by Alex Barclay
‘I guess Lucinda Kerr was there to support her ex-husband.’ Cliff gave a shrug. ‘Like I said, they were still friends.’
‘Maybe she’s one of those professional mourners,’ said Ren. ‘Maybe she’s so rich, she has to find new things to amuse herself, and showing up at funerals is her thing.’
There was more footage of the crowd and then it was back to the regular news.
‘Did you see Lucinda Kerr’s father there?’ said Ren, gesturing toward the television. ‘Old Mr Kerr?’
‘No,’ said Cliff.
‘She looked like she was on her own.’ Ren frowned. ‘Wouldn’t she have been with her father if it was a business connection? Or a charity thing? Maybe she plays golf with Douglas Hammond. Or…’
Cliff looked at her. ‘Sometimes your mind moves at such a speed, I feel like I’m on a car chase and you’re all over the road, taking all these side streets and I keep losing you…’
Mortifying.
‘Ren Bryce, you are actually blushing,’ said Cliff. ‘I meant it as a compliment. It’s like you have these bursts of thoughts and—’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t say them all out loud?’
‘Exactly,’ said Colin.
Cliff put his arm around Ren and squeezed her shoulder. ‘There are always a few gems in there.’
‘Your screwdriver is sticking into me,’ said Ren.
‘Nah,’ said Cliff. ‘I’m just happy to see you.’
Ren arrived home late that evening. As she walked up the path, she could see a yellow envelope lying on the wet tiles of the front porch. She picked it up and brought it inside. She dropped her bag and slid out the thin document. The title page was on Helen Wheeler’s headed notepaper with Patient: Ren Bryce written underneath.
Ren’s heart started to pound.
What the fuck is this?
She started to read it. Oh no. These were Helen’s notes. And they were not in shorthand.
Ren’s stomach turned. Her legs were weak, her hands shaking.
What is this? Who left this here?
She grabbed the envelope and flipped it over as if there would be a sender’s address. Anything to delay reading what was in front of her. She eventually put the title page to one side and started to read:
Patient B, Special Agent Ren Bryce, first presented to me in 2007, having spent the previous nine years under the care of three different psychiatrists for bipolar disorder. During that time, she spent periods on and off medication, but declined psychotherapy until a month into her treatment with me.
OK…that’s OK.
Ren continued to read.
Ren Bryce has expressed overpowering feelings of guilt following a serious transgression during her time as an undercover agent with the Val Pando crime organization in 1998/9. Agent Bryce concealed vital information from her contact agent and still appears to be distressed by this. This was a period of high stress in Agent Bryce’s career and leaves me with concerns as to her capacity, then and now, to perform as an agent.
In 2008, Agent Bryce carried on a sexual relationship with a confidential informant during a homicide investigation in which he was a suspect. In the course of this, she experienced delusional thoughts and repeatedly engaged in risky behavior.
During this time, Agent Bryce has consistently refused medication and after a recent period of psychosis, failed to fill her prescription for the anti-psychotic drug Zyprexa.
Following a careful analysis of Agent Bryce’s mental state, my recommendation is that she should be withdrawn from service as an FBI agent, pending further notice.
It is my considered opinion that Agent Bryce is a danger both to herself and to her colleagues.
Ren sat motionless on the stairs. She stared at Helen’s signature at the bottom of the page. And she knew one thing: this could not have been written by Helen Wheeler.
Could it?
30
Billy Waites was sitting at a table in the corner of the Hotel Teatro bar, where he and Ren had once spent the night. He had traveled from Breckenridge and had made it in the hour-and-a-half he had promised when she made the emergency call.
When she saw him, something shot through Ren that she couldn’t file; love, lust, sadness, pain. Billy looked up – nothing else moved, just those pale eyes.
Lust, sadness and pain. Love? There were too many months of burying the break-up to work that out.
