Author: Peter Sargent
Category: Suspense
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/peter-sargent/page,5,22515-the-dead-reckoner-volume-one-absolution-and-desolation.html
appointment, this woman called me and told me what was really going on.”
Dr. Lane nodded. John had told her this story before, but now he was telling it better. It showed that he was starting to understand what wheels were turning inside his head.
“It was his ex. They used to be in business together, but the business went the way of the marriage. The guy isn't even legally allowed to operate under its name. I don't think he's forgotten how to do his job, but I don't want to get into the middle of that. I told him I'd find someone else.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“He called back when I wasn't home. My sister answered. What have I told you about Alice?”
“That she lives with you.” said Dr. Lane. “Because she's disabled and can't live alone.”
“That's right. I know I've told you about her, but have I mentioned her part in this story?”
“I don't think you have.”
John hesitated. In his first session, he'd gone into all of that stuff about getting to know you that therapists want. He wasted an entire hour not talking about why he was here. That was when he'd talked about his sister. In the second session he'd told the story about the rain gutters guy, but without mentioning Alice at all. Now it was time to tie these together. There were at least two reasons why John was here and both were connected to Alice. Neither had come up before, with Dr. Lane or the police or anyone else. He wondered what consequences would come from telling the truth.
He became aware of how the two were sitting, patient and doctor. He was hunched over and avoiding eye contact. She was sitting straight and poised with one leg over the other. She balanced a notebook on her knee. Dr. Lane was an authority, no doubt. What was odd was the kerchief around her head. The knot kept the fabric tight against her skull and there was no hair sticking out under its edges. She must have been bald or nearly bald. At first John had wondered if she had cancer. Then one day the door to the bathroom outside her office had been ajar and he'd seen a shaver in there.
It wasn't chemo making Dr. Lane bald. It was Dr. Lane making herself bald. Was this person who held John's legal fate in her hands also a little loony?
At last John said, “I'm protective of Alice. There are certain lines you cannot cross.”
“That makes perfect sense.”
“The guy told my sister he was coming by that day, even though I'd canceled. Alice called me, scared out of her mind. I never let anyone come by when I'm not home. I rushed home and when he came, I was waiting for him. “ John closed his eyes. “He never stepped foot on the property. He stood on the sidewalk and was saying something about how we just needed to talk. We could work it out. Times were tough and he was begging me to give him a break. I had a bat and I banged up his knees, but that wasn't all I did.”
John gripped his legs and then let go and slammed his palms into them. He opened his eyes.
“I made contact with that ass's jawbone just like it was a ball. He almost flew like one too. He spat blood out his nose, straight up in the air as he went over.”
“What were you feeling?”
“Never question me. I'll ask a man once nicely. The next time I won't ask.”
Dr. Lane nodded.
John said, “Well?”
“You looked like you had something else to say.”
Spot on. He'd worked through the first reason. Now it was time to roll up his sleeves and get down to the real business here. It was worse than all that. He took a deep breath and went on.
“I've hit Alice before too.”
This made the woman visibly pause. Somehow that pleased John. He'd gotten the response that he'd been after.
She said, “Go on.”
“Alice has the mind of a kindergartner. Sometimes she acts like one. I work all day to provide for us and when I come home I cook and clean. I protect her because she doesn't know how to keep herself safe. Sometimes she just doesn't get that. Sometimes she won't do what I say and she starts yelling and stamping her feet.”
John leaned forward enough to make the shadow of his face cover his shoes. He was close enough to the therapist to hear her breathe and smell her perfume.
He said, “When these feelings happen, it's like a short circuit in my brain, a freak accident. I'm never like that, but then I snap all of a sudden. I'm out of control.”
Dr. Lane closed her notebook and said, “I want you to try something.”
“Homework?”
“It's a test.”
“Like a blood test?”
“No, a question test. It's called the Sorter.”
