Back home, after checking my email, I called Sharpe. “Was the old guy stabbed in the arm?”
“Yes. Did your friend have another dream?”
I told her about my session with Henry—leaving his name free of it.
“Damn it, Jurgen!” Sharpe yells at me all the time, but it always rattles me. “I can’t keep this on the down-low forever. Cruz knows I’m asking questions. Somebody’s going to have to start looking at what this guy says.”
“I know, I know.” I didn’t know what to tell her, though. “I’ll have to talk to Rachel.”
“Do that. Soon.” She hung up.
Now what? I didn’t want to bother Rachel with a text. She was already having a tough day. So I ate lunch, opened a Coke, and went to work scheduling and rescheduling more interviews.
Rachel got home at seven. She dropped her laptop case on the sofa, tossed her jacket on a chair, and stood in the middle of the living room, breathing slowly.
I came out of the kitchen. “You okay? Need a hug?”
She snorted. “Try it and you’ll get a ruptured spleen. Is there anything for dinner?”
Usually we take turns cooking, but lately I’d been doing the bulk of it. “I can make grilled cheese. With gruyere. Fries.”
“Sounds good. Let me change.” Then she leaned forward and gave me a kiss. “Maybe a hug later.”
She came back 15 minutes later in sweats and opened a beer while I checked on the fries in the oven. “Tough day?”
A shrug. “It went better after you left.”
“Thanks.”
She poked my arm. “You know what I mean. The rest of the patients were fine, and I managed to get all the paperwork done. I had to stay late to finish it, but still.”
“So, what do you think is going on with Henry?”
A groan. “I don’t know. I think if I could be there when he’s dreaming, I might pick up something more. Right now all I get is that he’s telling the truth, and he’s really scared. He doesn’t want to be seeing himself killing somebody.”
“So you don’t think he’s—somehow—committing the murders?”
After a moment Rachel shook her head. “I thought about that. Some kind of astral projection or something. But he doesn’t seem violent. I mean, the domestic violence issues were pretty minor, throwing plates and stuff like that. And he’s responding well to medication and therapy.”
“Can you get a read on him?”
“I’ve tried. Violating the no physical contact rule—don’t worry, I just held his hand for a moment. There’s nothing psychic or supernatural in him that I can feel. If I could sit with him while he’s asleep, maybe I’d get something, but that’s not going to happen.”
“Yeah.” I checked the stove and flipped the sandwiches. “We’re going to have to tell Sharpe something soon.”
“I know.” Rachel rubbed her eyes. “How do you deal with this? Murder, the supernatural, cops. The questions? Not knowing? Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”
“I have a very understanding girlfriend.”
She snorted. “Flattery’s nice, but it won’t get you laid.” She sniffed the air. “But dinner might. Are those fries almost ready?”
A phone buzzed around 2:30 a.m. For once, it wasn’t mine. I felt Rachel roll over and sit up. “Yeah? Okay. Right. Okay. Yeah.” She hung up.
I opened my eyes as she got to her feet. “What is it?”
“Henry.” She yawned. “He’s not sleeping. Getting manic. Asking for me. Screaming for me, from how Ravi tells it. He’s on night duty.” She staggered toward the bathroom. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll come with you.” I forced myself up.
“You don’t have to. Go back to sleep.”
I laughed. “How many times have we had this conversation the other way around?”
Rachel glared at me, but after a moment she nodded. “Fine. Just stay out of my way. That’s what you usually tell me.”
“You’re the boss.” I stumbled to the dresser for a shirt and fresh underwear. “Which you never tell me.”
I drove, and we headed out to Des Plaines with our travel mugs full of coffee. Fortunately traffic was nonexistent, and we reached Des Plaines in 40 minutes. I parked and Rachel led the way in.
The guard nodded at Rachel’s badge and gave me another VISITOR sticker for my shirt. She led me through the security doors and down a hallway until a man spotted us. “Rachel!”
“Ravi.” He wore a beige jacket like Rachel’s this morning. Young, with short hair and probing eyes. “This is my boyfriend, Tom. He was—he’s helping me. He met Henry today.”
“Nice to meet you.” We shook hands quickly. “Rachel, he won’t go to sleep. Says he’s afraid of dreaming. He was asleep, and then he woke up and started yelling for you. He stopped yelling, but he refuses to take a pill or even just lie down.” He shrugged, helpless. “I’m sorry for calling you, but—”
“That’s okay.” She patted his arm. “Let’s go see him.”
He led, and we followed. “Ravi’s the one who knows about you, right?” I asked softly.
Rachel laughed. “Hey, Ravi, did you know I’m psychic?”
“I knew you were going to ask that.” He chuckled, then stopped at a door. “Here.”
The door was unlocked. Inside, Henry sat in a small room with books, photos taped to the wall, a music player, and a narrow bed. No padded walls. A small table and a plastic folding chair sat next to a barred window.
Henry sat on the bed, barefoot, in a T-shirt and drawstring pants. He was staring at the floor, mumbling under his breath. After a moment he looked up. “Hi, Rachel.” His voice was surprisingly calm.
“What’s going on, Henry? It’s late.” Rachel crossed her arms. Not too stern, but still exerting a bit of authority.
“I can’t sleep.” He groaned. “I mean, I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want any of those dreams again. Gah!” He suddenly slapped his hand on the mattress. “I don’t want to see them again!”
I looked at Rachel for permission to ask questions. She nodded.
“Henry?” I waited for him to look at me. “Do you think that if you don’t go to sleep, the murders won’t happen?”
His mouth trembled. “I don’t know. M-maybe.”
I glanced at Rachel again, then went ahead before she could stop me. “Are you killing these people, Henry?”
He sank down, his hands between his knees. “I don’t—I don’t think so. But I’m seeing it like it’s me.” His voice was almost too low to hear. “It’s like a movie. I can see it happening but I can’t do anything about it. I try, but I can’t. I have to watch. I can’t stop it from happening.”
I looked at Rachel. “Like you said—maybe if you were here while Henry was asleep, you could pick something up.”
She rolled her eyes. “No way would that be allowed. I mean, even if Henry agreed to it—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Yeah. That’s all right with me.”
Rachel stared at him. Then she glared at me. “I’d get worse than fired. I could get kicked out of the program.”
She’d devoted her life to school for more than a year. I knew how much it meant to her. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”
“Shut up. I’ll do it.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Ravi will cover for me. As much as he can. If I find anything—” Rachel frowned. “I’ll figure that out if it happens.” She grimaced. “This is possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I bet I can think of—” I shut up as Rachel shot a glare at me. “Nothing.”
Henry’s eyes were worried. “I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“I don’t want to compromise your care. You need sleep, and we need to know what’s going on.” She sighed, her hands on her hips, looking around the room. “I’ll have to sit close to you, Henry. I may have to put a hand on your arm, but that’s the only physical contact I’ll take. Is that all right?”
He nodded. “Whatever you think is right.”
Then she turned to me. “Go home.”
I looked at the door, then back at Rachel. “What?”
“It’s going to look bad enough if I get caught. If my boyfriend’s here, it’ll just look worse.” Rachel took two steps to me and put a hand on my arm. “I’ll be okay. Just do this.” She kissed me.
I couldn’t argue. I’ve taken bigger risks than this, and even though Rachel gets mad, she’s always there when I come stumbling back from whatever reckless plan I try. “Okay. Call me. Or text me. Whatever.”
“Right.” She turned. “Okay, Henry. Time for some sleep.”
He laid back and closed his eyes. “I’ll try.”
No comments:
Post a Comment