by Davis Bunn
Asha spoke as calmly as she could manage. “You think he structured his story around information he gleaned about your grandfather. The claim of having suffered from pleurisy was merely a means of tying the two of them together.”
“I had not thought . . .” His gaze locked on her. “You don’t actually believe him.”
“Of course not,” Asha replied slowly. “But I also think there is more at work than Luke simply weaving a series of lies around your past.”
“Whatever his motivations, Benoit has trampled over the boundaries that maintain safe limits within the patient-doctor relationship. He has created a potentially dangerous situation.”
“I agree,” Asha said quietly. “What I do not agree with is your response.”
Dino stared at her, still standing behind his desk. Blinking slowly.
“We need to decide what is best for the patient. And the only way this can be determined is if you calm yourself.” Asha gave that a beat. “I suggest you start by sitting down.”
After a long moment he fumbled his way into his chair.
Asha hated taking the step. But she saw no alternative.
She reversed their roles.
“The symptoms of dissociative identity are hotly disputed,” she said. Her voice was unemotional, like a clinician lecturing to a student. “But one trait is certain, because it is shared with other delusional states. The patient seeks to convince others that his reality is the true reality.”
Dino did not respond. He did not even blink.
“The correct response is clinically established,” Asha went on. “The only response that has been proven to work. A high level of trust must be built between patient and clinician. Only then is the patient willing to reveal whatever internal crisis fuels his delusion.”
Dino remained silent.
“You do not challenge. You do not provoke. You do not arrest. That only invites further conflict. And violence.”
Dino’s voice was cold. “And I say he is a menace.”
Asha pointed at the phone. “So make your call. Tonight he’s locked up. Tomorrow he appears in court with his attorney. You tell the judge Luke Benoit has researched your family’s past. The judge then sees a young man who is utterly calm. Completely in control. Responding to every question the court might place before him with intelligence and restraint. What happens then, Dino?”
Her boss did not reply.
“The court will have no choice but to let him go. Only now we have lost contact. So when he does lose control, when his delusion is fractured, what then? Because we both know it’s coming. And we also know we need to be there to keep Luke from exploding and harming others.”
CHAPTER 23
Lucius carried a heavy sense of isolation with him during the four and a half blocks back to his guesthouse. The walk was long enough for him to accept the simple fact that Dino and Asha were not on his side, and probably never would be. Of course he had expected nothing less. Few people would believe such a wild tale as his. Given half a chance, the hospital’s chief clinician would lock him up. Lucius made a mental note to phone the attorney. He had to get plans . . .
He stopped there at the entrance and turned so that he faced straight into the sunlight. The notion was so self-evident, now that it had occurred to him. He had to do things. He had to take control. He was here, this was happening, and he needed to . . .
Lucius stopped by the front desk and asked for a pad and pen. He entered the central courtyard and sat at one of the iron tables between the restaurant and the fountain. He had always been good at making lists and putting ideas into motion. This had been the foundation for much of his former success.
The young computer genius passed by, his mother in tow. The boy waved at Lucius, the mother frowned. Lucius smiled and returned to his writing. He found a singular comfort in watching the precise script take form.
There had never been a time when planning things out was more important than now.
* * *
There was an established pattern to Sonya’s departures. Asha escorted her grandmother down the front walk and carried Sonya’s overnight satchel, a vintage Hermès that Asha had found in a local flea market. The gold plating had long since worn off the hinges and the leather corners were scuffed. Asha had accused the seller of dealing in fakes and paid next to nothing. But Sonya was certain that it was an original prewar Hermès, and treated it as a prized possession. Asha set the valise in Sonya’s trunk, kissed her grandmother on both cheeks, and said, “Thank you so much for coming. I’m just so very, very sorry—”
“Hush, my darling child. If I am to involve myself in your life, I must accept the imperfections. Which are few and far between, I assure you.”
Asha found herself staring at the sunlit space where Jeffrey’s Ferrari had been parked the previous afternoon. “Shame we can’t say the same about the men in my life.”
“But that one is not in your life any longer,” Sonya corrected. “And you handled yourself extremely well, I must say. Both with that Jeffrey, and during the evening that followed.” Sonya hesitated, then said, “I find Luke to be a most intriguing gentleman.”
“Don’t tell me you believe his story.”
“What I believe . . .” Sonya stopped when Asha’s phone rang.
Asha checked the readout because she had been waiting hours for this call. “It’s Dino. I need to take this.”
“Please thank him again for the lovely evening. And one thing more.”
She answered the phone, told Dino to wait a moment, then said to Sonya, “Yes?”
“You must phone your mother.”
Asha sighed. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” Sonya gave her granddaughter a swift hug. “I will be somewhat delayed getting home. I’ll call you when I arrive.”
Asha wanted to ask where Sonya was going, and why it made her smile to be headed there. But her boss was still waiting on the phone. So once Sonya had shut the driver’s door, Asha said, “Yes, Dino.”
“I owe you an apology.”