John shook his head. “My girlfriend's talked about that. She doesn't have high opinions.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.” said John. “She doesn't get into the details. I can tell you my opinion, though. I think it's just another sign that we've replaced belief in God with belief in technology.”
“You're Catholic.” said Dr. Lane. “The Sorter offends your religion?”
“No, don't be ridiculous. I asked for your help, didn't I? Even if a judge ordered me here, I've been sincere about wanting to get better, right? That's what I've said since the beginning. I want to get better. That's my whole motivation. Because I've got a sister. And I've got a girlfriend and her kid to think about too.”
She said, “What's the problem? I don't understand.”
“I believe in science – hell I'm even willing to believe in psychiatry – but this thing sounds like an oracle. It sounds like you just inhale the fumes and start dancing to its tune. Do you even understand how it works?”
“I admit that the Sorter is very sophisticated.”
“So no. But these people who believe in it dress it up like it's the height of human achievement. I think it's no different than religious fanaticism. And the only thing worse than believing you have God on your side is believing you have science on your side.”
Dr. Lane was very calm. She wasn't argumentative. She spoke the way she did because regardless of whether she had a deity or science on her side, she definitely had the law on her side.
“You will take the exam, John.” she said. “And if you want to stay out of trouble, you will take seriously what it tells you.”
THREE
When Sara was done making love with Reginald Binder, she slipped on the two piece pajamas she kept in his top drawer, curled up next to him, and went to sleep. Reggie was awake. He was waiting for Todd Laurel to show up in his kitchen, after all these years. They would each have their revenge.
He passed the time with a mental tour of his elementary school. Reggie kept a visual library of all the places that defined his memories of childhood. His repertoire included his schools, his parents' church, and the last home in which his grandparents had lived before their deaths. Sometimes, when sleep eluded him, Reggie walked the halls in his mind, stopped in the rooms, and handled familiar objects. They were more real to him than the daylight world.
Sara yanked Reggie from his odyssey when she rose to use the bathroom. In the weeks since they'd been together, he'd become accustomed to her routine. At first she fell dead away to sleep, only to rise a few hours later to pee and return to happy slumber when she was done.
This time, she flipped on the light and cursed. The toilet was jammed. It had been jammed all day, but her frosty consciousness had lost that memory. Earlier, Reggie had stuffed wads of toilet paper down there because he knew that when this moment came, Sara would have to wander through the kitchen to get to the other bathroom.
Despite his trip to grade school, Reggie had been aware of muffled sounds from the kitchen just a few minutes before. Todd Laurel had arrived. He was looking for something that he would never find. His frustration would put him in a place that made him willing to make risky choices. One such choice became clear when he saw Sara floating through the darkened room.
Reggie stood up. For a moment he watched the lights out
side. The wall of his bedroom was a single window made of several panes, each stretching from floor to ceiling. His condo was fifteen stories up and it overlooked South Boston's Seaport District. Beyond the restaurants and hotels, the federal courthouse and the modern art museum, there was water. Beyond that, planes hung in the blackness waiting for entry into Login Airport. Silent clusters of lights lined the sky, like candles strung along a kite wire. On one of the planes there was someone arriving to meet him this morning, but all of that was yet to come. Whatever tumult there was in the coming and goings of the night, this window rendered it a peaceful landscape.
Reggie opened the top drawer of the night stand and removed a pistol with mounted silencer.
Sara released an unmuffled scream.Her assailant wanted her to rouse the man he was after. Reggie held his pistol behind his back and entered the living room. From there he could see the kitchen. Laurel had turned on the little light over the sink. Reggie entered the kitchen and saw Todd with his own pistol snuggled against Sara's temple. The man was dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved tee. He wore a black knit skull cap and three days of gray whiskers. He leaned his back against the counter with the sink and the lamp above bathed him in a halo. The hand without the gun held Sara by her neck, forcing the much shorter woman to arch her back. Her belly button stuck out between the two pieces of her pajamas.
“I want the video.” said Todd. “I know you kept it.”
An island stood between Reggie and the intruder. Its