F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (21 page)

           
So
smug. The swine is so sickeningly smug. He's set his little trap. He
sees her falling into it, see the jaws snapping closed, all in slow motion.
He's enjoying this so much that he's dropped his customary insufferable
impatience and is taking his time to savor the stalking
.

           
Only
a matter of time, he thinks. So supremely confident.

           
Makes
me want to retch.

           
Such
a terrible injustice that he should be able to continue on as he does,
unchallenged, unsuspected. Someone should do something. If only someone could.
The situation cries out to heaven for rectification.

           
You'd
think God would have had enough by now, would step in and squash him for what
he has done to me and to others, crush him for becoming such an abomination.

           
Deus
ex machina!

           
Please!

           
But
this isn't Greek drama. This is real life, if anyone would dare call what I
have a life. Being dead would be better.

           
No
way to stop him, but must be some way to hinder him, or at the very least,
harass him.

           
Yes.
Harass. I should try. Worry his heels, the rotten swine. He'd no right to
punish me like that when I laughed at him. Wasn't fair. None of this is fair,
but that went beyond his usual mean spiritedness.

           
Cruel.
He's so cruel to me.

           
I
wonder… wonder if it's possible to strike back?

           
Have
to think on that. After all, I've got plenty of time to think. All the time in
the world.

 
 

           
The day started off with a shock.

           
Kara opened her eyes in the early
morning light and didn't know where she was. Lying on a lumpy sofa in a strange
room. With this splitting headache, starting at the temples and radiating
forward and backward to her eyes and neck. The room smelled of stale cigarette
smoke, and echoing through it was this deep, coarse, terrifying noise. Despite
the pain it cost her, she lifted her head and looked around.

           
A man is sitting in a chair nearby.

           
Not sitting, actually—sprawled was
more like it. Head lolled back, legs splayed, arms akimbo over the sides of the
chair. For a moment she thought he was dead, then she realized that he was the
source of the awful noise. Snoring. Rattling the windows, as the old saying
went.

           
And then she recognized him.

           
"Rob?"

           
What was he doing here in—?

           
Suddenly she remembered last night.
That fellow Ed had been here. She had told them both what Dr. Gates had said
about Kelly. Why? Why had she done that? And why had she drunk so much?

           
Rob bolted upright in his chair,
rubbing his face, mumbling sleepily into the dimness.

           
"It's okay, Kara. I'm here. I'm
right here."

           
Kara gently eased her throbbing,
spinning head back down onto the sofa cushion. She felt under the blanket. She
was still dressed, her clothes still buttoned and zippered up tight. Rob hadn't
touched her. But of course, he wouldn't have. The world's last knight in
shining armor had sat up all night watching over her.

           
Kara groaned and squeezed her eyes
shut. What was she going to owe him for this?

           
"Sure you're not hungry?"

           
Kara nodded silently and took
another tiny sip of her instant coffee.

           
"Really sure? There's eggs in
the fridge. They still look good. I could whip up a cheese omelette before I
go. Nothing to it."

           
Kara held up her hand for him to
cease and desist. She had forgotten what a relentlessly cheery morning person
Rob was. Now it was all coming back to her. Even when their relationship had
been at its closest it was the one thing about him that had annoyed her the
most. Apparently he hadn't changed. He'd spent all night in a chair and here he
was bouncing around at the crack of dawn offering to make breakfast for her.

           
"No. Thanks. I'm sure. Please.
Go. You'll be late."

           
"Okay. Let me know when you set
things up with Gates. Try to make it after five."

           
"Okay." She looked up at
him. "Thanks, Rob. You didn't have to stay last night, but I appreciate
it."

           
"What are friends for?"

           
"Are we still friends? After
all that's happened?"

           
He shrugged. "It took me a good
while to accept the fact that we just weren't meant to live happily ever after,
but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you. Why? Did you stop caring
about me?"

           
Kara shook her head slowly.
"No. That's why I wouldn't speak to you anymore back then."
Well, that's part of the reason
. "I
knew we couldn't work out, but I was afraid I'd change my mind if I saw you
again."

           
His smile was small and sad. "I
was hoping you'd say something like that. Maybe we can relax a little more with
each other."

           
I
wish I could, Rob. But I can't
.

           
"Sure. That'd be nice. And
thanks again for standing guard last night. I owe you."

           
He grimaced and rotated a kink out
of his back.

           
"Yeah. You do. And you can show
your gratitude by letting me cook you dinner before you go."

           
Despite the pain in her head, she
laughed. Memories of the awful concoctions he used to whip up threatened the
delicate state of her stomach.

           
"Oh, Rob—"

           
"No, I'm serious. I've gotten
better. I'm actually pretty good now. Please. It'll mean a lot to me, and
you'll enjoy it. I promise."

           
She looked at him closely. It really
did seem to mean a lot to him.

           
"Okay."

           
He beamed and stuck out a hand.
"It's a deal?"

           
"Deal," she said and shook
his hand.

           
He waved and headed for the door,
pulling a cigarette pack, from his pocket. And whistling, no less.

           
Rob sat in Doc Winters' tiny,
rickety waiting room and glanced at his watch. Getting close to five. He was
supposed to meet Kara soon, but first he wanted to talk to Doc Winters. He was
one of the department shrinks. He treated the cops when they needed it and he
was also available for consultation when they thought they had a psycho on the
loose.

           
But right now Rob wanted to find out
what Doc Winters knew about a fellow shrink named Lawrence Gates, M.D.

           
Rob had taken an instant disliking
to Gates yesterday, and now that he knew Gates might be putting Kara under
hypnosis this afternoon, he wanted the skinny on him. He'd run a check—no criminal
record, no complaints lodged with the State Board of Medical Examiners, not
even an outstanding parking ticket. Clean. But so what? Pre-med at NYU,
graduate of Flower Fifth Medical School, psychiatric residency at Downstate
Medical Center in Brooklyn. Fine. At least he was well trained. But what Rob
really wanted to know he couldn't get from an AMA register or a CV. He needed
someone who knew the guy.

           
Doc Winters said he knew him.

           
Rob could have asked about Gates
over the phone but he wanted to be with Winters, wanted to watch him when he
answered. These shrinks were like a secret society, never wanting to say
anything bad about each other in public. If he could get in front of Doc
Winters, Rob knew he could tell if he was hedging.

           
The door opened and Rob recognized
Bobby Kurtzman coming out. He nodded once to Rob and hurried off. Rob shook his
head. Poor Kurtzman. He'd shot a kid he'd thought was armed. Turned out he
wasn't. The kid recovered and was fine now. Kurtzman would probably never be
the same.

           
Inside, Rob found Doc Winters, a
white-haired, heavy-set man of about sixty. He wore a bulging white shirt and
gray suit pants. The suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. His office was
cramped, and his desk was piled high with papers, journals, correspondence,
patient files.

           
Although Rob had met him a few times
before, he introduced himself anyway.

           
"Sure, Harris. I remember you.
You called me about Larry Gates, didn't you?"

           
"Right."

           
"Is he in trouble?"

           
"Should he be?"

           
"Don't play wise with me,
detective."