Asha waved as her grandmother pulled away from the curb. “For what?”
“That is twice your patient has gotten under my skin. And twice you saved me from a potentially serious mistake.”
Asha played at an overly casual tone. “What mistake is that?”
He sighed. “Taking action where the hospital’s attorneys might become involved would open an enormous can of worms.”
Asha waited.
Dino finished, “And do our patient no good whatsoever.”
She nodded to the sunlight. That was what she had been waiting to hear. “We also failed to address the Jessica Wright issue.”
Dino was silent, then confessed, “I totally forgot.”
“I know.”
“What have you done?”
“So far, nothing.”
“He’s bound to find out. That is, if he didn’t base his fable upon knowing who this woman is.”
“I agree.”
“When are you going to see him again?”
“I had planned to phone tomorrow afternoon and set up appointments for next week.”
“He must come in for therapy.”
“Yes, Dino. I won’t threaten. But I will make clear he understands his options are limited.”
“Asha . . .”
“Yes?”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
The air around her condensed. She was about to beg off, but her grandmother’s statement in the café whispered in the tree limbs overhead. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
It was Dino’s turn to hesitate. “I have not been on many dates since the divorce. I don’t even know what the proper protocol might be.”
“Don’t call it ‘protocol’ for a start,” Asha replied. “It’s too clinical.”
“Yes, Asha. I am asking you out on a date. Will you accept?”
It felt as though the sunlight drew the smile from her. “It would be my pleasu
re.”
CHAPTER 24
The inn’s receptionist was an attractive young woman with an intelligent can-do attitude. Lucius had always sought out such people for his top positions. He had hired three women as managers specifically for this reason, though it had created no end of hostility with some of the men. One of the elements he most liked about this new world was how women and people of all races appeared to be coming into their own.
A new world it most certainly was.
“Can I help you?”
“I would like to hire some hourly workers to help renovate a home that I . . . have inherited.”
“You mean, students?”
“That would be splendid. They need to be self-motivated. I want to give them certain tasks and leave them to work out the details.”
“No problem. The university runs an online notice board. You can post your request, but I suspect you’ll find all the workers you need, just scrolling through the page.”
The woman’s words were perfectly clear. The problem was, Lucius had no idea what they meant.
He was trying to reframe his question when a voice behind him said, “Perhaps I can help.”
* * *
As he led Sonya into the sunlit courtyard, she said, “From the rather grim cast to your features, am I to assume things did not go well at your meeting this morning?”
“Things,” Lucius confirmed, “were fairly awful. Dino patronized me. I became somewhat confrontational. He demanded evidence. I responded by describing my contact with my previous doctor, who happened to be Dino’s grandfather. He was not amused. I left.”
“And Asha?”
“She is firmly in her boss’s corner, I’m sorry to say.”
“Perhaps not. That is, if she didn’t actually come out and say as much.”
“There was no need. It was in her face, her voice, her . . .” Lucius waved it aside. “You’ve said it yourself. She’s a professional. What I’ve told her does not exactly fit inside the professional box.”
Sonya had retrieved her own laptop from her car. She selected a metal table beneath the restaurant awning. The manager emerged, most likely to inform them the restaurant was closed. But he was unable to resist Sonya’s imperious charm. Their table was soon crammed with a formal tea service and a tray of sandwiches.
Sonya proved an excellent teacher. She powered up her computer and showed him how to go online. Then she made Lucius do it all himself. Everything from then on was accomplished by his own hand.
She did not lecture him on how to use her laptop. Instead, she translated. “Each of these phrases written in blue represents a portal. You select the ones that might help you access your end goal. As you search, you need to maintain a balance between your stated destination and the somewhat convoluted path the Internet might take you on. Remember your end goal. That is crucial. Otherwise you will become sidetracked and wind down trails that lead nowhere, as I know all too well.”
She patiently walked him through a Google search, then showed him how to scroll through the Cal Poly’s online notice board. When he identified the students he wanted to hire, Sonya gave him her cell phone and instructed him on how to use it.
With that accomplished, they moved on to the real search.
“Jessica Waverly,” Lucius said.
“Your young woman,” Sonya said. “From before.”
The older woman spoke with a honeyed calm. There was a roughish burr to her low voice, a gift of intimacy and understanding with every spoken word. It suggested to Lucius that beside him sat a lady he could perhaps surprise, but never shock. He asked again, “Do you believe me?”
“You intrigue me,” she replied. Her gaze was as fathomless as it was dark. “And I have not yet found a reason to disbelieve you.”
“I have perhaps discovered evidence that might change everything.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It would be easier if I showed you.” Lucius closed the laptop, then extracted the newspaper from his back pocket. He unfolded it on the table between them.
Sonya’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean to tell me . . .”
“In the months following our breakup, I rewrote my will, leaving all my dealerships to Jessica.”
She traced her hand over the corporate name emblazoned across the top of both pages. “Quarterfield Motors.”