Billy Waites had that tattooed thing. Ren hated the idea of tattoos, had talked friends out of getting tattoos, had talked herself out of getting a tattoo. But the right kind of man with a tattoo? It was a beautiful kind of dirty. And to contrast with the worked-out body and the ink, Billy Waites had a smile like a child on his birthday. Heart-melting. Ren smiled back.
Here we are again.
Billy pushed his big parka up along the leather seat to make room, but Ren sat opposite him.
‘Hello, mister,’ she said.
‘Hello,’ said Billy. ‘Not even a peck?’
‘I’m too nervous. Look at my hands. What’s wrong with me?’
‘Aw,’ said Billy, and squeezed them between his.
‘Thanks. You look…’ amazing ‘…great.’
‘So do you.’
‘Ugh,’ said Ren. ‘I can not thank you enough for meeting me. I’m a mess.’
‘How are you doing?’ said Billy. ‘What’s up?’
‘Oh, Billy. Lots of things.’
‘Well, it is you, after all.’
‘I know.’ Ren paused. ‘It’s so great to see you.’ And already it’s killing me.
Billy was two feet away, across the table. How strange life is. A body you knew so well, but you no longer had the right to touch the same way. That strange physical space between two people that they spend their first encounters trying to close. Then, bam, it’s over and you bounce back to where you were in the first place as if it had never happened.
The arms. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ren. ‘I don’t know what it is about your arms.’ They fuck with my head.
Billy glanced down at them. ‘And I’m not even flexing.’ He flexed.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Ren. ‘I’m not in this for your personality.’
He laughed. ‘In what?’
‘Ooh,’ she said, ‘you’re quick.’ Quicker than me, clearly. She let her head fall to the table. He rubbed it gently. She looked up at him. ‘You’re like a bottle of champagne that I don’t want to pop the cork on.’
‘So you’re saying I don’t exist?’
Ren laughed. ‘Just – if I open the bottle…’
‘It’ll spray everywhere?’ said Billy. He raised his eyebrows.
‘Why did I say champagne?’ said Ren. ‘In fact, why did I come out with a Danielle Steele-style analogy in the first place?’
‘Yes. I think your relationship with champagne is more clear-cut than ours ever was…’
‘That’s kind of mean,’ said Ren. ‘And true.’
‘At least champagne never makes you feel bad.’
‘Hey, neither do you.’
‘But caring about me did.’
‘Big fat no to the therapy,’ said Ren. ‘I’m currently of the opinion that dwelling on my problems is making me feel worse.’
‘So, what’s up?’
Ren looked around. ‘Maybe we should go somewhere quieter. I’m not comfortable talking here. Why don’t you come to the house I’m sitting? It’s not far.’
‘Sure.’
He locked eyes with Ren; beautiful nervous eyes. A muscle on his bicep twitched. Ren’s gaze was drawn towards it.
She looked at him again. Billy Waites smiled.
No. More. Men: Rewind. Pause.
Ren and Billy sat side by side on Annie’s deeply uncomfortable sofa.
‘OK. Billy, I’m in trouble.’
His eyes immediately filled with concern. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She looked around. ‘OK…a file arrived on my doorstep tonight – a file whose contents I was familiar with. I’m talking about
a personal file that no one should have had access to, but they did. Someone has doctored the file. Very well. Elements of truth and then total bullshit. But I’m the only one who can tell the difference. The person who was supposed to have written the file is dead. And I have no idea if anyone else has read it. But, if a particular person has read it – as may be the case – I’m screwed. Because that person is also dead. So…’ She shrugged.
‘You’re shaking.’ He took her hands again. ‘You need a drink or something. You’re in shock.’
‘I…Billy…I’m looking at…it’s all over for me. I’m…’
‘Do you want to tell me what this file is, Ren? And who these people are?’
Oh, God. If I say them out loud, then those names are out there. And what if I can’t even trust you?
They sat in silence until Ren finally started to talk. ‘My psychiatrist, Helen Wheeler, disappeared the night of my last appointment with her. My swipe card was used to gain access to the crime scene the night before the body was found. The judge, Douglas Hammond, who wanted to access Helen’s patient files was murdered. And my doctored psych file is like one big finger pointed in my direction. And…there’s other stuff. None of it looks good.’
