Джонатан Келлерман - When the Bough Breaks

As I drove I developed a new theory of evolution. Evil had its own metamorphic intelligence: The sharks and the razor-toothed serpents, the slimy, venomous things that hid in the silt, hadn’t given way in an orderly progression to amphibian, reptile, bird and mammal. A single quantum leap had taken evil from water to land. From shark to rapist, eel to throat-slasher, poison slug to skull-crusher, with bloodlust at the core of the helix.

The darkness seemed to press against me, insistent, fetid. I pushed down harder on the accelerator and forced my way through it.

When I got to the apartment complex, Milo met me at the door.

“She’s just started again.”

I could hear it before I got to the bedroom.

The light was dim. Melody sat upright in her bed, her body rigid, eyes wide open but unfocused. Bonita sat next to her. Towle, in sports clothes, stood on the other side.

The child was sobbing, a wounded animal sound. She wailed and moaned and rocked back and forth. Then the moan picked up volume, gradually, like a siren, until she was screaming, her thin voice a piercing, shrieking assault upon the silence.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Her hair was plastered against her face, slick with sweat. Bonita tried to hold her but she flailed and struck out. The mother was helpless.

The screaming continued for what seemed like forever, then it stopped and she began moaning again.

“Oh, Doctor,” Bonita pleaded, “she’s going at it again. Do something.”

Towle spotted me.

“Maybe Dr. Delaware can help.” His tone of voice was nasty.

“No, no, I don’t want him near her! He caused all of this!”

Towle didn’t argue with her. I could have sworn he looked smug.

“Mrs. Quinn–” I began.

“No. You stay away! Get out!”

Her screaming set Melody off and she began calling for her father again.

“Stop it!”

Bonita went for her, putting her hand over the child’s mouth. Shaking her.

Towle and I moved at the same time. We pulled her off. He took her aside and said something that quieted her down.

I moved next to Melody. She was breathing hard. Her pupils were dilated. I touched her. She stiffened.

“Melody,” I whispered, “it’s Alex. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

As I talked she calmed down. I blabbed on, knowing that what I said was less important than how I said it. I maintained a low, rhythmic pattern of speech, easy-going, reassuring. Hypnotic.

Soon she had slipped lower in the bed. I helped her lie down. Her hands unfolded. I kept talking to her soothingly. Her muscles began to relax and her breathing became slow and regular. I told her to close her eyes and she did. I stroked her shoulder, continued to talk to her, to tell her everything was all right, that she was safe.

She snuggled into a fetal position, drew the covers over her, and placed her thumb in her mouth.

“Turn off the light,” I said. The room became dark. “Let’s leave her alone.” The three of them left.

“Now you’re going to continue sleeping, Melody, and you’ll have a very peaceful, restful night, with good dreams. When you wake up in the morning you’ll feel very good, very rested.”

I could hear her snoring ever so slightly.

“Goodnight, Melody.” I leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

She mumbled one word.

“Dada.”

I closed the door to her room. Bonita was in the kitchen, wringing her hands. She wore a frayed man’s terrycloth robe. Her hair had been pulled back in a bun and covered with a scarf. She looked paler than I remembered as she busied herself cleaning up.

Towle bent over his black bag. He clicked it shut, stood and ran his fingers through his hair. Seeing me he raised himself up to his full height and glared down, ready to give another lecture.

“I hope you’re happy,” he said.

“Don’t start,” I warned him. “No I-told-you-so’s.”

“You can see why I was reluctant to tamper with this child’s mind.”

“Nobody tampered with anything.” I could feel tension rising in my gut. He was every hypocritical authority figure I’d detested.

He shook his head condescendingly.

“Obviously your memory needs some polishing.”

“Obviously you’re a sanctimonious prick.”

The blue eyes flashed. He tightened his lips.

“What if I bring you up before the ethics committee of the State Medical Board?”

“You do that, Doctor.”

“I’m seriously considering it.” He looked like a Calvinist preacher, all stern and tight and self righteous.

“You do it and we’ll get into a little discussion on the proper use of stimulant medication with children.”

He smiled.

“It will take more than you to tarnish my reputation.”

“I’m sure it will.” My fists were clenched. “You’ve got legions of loyal followers. Like that woman in there.” I pointed toward the kitchen. “They bring their kids to you, human jalopies, and you tinker with them, give ’em a quick tune-up and a pill; you fix them to their specifications. Make them nice and quiet, compliant, and obedient. Drowsy little zombies. You’re a goddamn hero.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” He moved forward.

“No you don’t, hero. But why don’t you go in there and tell her what you really think of her? Piss poor protoplasm, and let’s see – bad genes, no insight.”

He stopped in his tracks.

“Easy, Alex.” Milo spoke from the corner, cautiously.

Bonita came in from the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” she wanted to know. Towle and I were facing each other like boxers after the bell.

He changed his manner and smiled at her charmingly. “Nothing, my dear. Just a professional discussion. Doctor Delaware and I were trying to decide what was best for Melody.”

“What’s best is no more hypnotizing. You told me that.”

“Yes.” Towle tapped his foot, tried not to look uncomfortable. “That was my professional opinion.” He loved that word, professional. “And it still is.”

“Well, you tell him that.” She pointed at me.

“That’s what we were discussing, dear.”

He must have been just a little too smooth, because her face got tight and her voice lowered suspiciously.

“What’s to discuss? I don’t want him or him–” the second jab was at Milo “–around here no more.” She turned to us. “You try and be a good Samaritan and help the cops and you get the shaft! Now my baby’s got the seizures and she’s screamin’ and I’m gonna lose my place. I know I’m gonna lose it!”

Her face crumpled. She buried it in her hands and began to cry. Towle moved in like a Beverly Hills gigolo, putting his arms around her, consoling her, saying now, now.

He guided her to the couch and sat her down, standing over her, patting her shoulder.

“I’m gonna lose my place,” she said into her hands. “They don’t like noise here.” She uncovered her face and looked wet-eyed up at Towle.

“Now, now, it’s going to be all right. I’ll see to that.”

“But what about the seizures!?”

“I’ll see to that, too.” He gave me a sharp look, full of hostility and, I was sure, a bit of fear.

She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I don’t understand why she has to wake up screaming Daddy Daddy! That bastard’s never been around to lift a finger or give me a cent of child support! He has no love for her! Why does she cry for him, Doctor Towle?” She looked up at him, a novitiate beseeching the pope.

“Now, now.”

“He’s a crazy man, that Ronnie Lee is. Look at this!” She tore the scarf from her head, shook her hair loose and lowered her head exposing the top of it. Giving a whimper she parted the strands at the center of her crown. “Look at this!”