“I asked that ten percent of all profits be sent each year to my sisters in Florida. Otherwise Quarterfield Motors was hers to do with as she wished.” Lucius ran his hands over the newsprint, flattening the surface. “By the looks of things, Jessica might be a very wealthy woman. Which will make my approach all the more difficult.”
Very carefully Sonya lifted the double-page ad and refolded it. She set it on the chair to her left, then opened the laptop. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
CHAPTER 25
For Lucius, returning to Luke Benoit’s home was as awful as he had feared. He endured the tenants’ sickly dread, their false smiles and expressions of relief, because he had no choice.
Lucius thanked the young man who had supposedly saved his life. He assured them the so-called episode was behind him now. He claimed the shock had done him a world of good, and now he was determined to turn his life around. Starting with this house, which was in desperate need of renovation. Lucius then shifted their attention by asking for a list of repairs that needed doing. Starting, of course, with the water-stained ceiling in the back bedroom.
Luke Benoit’s car turned out to be a late-model Kia, whatever that was. The color was probably green, but the car was so filthy it was hard to tell. Both front and rear bumpers were dented. A gouge ran down the passenger side, so deep Lucius doubted he could open the rear door. The right-hand exterior mirror was held in place with electrician’s tape. The interior was a repository for fast-food containers, cups, and wilted fries. The smell was appalling. When his six student workers arrived, Lucius directed one of them to give the car a thorough cleaning. He dreaded the thought of driving it anywhere.
By four that afternoon every stick of furniture had been carried downstairs and loaded into the pickups driven by two of his students. The carpets went next. Lucius was tempted to tear out the bathroom and kitchen as well, but reluctantly decided he would make do with a thorough cleansing and a new fridge. While packing up his supposed belongings, most of which was headed for a charity shop, Lucius came upon a second set of car keys. He returned downstairs and circled around the garage. Beyond a stand of eucalyptus he found a car hidden beneath a bird-stained cover. He swept off several seasons of leaves, untied the cover, and smiled for the first time that day.
The car was a 1968 Jaguar 420G, an upgraded version of the venerable Mark X and one of the finest automobiles ever made. Lucius had been present for the car’s debut at the Los Angeles auto show. The vehicle was equipped with massive disk brakes on all four wheels, Borg Warner automatic transmission, triple SU carburetors, and a Thornton Powr-Lok limited-slip differential. The exterior color was Jaguar’s trademark version of British racing green.
Lucius fitted the key in the lock, opened the door, and slipped behind the wheel. The interior leather was saddle brown and the smell, even with the overlay of dust and age, was exquisite. The mileage counter showed the car had been driven less than four thousand miles. He opened the glove box with its embossed burl-wood finish, and extracted a leather billfold stamped with the Jaguar emblem. Inside were papers declaring that one Denton Benoit had owned this car since new. Lucius shut the papers back in the glove box, rose to his feet, gave the car a careful once-over. All the while, he asked himself how a young man might prefer to hide away such an incredible machine, and instead drive a vehicle he had reduced to a trash heap on wheels.
One of the students was only too happy to put down his tools and drive Lucius to the local shopping center. Lucius did not explain why he was not driving himself, and the student did not ask. From how the young man refused to meet his gaze, Lucius assumed one of his te
nants had been talking. Either that or news of his near-demise had already spread around the university.
Lucius bought the same laptop and phone as Sonya had used. The prices were shocking. The two items cost almost as much as his last car. But the salesclerk ran the items onto his credit card, and wished him a good day.
Next they visited a hardware store that to Lucius appeared like a massive concrete cave. The ceiling was lost to shadows beyond the stalactites of illumination. The student seemed to find nothing odd about the place, so Lucius did his best to ignore the alienness. He ordered paint and brushes and rollers and more cleaning implements and a fridge. He arranged for the store’s carpet expert to come out the next day and take measurements. As he waited in line to pay, he found himself examining this incredible body. He had been on the move for an entire day. His joints did not hurt. His body was both weary and hungry, but pleasantly so.
As he left the hardware shop, he spotted the next store’s name and said, “I’ll meet you at the truck.”
Lucius entered a shop called Running Free and told the salesclerk, “I want everything. I’m recovering from a long illness, you see. I need to equip myself for the first exercise I’ll be having in a very long while.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place,” the young lady replied. “Because that’s exactly what we sell. Everything.”
* * *
As soon as Lucius reentered the upstairs apartment, he knew something was terribly wrong. The students all now showed him the same sense of false cheeriness as his tenants. He was about to ask what was the matter, when their elected spokesman asked, “What do we do with your stash?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He pointed at the bedroom door. “We found it when we were cleaning out your closet.”
“Found what?” Lucius entered the bedroom to discover a trio of glass pipes and a carved wooden box stationed by the closet door. Lucius saw a rear panel had been set to one side, revealing a secret cupboard. He opened the box and heaved a long sigh. Plastic bags held various tablets and powder. The largest held some pungent herb, Lucius assumed it was marijuana.