‘Who do you think is doing this?’
‘I don’t want to say. Until I have at least some proof.’
‘There is a way out of this, Ren. I know there is. We will work something out here. I’ll do what I can to help you.’
‘I’m worried that there’ll be more,’ said Ren. ‘I need to get a few steps ahead of everyone, so I can find out what the hell’s going on.’
‘It sounds like the first thing to do is to stop anyone getting access to these files.’
‘Which has been made very hard by the judge dying…And that’s not the only thing…’
She told him about Beau. Billy wrapped his arms around her and held her until she fell asleep. He carried her upstairs, put her to bed, kissed her forehead and slept in the bed beside hers.
31
Ren woke up, momentarily confused by the rumpled bed beside hers. She got dressed in jeans that hung from her hips, a gray sweater and pink socks and went downstairs. As she reached the hallway, she could hear Billy opening the refrigerator, then opening and shutting cupboards.
‘Unless you’re planning to bake a cake, I’d venture you’ll come up empty in this kitchen,’ said Ren.
‘But you cook,’ said Billy, turning around.
‘Not when (a) I’m too busy and (b) I’m falling apart. My appetite is gone.’
‘If I get supplies, will you eat something?’ said Billy. ‘Pancakes?’
‘Ooh. I don’t think I’ve ever said no to pancakes.’
‘OK.’ He went to walk past her.
‘Can I have a hug?’ said Ren.
He stopped. ‘Sure you can.’ He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight.
‘Thanks,’ said Ren, stepping back. She sat against the kitchen table. ‘Oh, Billy. I feel paralyzed by all this.’
‘Don’t worry. It will all work out.’
‘God, I really want it to. I want to be fast-forwarded to a time when this is all over. But you know when you try to fast-forward a DVD, only you hit the next episode button instead and suddenly you’re past the end and the screen is black…And there’s no more story?’
‘And then you hit the menu button and the little circle that says it’s not allowed. Or you end up in the extras, finding out more of the plot than you need to before you’ve seen it and then—’
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
‘Hey, I love how you explain things to me using everyday technological devices,’ said Billy.
‘Do I do that a lot?’
He nodded. ‘But don’t stop. Remember you described your reaction to something as “like the noise that Skype makes when it opens”? I loved that.’ He caught her expression. ‘OK, back to the DVD. Can you see the theme in all this?’
‘Yes,’ said Ren, eventually. ‘A loss of control. Being at the mercy of something else.’
Billy nodded.
‘But that’s just who I am,’ said Ren.
‘Which is fine. But…workable on…’
Ren said nothing.
‘I mean this in the nicest possible way, Ren, but you’re a little spoilt with the control thing. You have that power automatically with your job. And, let’s face it, you call the shots in relationships a lot.’
‘That sounds terrible.’
‘I don’t mean it to.’
‘And it’s not true.’
Billy paused. ‘OK…’
‘I don’t like that. I don’t want to be that way. Anyway, we’re getting sidetracked. None of this is about relationships. Someone is trying to fuck me up. And I’m here having distracting conversations with you. I am a pro at that, Billy. I am all-singing, all-dancing, all-dying inside. And I am close to losing my mind.’
‘You’re not going to lose your mind, Ren.’
‘Do you know something?’ she said. ‘Mazes freak me out. They always have. There was a maze near my home when I was a kid and in summer, lots of the other kids had their birthday parties at the park where it was at. And I would play sick. Every time. I would even play sick in the middle of the parties. Well, after the cake, at least…’
Billy smiled.
‘Mazes terrify me,’ said Ren. ‘And however many years on, they still do. And right now, I feel like I’m in one. Dropped right into the middle. Everywhere I turn, I’m hitting a wall and the walls are moving towards me and the ground is shifting under me and the sky is slowly coming down and the oxygen is being sucked out of the air.’
