Sleep No More (14 page)

Jason nodded. "That's good. It'll help narrow things down. I just need it in writing for my records."

Abby took the clipboard and began writing. She asked her father very few questions; clearly she had a good handle on his daily life.

When she was finished, she had her dad review and sign it. Mr. Whitman handed it back to Jason. As he took it, he glanced over at Abby. Her face held utter trust mixed with such stark hope that he nearly flinched. God knew, he didn't want to be the one to have to shatter that hope.

"I'd like to have an hour alone with you, Mr. Whitman." Jason shifted his gaze back to Abby. "Feel free to leave, if you have things you need to do."

Abby did have something to do. She was so damned exhausted she could barely keep her thoughts from tripping over one another. Before she could sleep, she had to insure that she wouldn't be able to leave the house while sleepwalking. On the way here she'd gotten an idea.

"All right. I'll be back in an hour." She took her dad's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Jitterbug."

At the use of her nickname, Jason gave her a smile--one that said he had a nickname for his little girl, too. Abby thought of how gentle and attentive he'd been with his daughter at the funeral. Jason Coble was a good man.

Too bad she could never let herself care for him; that fact had just been reinforced with the reoccurrence of her sleepwalking. Gran Girault had called it years ago: there was something fundamentally wrong with her and it would never go away.

Pushing away self-pitying thoughts, Abby left the office and headed to the hardware store.

She parked in an angled spot on the street a half-block from Cottrell's Hardware. As she walked toward the store, a gray Impala with darkly tinted windows drove by. She'd seen it parked in front of St. Andrew's when she'd dropped Maggie off. It seemed to slow as it passed her.

Or maybe she imagined it. There was something creepy about those ultra-dark windows.

Oh for heaven's sake. I'm getting paranoid.

She had to get some sleep, get her mind back in order.

She entered the hardware store and found what she was looking for; there were only two door alarms on the shelf. They were dusty, as if they'd been there for quite some time. She took them both. She also picked up two double-keyed deadbolts.

As she checked out, she looked out the front window and saw that Impala cruise past again. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

Good God, Abby. He's just looking for a parking spot.

"Find everythin' you need, Miss?"

Abby turned to the clerk. His kind eyes looked out of a face that reminded her of a shriveled apple. "Yes, thank you."

"You gotta make sure you line them two pieces up real good now when you put 'em on your doors."

She nodded.

"They work on magnets, you know."

She didn't really care, as long as they worked. Her head throbbed and her eyes felt like she'd been in a sandstorm. She wanted to get back to Jason's office before her dad was finished with his tests. Then home. She wanted to sleep a bit before she finished the flowers for the wedding tomorrow.

"Need bat-trees? These run on bat-trees, you know."

"Oh, I didn't even think." She looked at the label and reached for three double packs of nine-volt batteries hanging on pegs just below the countertop. "Thanks, I'd have been mad if I got home and discovered I needed these."

He nodded. "We don't sell too many of these add-on door alarms, but you're the second person buyin' 'em this week."

"Really?" People here rarely locked their doors, let alone armed them with alarms.

He nodded. "Must be all of the stuff they're putting on the evenin' news and magazine shows. Folks
round here
don't need alarms. Yep, gotta be those magazine shows if it's even got Father Kevin worried."

"Father Kevin bought door alarms this week?"

"Sure did. Damn--pardon, Miss--doggone TV. Got people all worked up. Scared of their own neighbors."

If only it was her neighbors she was afraid of, instead of something dark deep inside herself.

Abby sat next to her father, across the desk from Jason Coble. Her heart was beating too rapidly. She reached across and took her father's hand.

She couldn't tell from Jason's expression which way his findings had gone. The child in her fought against adult logic. If there wasn't
something
wrong, they wouldn't be sitting here right now.

Jason rested his forearms on his desk and clasped his hands on top of the file with her father's name on it. "I want to start by saying this is not conclusive, what we've done today.

"The general neurological screening assesses reflexes, coordination and balance, eye movement and muscle strength. I didn't note any significant deterioration beyond what is age appropriate.

"In a situation such as yours, Mr. Whitman, with the recent loss of your wife, depression could be playing a role--"

"Good God! A man can't grieve for his wife now without it getting a label put on it?"

"Dad...." Abby squeezed his hand.

"Mr. Whitman, I understand your frustration. There is a difference between clinical depression and grief. Your grief is entirely natural and justified. Sometimes it can camouflage other, more serious health issues. We're just trying to sort everything out."

Her dad rubbed a hand over his face. "Go on."

"Our exam today on your mental function does show some memory issues as well as some minor decreases in cognitive function. But these findings could be the result of any one of several disorders. There need to be lab tests conducted to rule out ailments that could result in memory loss and confused thinking."

Abby's father let go of her hand. He leaned forward in his chair and said, "I'm
fine
. I can't see how those tests prove otherwise; they were just a bunch of silly questions. Everybody my age forgets things now and again."

"We're just making sure, Dad. I know you don't like going to the doctor, but Mom would want to make sure you stay healthy."

At the mention of her mother, her father's mouth snapped closed.

She nodded for Jason to continue.

"Like I said, we need to rule out potential causes."

Her father stood up abruptly. "I'm
fine
. Not as young as I used to be, but fine nonetheless. I don't need more tests." He walked toward the office door. "Thank you for your time."

