to commit murder.
Addison is no stranger to life-and-death situations. She has seen her share of trauma as a critical care nurse, yet nothing could have prepared her for the cryptic words whispered by her John Doe patient just moments before he went into cardiac arrest. Exhausted and emotionally drained, she feels a strong pull toward his personal belongings, and with no family to claim them, she decides to take them home in search of answers. What she uncovers plunges her into a decades-old mystery of murder, deception, and secrets that point to a cult from the 1970sâa cult that believed secret messages were buried within music. Messages that compelled them to kill in exchange for wealth, power, and influence. All they had to do was play it in reverse.
Amidst navigating her dating life, Addison begins to piece together the clues, and her world is thrust into chaos. Threatening texts and ominous letters arrive from an unknown sender, and she becomes unsure of whom she can even trust.
There are hidden messages in the music . . . messages that can drive a person to commit murder.
Addison is no stranger to life-and-death situations. She has seen her share of trauma as a critical care nurse, yet nothing could have prepared her for the cryptic words whispered by her John Doe patient just moments before he went into cardiac arrest. Exhausted and emotionally drained, she feels a strong pull toward his personal belongings, and with no family to claim them, she decides to take them home in search of answers. What she uncovers plunges her into a decades-old mystery of murder, deception, and secrets that point to a cult from the 1970sâa cult that believed secret messages were buried within music. Messages that compelled them to kill in exchange for wealth, power, and influence. All they had to do was play it in reverse.
Amidst navigating her dating life, Addison begins to piece together the clues, and her world is thrust into chaos. Threatening texts and ominous letters arrive from an unknown sender, and she becomes unsure of whom she can even trust.
November 27, 2024
Redlands, Maine
Only five minutes ago, Addison had been sending impatient glances at the clock that hung in the nursesâ station. Now she felt the patientâs ribs snap beneath her stacked hands.
Four minutes ago, she had been tidying up his room, making him presentable for the oncoming shift. Now sweat beaded on her forehead as she began a second round of compressions.
Where the hell was the crash cart? Over the hospital intercom, a melodic voice repeated, âCode blue, ICU fourteen,â for what seemed like an eternity, yet no one arrived to assist her.
Two minutes ago, Addisonâs patient had gripped her arm with unexpected strength. His fingers pressed deep into her forearm. The nub of his severed index finger, now healed over, threatened to bruise her skin. Watching his cracked lips move, Addison leaned in closer.
âDarkside must die.â He struggled to speak, his gripâwhat was left of itâtightening around her wrist. âMy stuff, you have to keep it safe. Promise me . . . donât let them get to it.â The patient began mumbling. âI am Oz . . . great . . . terrible . . .â
When his hold on her relaxed, his heart stopped. A green flat line sang a sinister song as it ran across the monitor. Addisonâs fingers pressed against the patientâs neck, his wrist, his groin in search of a pulse, but it was absent.
Addison replayed his words in her mind while her body reflexively began compressions.
âOne, two, three, four . . .â she counted aloud. Saline flushes and alcohol wipes catapulted from her scrub pockets onto the floor and into the crevices of the bed.
The wheels of the cherry-red crash cart squeaked down the hall, one of them wobbling like an old shopping cart. A male nurse with winter-white hair and a gait just as unsteady as the crash cart entered the room and began attaching defibrillator pads to the patientâs chest. Addison studied the unfamiliar man as she squeezed the Ambu bag to deliver air to his lungs. Respiratory had yet to arrive. Their department had been just as understaffed and overworked.
âAnalyzing rhythm,â the robotic voice of the defibrillator echoed as the flat line continued on its fatal path. âNo shock advised.â
âIs anyone else coming?â Addison inquired through labored breaths as she resumed compressions. The man shrugged and began clumsily struggling with the medication drawer.
âCan we switch?â Addison begged. âI donât know if I can keep this up much longer.â She desperately needed to shake out her arms.
âSorry, shoulder injury,â the nurse replied, his eyes never meeting hers. âYouâre doing great, though.â He finally gained access to the medications, then fumbled to assemble a syringe of epinephrine. Whether it was a result of age or indifference, it took him three attempts to screw the syringe into the Luer lock of the patientâs intravenous line and administer the first dose.
âHeâs in here for sepsis; can we give him sodium bicarb soon?â Addison shouted. âHeâs probably acidotic."