‘Well, you’re safe here. It’s a big house, but it’s fairly easy to navigate.’
Ren looked at him. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Don’t tell me – you want me to pick you up a compass at the store.’
‘Nope,’ said Ren. ‘I would like to know…why did you sleep in the other bed last night? I’m not saying I wanted anything to happen…’
He smiled. ‘I wasn’t going to take advantage of a woman in distress.’
‘Aw.’
‘But also…I’m seeing someone.’
Something sank inside Ren. Nooooo. ‘Oh. Wow. Since when?’
‘Not long. Just two, three months. I’m not sure if it’s going anywhere, but she’s a very nice lady and I wouldn’t want to hurt her like that. Or you. Or me, for that matter.’
‘Well, she’s a very lucky lady.’
Is she prettier/thinner/funnier/taller/smarter/sexier/more emotionally stable than me? Does she have better skin/hair/teeth/clothes/shoes/body? ‘What’s her name?’
‘Edith.’
Oh. Dear. ‘That’s…’
‘Beyond your powers of laughter suppression clearly.’ Billy smiled.
‘You have to admit, it’s a bummer of a name.’ Ren paused. ‘Like I can talk.’
‘Well, she doesn’t look like an Edith.’
Which means she is prettier/thinner/funnier/taller/smarter/sexier/more emotionally stable than me with better skin/hair/teeth/clothes/shoes and body.
Billy went to the store, came back and made breakfast. Ren managed to eat. They sat, talking, in the living room.
‘Hey, look at you,’ said Billy, pointing to the Bryce family photo. He walked over. ‘What a cutie.’
‘Mom made that suit, before you ask.’
‘Who’s this dude?’ said Billy, smiling back at her.
Ren leaned over to see where he was pointing. ‘That would be my eldest brother, Jay.’
‘You’ve never mentioned him. So tell me – did he run away and join the circus in those pants and you’ve never seen him again?’
Ren laughed.
Billy sat down beside her. Ren slid back into the corner of the sofa and turned to face him. ‘Jay and I…don’t really get along.’
‘Ah,’ said Billy. ‘Why?’
‘Well, he broke my cardinal rule. He betrayed my confidence
a few times too many. And I…don’t trust him. We just clash. Much like our outfits in that picture. I never realized that. There it is, preserved in a photo – Jay and I clashed from very early on.’
‘Go on,’ said Billy.
‘OK, this sounds petty, but it sums him up…when he was fifteen, he started drinking, just a little, because our parents were so strict. But then he was like all his friends and he’d go out and get wasted every weekend. He drafted me in to lie for him, hide empty bottles, distract my parents when he was climbing in or out his window. I defended him if they asked too many questions. I hated it. I’m a bad liar and I used to be so stressed out because of it. Like, physically sick with worry. Then, when I was sixteen, I went to my friend’s house and we had two beers from her parents’ liquor cabinet. Two beers. On the way back to my house, I met Jay. The following day, I had to sit in my living room with my parents, my best friend and her parents to listen to this lecture on the dangers of alcohol and the disappointment they all felt in knowing that their daughters had been stealing. I found out later from Matt that Jay had gone to my parents and said “I think Ren has been drinking.” Can you believe that?’
‘That’s pretty shitty. But it can’t have been the only reason you’re not close.’
‘It just shows the type of person he was,’ said Ren. ‘And still is. He over-rides everyone. He decides what is right. So if you tell him not to tell someone something, he will say “sure” and then you’ll find out he has told them, because he believes they should know. I tell him almost nothing any more.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘I know. I’ve tried to reach out. He’s…he’s just in his own world.’
‘Right.’
‘I just think you have to accept what’s important to other people and respect it, whether you understand it or not. Trust and confidence are important to me, so Jay should respect that. Even if I tell him something and he is thinking “Wow, why would Ren not want to tell X about her promotion in work?” He should just know by me telling him to keep something quiet, that I have a reason for that. And it’s a reason I don’t have to tell anyone if I don’t want to.’
