Bone Cold (34 page)

Wednesday, February 7
4:30 p.m.

F
rom a place above and outside himself, Ben watched in horror as Adam leveled the gun on Anna's chest. He fought to free himself, but Adam was too strong. He refused let him out.

Stop! Leave them alone! Do you hear me? Let me out!

Adam could hear him, he knew. In the past few days he had taken a crash course in being a multiple. He had managed to get the hang of coconsciousness, had learned how to tune in to the voices in his head, had learned how to facilitate a switch.

He owed it all to Minnie. She had contacted him through the journal. Through it she had explained who—and what—he was.

Adam Furst. Minnie. Benjamin Walker. He was all of them.

Or rather, they were all part of the boy who had been Timmy.

He had been horrified. Despairing. But after the first
shock had worn off, he had been unable to deny it was true. He understood now the headaches. The moments of lost time. Why he slept like the dead. The missing pieces of his past. His mother's confusion. The many times he had been recognized by people he didn't know.

All the pieces fit. Each of them a classic symptom of disassociative identity disorder. Dear Jesus, how could he not have seen it? He was a psychologist, for God's sake. He had observed patients who had suffered with DID.

If only Minnie had come to him sooner. Those women wouldn't have died. He wouldn't have allowed it.

We can do it together.
Minnie's voice.
We can save them.

He and Minnie had made their own plan. They had agreed that working together was the only way to stop Adam. They would wait for the right moment. And when it came, whoever managed to get free would do it. No hesitation.

Now!

He heard Minnie and strained to be free. He shouted at Adam, he kicked and clawed and demanded to be let out. Minnie did the same.

Adam weakened; Minnie slipped out.

No hesitation, Minnie. Do it.

Ben watched as she turned the gun on herself. “You're my best friend, Jaye. I won't let him hurt you.”

Then she pulled the trigger.

Eight weeks later
The French Quarter

S
pring had come to New Orleans. Though the winter of 2001 had gone on record as the city's coldest ever, the azaleas had bloomed as if on cue, the trees had budded out, becoming green as if by magic.

Anna breathed deeply of the warm, fragrant air and caught Quentin's hand, curling her fingers around his. They had brunched with Jaye and the entire Malone clan on Jackson Square, enjoying not only the day and each other's company, but watching the parade of wide-eyed tourists as well.

In a way, Anna had felt like one of them. Every day, she was wide-eyed at the wonder of living without fear. Without the constant weight of it at her back and at the edges of her consciousness. She supposed that one day she would forget to be awed and thankful, but not yet. Not for a very long time.

The last of Quentin's family bid them farewell, and now Jaye was getting ready to leave. The girl kissed
Anna's cheek. “I've got to run. Fran's taking me to the mall. There's a big sale at Abercrombie's.”

Anna smiled, pleased by Jaye's obvious happiness. “You and your foster mom are getting along well these days.”

Jaye lifted a shoulder, expression wicked. “She's not so bad. She hasn't sacrificed any small animals in weeks now.”

Fran Clausen had wept with joy when Jaye had been returned to her. She had begged the girl's forgiveness for having believed she'd run away. Her tears had meant the world to Jaye, and in a show of real maturity, Jaye had not only forgiven her, but accepted some of the responsibility for the couple's attitude. Jaye's past history of bolting had warranted it.

Her kidnapping ordeal had left Jaye a changed girl. She was more accepting of herself and others, easygoing in a way she had never been. It was as if almost dying had given her a sense of how precious life was. How good.

“Love you, kiddo,” Anna murmured, giving her a quick hug. “Have fun.”

Anna watched the girl walk away. She tucked her arm through Quentin's. “It's so quiet now.”

Quentin glanced down at her with one of his quicksilver smiles. “Blessedly so. My family can be a little overwhelming when attempted all at once.”

Anna laughed. “I adore them, individually and taken as a whole. You're a lucky guy, you know that?”

He stopped and met her eyes. “Lucky I found you.”

Tears stung her eyes. Ones of joy. And of sadness. Because joy brought thoughts of Timmy. Some nights she awoke dreaming of him; in them he was alive and happy. The way he had been as a young child.

He was happy now, she believed that. He was with his mother, his real mother. Finally and forever.

Anna stood on tiptoe and kissed Quentin. “Thank you, Detective Malone. I feel mighty lucky, too.”

They began to walk. “I went to see Terry today,” he said.

“How's he doing?”

“Not great. He's taking Penny's move to Lafayette hard. But the therapy seems to be doing him good. It's going to be a long haul, though.” Affection warmed his tone. “But Terry's never done anything the easy way.”

She squeezed his arm. “I know it helps that you're there for him.”

“We all are, Aunt Patti, too. She checks in on him every day. She's made it clear that when he's ready, she wants him back at work.”

