reality of another’s perceptions. For Tim, the snakes and spiders are vividly real.
It is always odd to look at a person that one of my fragmentals currently inhabits. After retrieving the fragmental, our memories merge and reconfigure so that my memory of a scene then comes from two points of view. It is like having multiple cameras on the set of life.
Tim’s mother, Jennifer Horgan, opens the door to my knock and smiles. Long, straight brown hair drapes down to the small of her back, and her eyes are alive with intelligence and warmth. “Dr. Barash, what a surprise.”
“I apologize, ah, for coming by, ah, unannounced and at such a late hour.” The lie grows smoother as I talk, and my guilt rises its warning wrath. Just as pain warns the body that something is going wrong, guilt warns our psyche. I brutally squash it. “But I wanted to see Tim for a moment, if I may.”
“Of course, please come in,” she gushes. “You can come by anytime you like, you have done so much for Tim.”
My smile feels awkward at her praise, which she surely must see and interpret as embarrassment. But I am more than embarrassed, my deep shame borders on humiliation.
Tim is happy to see me, and bounces up off the cushion to hug me. I take back my fragmental then. In that brief moment that we merge, I feel his distress at my fragmental’s leaving. He has not been consciously aware of its existence, but he has felt its calming effect. It...I...have kept the demons at bay and now I am abandoning him.
The young boy wanders back to his cushion in bewilderment. Making excuses about time, I manage to leave only a few minutes later. Finally outside and escaping. How can I leave that boy so defenseless? I cringe at the question and push the answer away. But...but...maybe I should go back.
A car passes by, driving slowly, its headlights briefly tracking across the lawn and illuminating me. I freeze, ready to dive for cover. The fear tugs at my muscles with tension. The urge to urinate pushes against my bladder, peaks, and declines.
The car moves on, a dark shape in the night.
I cannot go back and return my fragmental to Tim. If the enemy finds him, it will cut him down to get to me. He is safer with me out of his life. Safe from death, but not safe from the demons.
Walking quickly, I reach my car and jerk open the door with sluggish fingers. My body feels like it weighs two or three times what it should. A piercing scream from behind causes me to spin around. It is Tim. The demons are back.
My tires squeal as I flee.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jerry Cowen, the security guard at the hospital, approaches my car with puzzlement writ all over his features. He has not buzzed me through as usual, but left the gate closed, forcing me to stop. I roll down the car window. “Hi, Jerry, what’s going on?”
“Dr. Barash, the police called,” he says, placing his hand on the window sill. The fingernails at the end of the stubby fingers are ragged from being gnawed upon. “They were looking for you.”
I touch his hand and cast forth a fragmental, quickly assimilating a knowledge of his surface thoughts and basic personality.
* * * *
Jerry found his job so boring. Watch the cars come in, write down the license numbers. Watch the cars leave, write down the license numbers. He recognized almost every car or their driver and so he hardly ever stopped anyone. Every once in a while he would stop Ann Reese. He always put on his sunglasses so that she would not see him staring so hard at her. Her blonde curls surrounded her oval face and trailed down over the hills formed by her breasts. She was always so nice to him and just looking at her gave him a woody. Looking was sufficient, actual contact was too frustrating. His ex had proved that.
His only friend was the radio on the shelf behind him. An older model, with a broken cassette deck, but it picked up the all-sports AM station and that was all that mattered. In the fall it was the Browns; in the spring and summer, the Indians; and in the winter and spring, the Cavaliers. He never went to the games, but he could quote every statistic. His wife divorced him for that and took the kids back to Canton. The only good reason to go and see them was to go to the Football Hall of Fame.
Tonight was a bit more exciting. Normally he ignored the hourly news updates on the radio, but the name of Dr. Barash had caught his attention. Someone had been found dead in the shrink’s office. That surprised him. The doctor, always so quiet, yet friendly, did not seem like the type to wind up dead. But you never know.
Only minutes later the phone rang. It was Dr. Hollis’s line, the hospital director, but he was not there. Jerry considered not answering the phone, but remembered how angry the doctor had gotten last time. Hollis was a prick. He did not have an answering machine because he thought that he was too important for such a contraption. He expected his secretary to answer the phone and take a message, and if she was not there, then the guard was supposed to do it.
Taking a deep breath, Jerry picked up the phone and pushed the line button. “Dr. Hollis’s office.”
“To whom am I speaking?” The voice was quiet and authoritative.
“This is the night guard.”
“May I speak to Dr. Hollis?”
“Nah. He’s in New York or something.”
“This is Detective Morris of the Cleveland Police. We are looking for Dr. Barash. Have you seen him?”
Jerry straightened his stance and brushed his hand across his hip. Damn, he wished that Hollis would approve guns for the guards.
“No, ain’t he dead?”
“Why would you say that?”
“The radio said they found a dead man in his office.”
“That was someone else. When did you last see Dr. Barash?”
“One moment,” Jerry said. “Let me look at my log.”
For once all his faithful scribbling was useful. He had Dr. Barash’s license number memorized and found the last entry. “He left at three minutes after eight, sir.”
“If he returns, will you please call me.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“How long are you on duty?”
“Till six in the morning.”
“You will pass this message on to the next guard.”
“Yes, you can count on it.”
The detective left his number and hung up.
Only minutes later, much to his excitement, he recognized the green two-door Taurus that Dr. Barash owned.
* * * *
To prevent Jerry from making that phone call, I decide to leave my fragmental with him. Jerry returns to the guardhouse and presses the button to open the gate and thus allow me to drive up the gravel driveway and park before the four-story hospital. Getting out of the car, I look at my watch. Five minutes to eleven. Only a few windows are illuminated. The tall trees whisper as the wind soughs through