The nurse shrugged again.
âWe need some help in here!â Her voice cracked as she screamed toward the open glass door until her throat was raw. âWhere the hell is respiratory? Why isnât there a doctor in here?â Both questions rhetorical.
Addison felt her eyes narrow in a fiery gaze and her lips tighten in determination. She began the next round of compressions and respirations, trying madly to maintain quality until she couldnât anymore. Her heart churned with desperation. This would be the sixth code blue she had been a part of in the past two weeks, and she knew in her bones how it was going to end. How could it not? Time was slipping away, and still no doctor in sight.
âCome on, please come back,â Addison grunted, thrusting her body weight deeper into each compression, her black French bob shaking violently with each movement. Tears pooled in her eyes. âSomebody help us,â she screamed.
Moments later, her hands dropped away. Checking the wall clock, Addison called the time of death: 7:42. Only then did an emergency room doctor finally arrive, staying just long enough to confirm the patient was deceased and sign any necessary paperwork.
Addisonâs senses fought to recalibrate as she returned to the nursesâ station, her body still trembling. The oncoming night shift nurse loudly slurped the final bit of iced coffee from her cup, which she had been nursing instead of helping with the code. Addison begrudgingly sat beside her and gave her report on the patient in ICU 13, an intubated and sedated eighty-year-old female. Ice rattled as the nurse shook her cup. When Addison began to discuss ICU 14, the nurse flapped her hand in an effort to stop her, unable to speak as she chewed on an ice cube that was somehow too large for her mouth.
She swallowed. âThatâs not my patient, not my problem.â
Addisonâs heart pounded, but she knew if she said anything she would burst into tears, so she held her tongue. She gathered supplies before returning to her patientâs room to perform postmortem care and bag his body. No one else was going to do it. Certainly no one would do it with the dignity he deserved. While some nurses had the privilege of giving their patients their first bath, Addison had too often had the privilege of giving her patients their final bath. To her, it was an honor.
As she stood at his bedside, her eyes traveling over his pale, drawn face, she recalled how heâd been found unconscious the day before at the emergency room entrance without any identification. He had been quickly admitted as a John Doe and transferred to the ICU for septic shock, which had developed from an unhealed gunshot wound to his abdomen. Most of her shift he had been too weak to talk, but he always mouthed Thank you even after the smallest task. He was a kind man. Or at least thatâs what she chose to believe.
With a gentle swipe, Addison closed his eyelids, then squeezed his hand.
âI donât know how much more of this I can take,â she said, tears falling from her eyes. âIâm sorry I couldnât save you.â She composed herself and began cleaning the body, removing any medical devices that were still attached. Her pathetic male counterpart had taken the crash cart back to central supply for restocking and had yet to return. She doubted he would.
As she worked, her patientâs last words began flitting through her mind. My stuff, you have to keep it safe. But safe from whom? Placing her balled-up washcloth on the patientâs chest, Addison knelt down and searched the side table for any personal items. Shoved deep in the back corner was an opaque patient belongings bag. It would be easy to sneak the bag into her backpack, which hung from the back of a chair in the nursesâ station just a few feet away. The hospital camera system had been down for months, and the other nurses were busy assessing their patients and administering medications. It was wrong, she knew it, but the devilish side of her consciousness kept digging at her. She couldnât save his life, but she could honor his dying request. Besides, she reasoned, half the time no one picked up the belongings of a John Doe. They likely would end up in the trash or collect dust on a shelf in the security office. Without another thought, she ran the bag over to her backpack and tucked it inside.
âLetâs get this over with,â the male nurse from before announced, startling Addison as she finished zipping up her backpack. He slipped back into the deceased patientâs room. She pushed down the urge to scream at him. To punch him in the face. Put him in the body bag. How could someone be so insensitive?
âIâm sorry, I didnât get your name,â she fished. Maybe she could report him. âIâm Addison. I donât think weâve ever worked together before.â
âJack,â he said flatly.
Together they finished maneuvering the patient into the body bag and onto the stainless-steel morgue trolley. Addison strained to see Jackâs badgeâall she needed was a last nameâbut it was turned around. She figured he must be a traveler or a registry nurse, though he could be one of the government-appointed nurses the hospital had been using. Short-staffed would be an understatement.