They walked in silence a while; Quentin broke it first. “So, hotshot, how's the new book coming?”

He had taken to calling her that ever since three major publishers had gotten into a bidding war over her next book. The competition had sent the amount of the offer into the stratosphere. Her new publisher had no doubt about the book earning out the advance—because of her past, they expected interest in her book to be overwhelming. They were already talking about her tour and she had barely begun writing the story.

Anna tilted her face up to his. “Great. And my new editor's a dream to work with.”

She shook her head, amazed at herself. When she toured, she would be on television and radio answering questions about herself and her past. She would be in front of the public, exposed and vulnerable to any nut-case who might be lurking about.

And she wasn't afraid.

She had promised herself she would never be afraid again. That she would never again hide from life. Life was about taking chances, facing the good…and the bad. It was about birth and death and everything in between.

Her apartment building came into view up ahead. She elbowed Quentin. “Besides, who's the hotshot here? I'm not the one who was accepted into Tulane's law school.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I still can't believe it. Quentin Malone, future shark in a suit.” His smile faded. “If I can cut it.”

“You can.” She stopped and turned toward him. “I believe in you.”

“Yeah?” He cupped her face in his palms, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah.”

He kissed her then. Deeply. Passionately.

She kissed him back the same way.

“Good to see you kids out and about.”

Alphonse Badeaux and Mr. Bingle stood behind them, dog and master both grinning from ear to ear. Anna's cheeks warmed. “Alphonse! I didn't know you were there.”

Malone held out a hand. “Good to see you again, Alphonse. How are you and Bingle doing today?”

They shook hands. “Can't complain. Not on a day as pretty as this.”

Anna reached down and scratched the bulldog behind the ears. “Come up for an iced tea sometime. I've got some biscuits for Mr. Bingle, too. The ones he likes.”

“That's mighty kind of you, Miss Anna,” he mur
mured. “I'll do that. By the way, a package came for you today. Around eleven this morning. Just thought you'd want to know.”

A feeling of déjà vu settled over her. Anna glanced toward her building, then back at her neighbor. “Did the deliveryman toss it over the gate?”

“Nope. Took it up. Door was propped open again.” He cleared his throat. “You might want to speak to those kids from four about it. Not that it's any of my business, of course.”

Anna thanked him, said goodbye and she and Quentin entered the building. They climbed the stairs to the second floor. As her neighbor had warned her she would, she found a package propped against the door.

Wrapped in brown paper, it was about the size and shape of a videocassette.

What if it wasn't over? What if it was never over?

Quentin looked at her in concern. “Are you okay?”

She hiked up her chin. “Fine. Absolutely okay.” Anna let out a long breath, marched across the hall and picked it up. The package looked as if it had been run over by a truck; the paper was dirty and torn, the box half crushed.

It was from Ben.

She lifted her gaze to Malone's, her hands beginning to shake. “This can't be.”

Quentin bent his head and read the label, then met her eyes. “There's only one way to find out.”

She ripped the package open. And found two journals. The one she had seen on Ben's desk that afternoon all those weeks ago and another, only partially full.

He had attached a note. She read it aloud:

So she did. Curled up on the corner of her couch, she began. Documented in the one notebook was a story of abuse, rage and despair, a testament not only of the depths to which the human spirit could sink but of its will to survive. The other spiral contained the story of a man's struggle to understand and come to grips with parts of himself and his past.

Both stories were told through individual narrations, drawings and conversations between the three personalities, the handwriting and voice of each dramatically different, a physical testament to Adam's rage, Minnie's fear and Ben's desperation.

Anna learned that Timmy, unable to cope, had essentially ceased to exist and had “gone to sleep” deep inside himself. Adam had emerged first. Then Ben and Minnie. The three had taken over Timmy's life and consciousness, each performing a specific role, each with their own strengths, weaknesses, past and memories.

Anna learned how Minnie's love for Jaye had forced her to overcome her fear and contact Ben through the journal. Faced with the proof of the journal, Ben had been unable to deny what he was, though he had wanted to. Instead, he had set out to wrest control from Adam. To heal them. To integrate them into a whole.

It had been too late. There hadn't been enough time.

Afterward, Quentin held Anna while she cried. “I'll
never forget,” Anna whispered. “Not Timmy. Not Ben or Minnie. I'll never forget what they did for me.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, holding her close. “I'm so sorry.”

She lifted her face to his, vision blurred with tears. “Children are a gift. They should be cherished. Protected. They—” She bit the words back. “I'm not going to let this go, Malone. I can do…something. Through my writing…I've got to do something.”

For a moment he was silent, then his expression softened. “I love you, Harlow Anastasia Grail.”

His words moved over her like a healing balm. And in that moment she knew without a shadow of a doubt who she was.

She would never hide from that person again.