He went out and closed the door loudly behind him.

Abby sat there, looking from the closed door back to Jason. "Should I go after him?"

"Does he have car keys?"

"No."

"Then wait a minute. Just so you know, this isn't an unusual reaction."

"How long do you think he's been... slipping?"

"There's no way to tell. I will say that it isn't unusual for a family member to take up the slack, so to speak, thus hiding deterioration from others."

"Mom? You think she was hiding this?"

"Possibly. It's likely that it came on gradually and she just adapted without a conscious decision to do so."

Abby thought of her mother's insistence on selling their second car--and the fact she'd taken up the driving.

Jason got up and walked around the desk, sitting on its edge right in front of her. He looked into her eyes. "Listen, Abby, if it is Alzheimer's, I think he's in early stages. Now's the time to get him on a treatment to slow down the progression. He needs someone other than me to confirm the diagnosis and render treatment."

"It sounds to me like you know what you're talking about. Can't you order the tests, then we can go from there?" The thought of putting her father, vulnerable as he was right now, in the hands of a complete stranger bothered her. And after her conversation with Dr. Samuels earlier, clearly he wasn't an option.

"I'm
not
the right doctor."

"But you've said yourself there isn't a specific specialty dealing with Alzheimer's."

"No, but there are neurologists with much more experience with it; that's who you want treating him. I'll do a little checking around. I promise you," he took her hand, "I'll find him the best."

The warmth of Jason's hand made her realize that her own were like ice.

"Look at me, Abby."

She did.

"You look like you're hanging by a thread. You need to take care of yourself, too. He needs you to be healthy and strong."

Hanging by a thread. If you only knew.

As she sat there, feeling the warmth of his hand, looking into the depths of his eyes, she asked, "Do you have experience with hypnosis?"

The confusion on his face made her realize how out in left field her question was.

He said, "I have, yes. But I don't think it'll help your dad--"

She pulled her hand out of his and stood. "Of course not." Cold feet ran off with her sleepwalking confession. Did she want Jason to know? Would he ever look at her the same if he did? "I was just grasping at straws, I guess."

He moved as if he was going to put a hand on her shoulder, then stopped, letting his hand fall to his side. "I know how difficult this is. I'll call you as soon as I find a doctor for him."

"Thank you." She hurried toward the door and opened it. Just before she walked out, she stopped and almost turned around.

There was something about him that made her want to trust, made her yearn to hand over the mess of her life and have him untangle it.

And yet, showing her vulnerability frightened her almost as much as her sleepwalking did. Hypnosis would be the ultimate exposure of her weaknesses, her faults; it would be total surrender of her privacy.

She took a breath and walked out of the door.

As she left the house, she thought:
He's not the right doctor for Dad... but what about me? What if Jason Coble holds the key to exorcising the darkness living inside me?

B
ryce headed downtown after school. This was one of the few days he'd be able to do whatever he wanted. He usually had to go straight home to babysit Bren--just one more benefit of having divorced parents.

Even when Jason had been living with them and Bryce's mother had stayed home, he'd always gone straight home after school. He'd never known what shape his mother would be in by the middle of the afternoon. More times than not, he'd had to look after his sister
and
clean everything up before Jason came home and discovered how his mother had spent her day.

But today he was free. His mother had taken time off work because of Great-grandmother Vera's funeral--and Jason sure wasn't coming home.

It was great not to have Bren tagging along when Bryce went to the comic shop. He'd recently gotten into collecting. He couldn't afford many of the old ones, but he liked a couple of the new series. If he kept them long enough, they'd be as valuable as those old ones were now. They were an investment. His mom just didn't get that. She said he should be doing something more "productive" with his time. Like she had room to talk.

When he walked into Hi Flying Comics he ran into Toby, the cool dude he'd met here a couple of weeks ago. Toby had dropped out of college when he figured out how much money he could make trading and collecting comics and action figures and stuff. He traveled all over buying and selling, hitting shows and auctions. His grandmother lived in Preston; that was why he was here now.

"Hey, Bryce." Toby always remembered him. That was one reason Bryce liked him. He also never acted all weird when Bryce had to bring Bren along. And he never treated Bryce like a stupid kid. Lots of older dudes who hung out here had a rod up their asses.

Bryce knocked knuckles with him. "What's up, dude?"

"The usual. Buyin' and sellin'."

"How's things with you?"

"Been better," fell out of his mouth before he censored it. Why hadn't he just said,
Great. Fanfuckintastic?

"No shit? What's the deal?"

Bryce shrugged. "Family crap."

Toby nodded; he clearly understood family crap. That made Bryce feel a little less like a douchebag.

Toby said, "You look like you'd like to break some-thin'."

He nodded. He hadn't thought about it that way, but that was
exactly
how he felt.

"Do it, man. It'll make you feel better. Just go out there and beat the shit out of somethin'." Toby slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Hey, I'll even take you. I know just the place."

They left before Bryce looked at a single comic.

* * *

When Bryce arrived home at four-forty-five, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. A sheriff's car sat in front of the house.

He thought about driving on past and coming back after it was gone.

But he quickly realized this couldn't have anything to do with what he'd done; it was impossible for the police to know and be at his door, at least not yet.