by Sibs (v2. 1)
"I guess so. I just—"
"It's all my fault!" she blurted. Tears glistened in her eyes. "If only I'd listened to him and not tried that hypnotism, none of this would be happening."
"Don't blame yourself, Kara. You had to know if—"
"And now I do! Rob, I'm frightened! To think that I was standing over Jill's bed with my father's old carving knife, cutting words into the wall! It makes me sick!"
"You'll be all right. They don't come any tougher than you, Kara. If anyone's going to lick this thing, it's you."
Rob desperately wanted to raise her spirits and would have said anything to buck her up, but he believed what he'd said. Kara was strong. He had real faith in her mental toughness.
"I hope so," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with a napkin. She finished her wine. "Can we get out of here?"
"Sure."
▼
"Staying at your aunt's?" he said as he drove toward the East Side on Twenty-fourth. With all the little businesses closed and no trucks double parked to load and unload, it was an easy trip.
"For now. I don't know what I'm going to do long term. This could be a lengthy siege. I may have to move here."
Rob was ashamed of the tiny surge of delight those words elicited. He knew how she hated the city.
She said, "During the day I'll be at Ellen's with Jill.
She'll sleep there, too. But for the time being I'm going to sleep over at Kelly's."
"Alone? Why on earth would you want to do that?"
"I don't. But Dr. Gates suggested it. He said I should spend my nights there until we see how things go. Otherwise I run the risk of Jill seeing me as Janine. I don't want that. What if she had awakened when I was carving those words over her bed? What if she'd tried to talk to me then, someone who looked like her mother but wasn't? I can't risk frightening her like that. Or worse, run the risk of hurting her when I'm Janine."
"How long can that go on?"
"I don't know. Until we're sure the sleeping pills Dr. Gates gave me will keep Janine asleep, too. Then I'll feel safe being in the same house with Jill."
Rob shook his head. This sounded almost like one of those corny old Psycho-type movies. All that was needed now was a walk-on by Betty Davis or Joan Crawford.
But this was no movie.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
Rob surprised himself. Where did that come from? He could feel the small hairs at the back of his neck rise at the thought of meeting the Janine side of Kara.
Kara looked at him, a slight, skeptical smile playing on her lips.
"Thanks, Rob. That's kind of you, but it won't be necessary."
"You can't always do everything on your own, Kara," he said, hiding his hurt at being rejected, and annoyed at his big mouth for setting himself up for it. "Sometimes you have to admit that you need help."
"I know that." Her smiled broadened. "And when I do, you'll be the first one I call."
They said little during the rest of the drive back to her Aunt Ellen's. Rob hoped all along the way that Kara would ask him in for dinner. She didn't.
▼
9:30 P.M.
After dinner, after tucking Jill in and repeating for what seemed like the hundredth time the not-quite-true explanation of why her mother had to sleep at Aunt Kelly's for a few nights, Kara returned to the apartment house on East Sixty-third. Her stomach twisted slowly into a knot as she climbed the front steps. What would tonight bring?
In the vestibule, a business card protruding from the slot in the 2-C mailbox—Kelly's—caught her eye. It was from Ed Bannion.
Kara Wade—
Call me re: Kelly's estate.
E.B.
He'd written his home number on the front.
Kelly's estate? Kelly didn't have an estate. Kara decided to call him tomorrow.
In the apartment, she tried to shed the dread and apprehension that clung to her as she wandered through the empty rooms.
This was where Kelly had tried to fight the same problem. And Kelly had lost.
But Kelly hadn't been taking her sleeping pills—at least that was what Dr. Gates had said. Kara would. She'd take one every night if it proved helpful.
But that wasn't all she'd do.
She marched into Kelly's bedroom and pulled all the sleazy underwear, blouses, sweaters, skirts, and other paraphernalia from under the night tables and dresser and stuffed them into two of the Dagostino bags Kelly had stored between the fridge and the wall. When everything was packed, she took the bags out to the corner of Sixty-third and First and left them under the street light. She was reasonably sure they'd be gone by the time she made it back to the front door of the apartment house. Absolutely sure they'd be gone within the hour.
When she got back to the apartment, she locked the dead bolt and hunted around for a place to hide the key. Dr. Gates had told her that in cases of multiple personalities the quiescent personality was unaware of the other personality's activities during its active phase. Kara didn't know of any other key in Kelly's apartment, so she figured that if Janine should take control during the night, she would not be able to leave the apartment if Kara hid this one well enough.
She finally decided on the right rear corner of the top rack in the oven. Who in their right mind would look there for a key?
Don't ask.