Addison had been one of the few staff nurses left at Jefferson Memorial Hospital until that morning, when sheâd joyfully put in her notice. Though she wasnât sure what her next job would be, she was beginning to think it ought to be anything other than nursing. Frugal by nature, with the privilege of living in a paid-off house, sheâd been able to save enough money to live on comfortably for well over a year. A tempting option.
Together she and Jack wheeled the patient into the elevator and down to the morgue. It was a short ride. Quiet. Yet the animosity was palpable.
A brief struggle to get the trolley out of the elevator caused Jackâs badge to flip. Michael Larson. The image was of a much younger man with dark hair.
âThe badge machine was broken,â he said defensively, flipping the badge back over. âThis oneâs temporary. It belonged to someone who recently quit.â
Addison searched his face and body for the lie, but his expression was resolute. Considering the way the hospital had been operating of late, it wouldnât surprise her if theyâd repurposed an old badge. Especially with the current turnover rate. Besides, without a badge, he wouldnât be able to get into the units or supply closets.
âLook, it doesnât make a difference to me if you believe me or not.â His words were sharp.
Neither of them said anything more as they slid the body into the cold locker exposing a putrid smell Addison could never get used to. As soon as the door shut, Jack vanished down the hallway.
âGood riddance,â she murmured.
It was after 9:30 p.m. when Addison pulled into her driveway, defeated. She sat in the car for a moment, squeezing the tension from her left shoulder and arms, then burst out into a slimy, visceral cry. Snot dripped onto her lips, tears streamed down her cheeks, and she gulped for breath.
The novel opens with Addison (Addy) treating a patient whose life hangs in the balance. The hospital is understaffed. A strange new hire assists her in a failed attempt at CPR. Before the patient dies, he instructs Addy to keep his things safe, setting off a bit of a moral dilemma for her at a time when sheâs struggling with the number of deaths sheâs recently attended. Somehow, she feels like honoring this last patientâs request is the least she can do since he has no family or emergency contacts on file.
Enter Hannah, a young woman struggling to fit in with her 1970s peers. She isnât as pretty as the other girls, is inexperienced in life, and though she wants to become a musician, her father has pushed her toward law school. When a campus tour lands her in the company of the gorgeous and musically talented members of The Dark Side of the Rainbow cult, Hannah is faced with some pretty tough decisions. What would she do to have the life of her dreams? Too much, it turns out, because every choice is made at a cost.
The novel initially goes back and forth between Addy and Hannahâs perspectives as the decades-old mystery unfolds. Who was Addyâs last patient? Is he tied to her personally, or is she the unfortunate recipient of belongings that put her in the crosshairs of a cult that seems to be everywhere? She canât go to the police because she doesnât want to risk her nursing license or be considered a thief, so who can she turn to for help as an anonymous stalker begins monitoring her every move and more murders occur? She could be framed. She might be killed. No one should be trusted. The author has crafted a clever and compulsively readable novel that should keep readers guessing, as when it seems all twists are revealed, yet another happens.
I thoroughly enjoyed Play it in Reverse, finding Addison a likable main character with a genuinely interesting mystery to solve. The author has done a commendable job going above and beyond with formatting within the e-book including cutout magazine letters and text conversation bubbles. The cover is eye-catching, as is the pitch. There is a trigger warning associated with this novel about violence against animals, which did cause me to hesitate to read it but for the sake of soothing anyoneâs fears on this point, the scene in question is not a domestic animal and reads like what, cruel hunting, maybe? Itâs not overly gratuitous, and I can see the reason the author might have chosen to include it for context on the inner workings of The Dark Side of the Rainbow, though perhaps there were other ways. A journal entry or something since a lot of the mystery-solving involves letters and written evidence. To that point, I enjoyed getting to know Hannah, but her point of view is abandoned at the point that the mystery really ramps up for Addison. I would have liked to learn all she gained from her participation in the cult and how she felt about what she lost. Given that the novel clocks in on the shorter side, I think there was room to develop her further for a grander payoff, but thatâs maybe a nit-crit. Play it in Reverse is Addisonâs story, and it is an enjoyable one. Each chapter called me back. I enthusiastically recommend this novel for fans of cult crimes, the 70s, and the nostalgia of an era defined in part by the existence of things like The Manson Family. Congratulations to the author on a fantastic debut novel.