After that she showered. As she lathered up, Rob's words from the afternoon came back to her:
You can't always do everything on your own, Kara.
How many times in her life had she heard that? From her mother and father, from Kelly, from friends. Nobody seemed to understand her. She didn't want to do everything on her own. She wasn't looking to cut herself off. She just wanted to be able to stand free and clear. She'd take help when she couldn't provide it herself—like seeing Dr. Gates for therapy—but what she could do on her own, she would do on her own.
Maybe she'd picked it up from her Amish neighbors, who were "beholding to no one," as they put it. But Kara sensed it went deeper than that. The need for autonomy, to control her own life, seemed to be engraved on her soul. Which made the possibility of another personality taking over at any time—even if it was just for a few seconds—especially loathsome.
She got ready for bed. She wished she could do a little writing but she was exhausted. She didn't think she'd need a sleeping pill, but she was going to follow doctor's orders strictly. At least for now. She took one of Kelly's leftover Halcions, settled in Kelly's bed with one of Kelly's back issues of Rolling Stone, and tried not to think about Kelly. Or Janine. Or how alone and afraid she was. And how comforting it would be to have someone to talk to right now. And how stupid she'd been for refusing Rob's offer to stay the night.
Somewhere between comforting and stupid, Kara fell asleep.
Poor little fool. She came back.
He's absolutely elated. How he gloats and struts! So taken with how clever he is. The Napoleon of Plotters, the Machiavelli of Manipulators.
Makes me ill!
How I'd love to teach the swine a lesson. Thinks I'm helpless, harmless, not the slightest possible threat to his great intellect. I hate that most of all… even if he's right. He knows I'm totally without resources.
No. Perhaps not totally. Have my own intellect. Don't see why I can't manage to be as deceitful and crafty as he. Not beyond my capability to get a message of warning to this new one.
Wouldn't that be wonderful! What a coup! With no resources other than what I can steal and hide, to warn her away from him. Wouldn't that take the wind out of his sails! Oh, he'll punish me, I know, punish me severely, but it would be worth it. Just to show him, to let him know he hasn't beaten me into complete submission. I'm still here. I can still act.
He'll not take me for granted any more after I do this.
If I can indeed do it. Have to try.
First thing I'll need is her address.
February 17
8:06 A.M.
Kara awoke feeling groggy and no
t particularly well rested. She shook herself to full alertness and slipped from the bed. She saw that she was still in the same flannel nightshirt she had put on last night. The bedroom looked the same. No words carved in the walls. She ran her hands over her body. No new bruises or cuts of scrapes. She ran to the bathroom. No writing on the mirror. She checked the living room and the kitchen. No knives on the counter, and the key was still in the oven, exactly where she'd left it.
She slumped against the counter, weak with relief.
"Okay," she said to no one in particular. She thumped her fist on the countertop. "Okay!"
▼
10:00 A.M.
"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Doc," Rob said as he dropped into the chair opposite the desk. Doc Winters peered at him over his reading glasses.
He tapped his desk top with a ballpoint; Navane was inscribed on the barrel.
"You said it was urgent."
"It is, kind of. It's about Dr. Lawrence Gates—"
"What is it with you and Gates? You got something personal against him, Harris?"
Rob was startled by Doc Winters' vehemence.
"Not at all. I've only met him twice. I don't particularly like the man, but it's not personal."
"A lot of people don't like Larry Gates, but that's not a cause for police harassment."
"I'm not harassing anybody! Did he tell you that?"
"No. I haven't had cause to speak to him for a couple of years now, but let me tell you something about Larry Gates. I know he presents this cold surface to the world—"
" 'Cold' is an understatement."
"I won't argue that. I don't know why he does it. I'd think it would be counterproductive to a successful psychiatric practice. But then, financial considerations aren't much of a motivating force in the life of a man of his wealth. And besides, from what I understand, it hasn't adversely effected his patient flow."
Rob said, "I doubt the patient I know would be going to him if it weren't for his special qualifications in the area of her problem."
"That multiple personality you mentioned? Well, as I said, she couldn't be in better hands. But you know, I did see Larry's cold facade crack once: when his brother Gabor contracted pneumonia."
With the mention of Gabor, Rob's interest surged.
"When was that?"
"During Larry's residency—third year, I believe. Gabor caught the flu but didn't kick it. Being an invalid, he quickly developed pneumonia. Larry had one of the pulmonary guys admit him to Downstate so he could keep an eye on his brother while going about his regular duties as a psychiatry resident." Doc Winters leaned forward and pointed his ballpoint at Rob. "He never left the hospital once during Gabor's illness, Harris. He lived there. That's the real Larry Gates."
Rob was surprised. Maybe he had Gates pegged wrong.
"Gabor survived, I gather."
"Yes."
"But died later."
"Years later, somewhere in his forties. His longevity was a testament to the care he received from Larry."
"Why do you say that?"
"Gabor Gati was a nightmare. Grotesquely deformed by multiple congenital defects… nearly blind, aphonic—"
"Pardon?"
"Mute. Couldn't speak. I doubt very much that his intelligence was above the idiot level. His body was bulbous and scoliotic, with atrophic limbs. He was totally dependent. Couldn't feed or clothe or change himself. Quite repulsive, actually. But Larry was intensely devoted to him. He had hidden Gabor from the Nazis and had helped him escape the Commies—he wasn't going to let some lousy bacterium claim his brother." Winters shook his head. "Quite a guy."
"Sure sounds it," Rob said but decided to withhold the Nobel Prize just a little longer.
"Now what was it you wanted to see me about?"
"Gates signed Gabor's death certificate. That struck me as irregular."
Winters' brow furrowed. "In most cases it would be. Highly irregular for a first degree relative to sign. But not illegal. Larry is a licensed M.D. and qualified to sign. And he acted as Gabor's attending physician most of the time, so he would have been most familiar with the particulars of Gabor's medical history. It's a unique case. I don't see anything to get excited about." Rob sighed and rose from the chair. "Neither do I. Just checking. Thanks, Doc."
"It's okay. And relax about Larry Gates. He's dedicated. Hardly ever takes a vacation, from what I hear. A workaholic, perhaps, but a good man."
"If you say so, Doc, that's good enough for me." But that doesn't mean I have to like him.
▼
1:37 P.M.
The voice of Ed Bannion's secretary came through the intercom.
"There's a Kara Wade on seven-six. Says it's personal. "
Ed felt a quick surge of excitement.
"Got it, Nancy." He jabbed the blinking button. "Hello! You're a hard woman to find."
"I went back to Pennsylvania for a while. I got back yesterday. I got your note."
"Yeah." He laughed. "After calling a few dozen times, I figured that was the best way to get hold of you."
"What's this about Kelly's estate?"
"She didn't have a will."
"How do you know?"
"I checked. A will was never filed for her."
"Why would you check?"
Ed detected a note of hostility creeping into Kara's voice. Maybe she thought he'd been prying.
Well, she was right. He had been rooting around for a way to maintain contact with her and had come up with an ingenious solution. He figured that if Kelly Wade was like most single people in her age bracket, she didn't have a will. They hardly ever do. Only if they're married and have kids do they start thinking about who's going to get what they leave behind if they kick the bucket unexpectedly.
He was right. Kelly had died in testate.
"I'm just trying to help, Kara. Trying to repay a debt. Kelly helped my family through her profession, now it's my turn to help Kelly's through my profession."
He'd made up that story about his mother being in the hospital, but what he was about to tell Kara was all true and legally sound. He just had to make sure he didn't come on too strong as he tried to sell her on it.
"If you want to avoid probate, if you want access to her bank account or accounts—I have no idea what she had—you'll have to be named administrator."
"I don't want her money."
"It's not as vulturish as it sounds. She's got bills due, I'm sure—utilities, charge cards, etcetera. They'll need to be paid, otherwise her creditors can take her estate to court."
There was silence on the other end of the line. Ed let it run its course.
"I never thought of that," Kara said finally.
"Of course, you didn't," Ed said, trying to sound jovial. "That's what us legal eagles are for. Besides, if you don't take over her accounts, the Government will. I'm sure you can put them to better use."
"I guess so. What do I do?"
"I'll do most of it. I'll act as your counsel and go before the surrogate and file to have you appointed administrator of Kelly's estate. That should be no problem. Since she had no husband or children, her twin sister is the obvious choice—unless your mother or father protest."
"No one will protest."
"Fine. Then you can pay off her bills from her account, clean out her apartment, take whatever you want to keep as memories, and be fully in the clear legally."
"What will this cost?"
"It's on the house. Quid pro quo. Should I get the paperwork started?"
Say yes! Please say yes!
"All right," she said slowly. "This is very considerate of you."
"Think nothing of it. Now, we'll have to get together and have you sign a few papers. Is tomorrow good for you?"
"Only the afternoon. I have an appointment in the morning."
Ed had to babysit some money men from the West Coast all afternoon and evening tomorrow.
"How about Thursday?"
"Thursday would be bett
er. I have the whole day free."
"Good. I'll meet you at Kelly's and we'll go someplace for lunch."
