Robert Walker - Extreme Instinct

Again J. T. held her, trying to absorb her pain. In a moment she pulled away, dabbing tears from her eyes with a handkerchief that appeared to have seen a great deal of use this night. It was nearing 3:00 a.m.

She stepped away from him, bent, and lifted a notepad she'd been working on before he'd arrived. "Oh, by the way, J. T., look at this and give me your appraisal. I've had a lot of time on my hands here, and I've been reading Dante's Inferno, and the killer's list, all the missing pieces, you know?''

He reached out for the proffered notebook, nodding. "Yeah, what about the missing pieces?"

"I think I know what they are, what they'll be when they come."

J. T. gaped at her, the notepad half in his hands, half in hers. She wanted to push it fully into his hands like a hot potato.

The notepad was filled with the information she wished to share with Thorpe, information no one else had. "Working this out is the only thing that's kept me sane in this place, waiting word on Warren," she told him. "Go ahead, check my work. What do you think? You think the killer's final list will look like this?" She tore off a sheet from the notepad she held in her hand.

J. T. stared at the long list Jessica had completed. He sat down, holding the list before him, simply whistling aloud. The notepad read:

#1 is #9-Traitors

#2 is #8-Malicious Frauds

#3 is #7-Violents

#4 is #6-Heretics

#5 is #5-Wrathful amp; Sullen

#6 is #4-Avaricious amp; Prodigal

#7 is #3-Gluttonous

#8 is #2-Lustful

#9 is #1-(the last victim?) sent into

Limbo… through the Vestibule and over the River Acheron "Avaricious and Prodigal, Gluttonous and Lustful, you know the labels now from your research." J. T. scrunched up his eyes and asked, "The Vestibule? Vestibule? To where? And the River Acheron?"

"Entryway to Hell," she explained. "Hellsmouth, like Mammoth, maybe. Something he said over the phone to me once. I need to get to an atlas."

"Do you mean to tell me that this… all this has been some elaborate scheme simply to find a way to tell Jessica Coran to.. to go to Hell?"

"Very funny, my friend, but I think he has more in mind than that; I believe he wants to personally send me to Hell. Here." She tore off a second sheet from her notepad. "Take a look at this, too."

J. T. now stared at a set of concentric circles, each circle representing a level in Hades, or in the mind of the killer… or both. The notepaper read:

The Rungs of Hell

A solemn, overweight doctor in sneakers and green scrubs entered the waiting room, and Jessica leaped to her feet. The doctor explained that his portion of the operation- the intestinal tract-was finished, but that there were other complications, and that their vigil could go on for another two or three hours. "Sorry," finished the doctor, "but he was badly chewed up, internally."

"Any improvement on his prognosis, Doctor?" asked Jessica.

"I'm afraid not."

"Then it'll be hours before he's out of intensive care."

"Yes, it will. Again, I'm sorry I can't have better news for you."

Jessica knew she didn't have that kind of time, not if she wished to catch a killer, yet her heart tugged at her to be here with Warren should he recover. Should he… She banned her final thought.

A male nurse entered and asked if there was a Doctor Jessica Coran in the waiting room. "Telephone call at the desk for you,'' he announced.

Jessica looked from the nurse to J. T., a birdlike fear flitting before her mind's eye, a thought fully formed: Who knows I'm here?

J. T., reading her thoughts, supplied an answer: "Santiva's got to have had word by now on what's happened here. He'll want a full report."

Jessica nodded and asked the nurse to lead the way. She followed the young man to the nurses' station; he pointed to a small, enclosed office, saying, "You can take it in there."

Being alone in the room with the phone was like standing in a pit with a snake. She stared at the waiting phone where it blinked and winked up at her. Finally, she took the receiver in hand and pounced on the hold button. "Hello."

Santiva barked, "Jessica, what in hell's going on there? I thought you said this Bishop fellow was top drawer, and now I learn he's compromised an entire operation?"

"Eriq, I don't know what was going down with Warren," she lied, not wishing to discuss it now, and certainly not over the phone. ''All we know for certain is that he may not make it through the night, and even if he does, he'll be paralyzed, possibly for life." She choked on the facts.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Damn it, and just when we've gotten a line on what the list is getting at, too, Jessica."

"Oh, really?"

''A Professor William Milton Jarvis, Medieval Studies Department at Georgetown University, tracked it to-"

"Really, my old alma mater? Don't tell me," she replied, spoiling his moment, "Dante's Inferno, right?"

"How did you know? Damn it, you're always a step ahead."

"It finally dawned on me," she half-lied, no time for detailed long-distance explanations. "And I've been reading the book since. We'll fax you our latest suspicions and an updated list as soon as possible."

"I'm coming out there to be with you," he countered.

"It's not necessary, Eriq."

"I think it is, at this juncture, absolutely necessary. I'm flying out to Salt Lake."

"Well, if you must come, make it Wyoming."

"Wyoming?"

"Jackson Hole."

"Where the president vacations?"

"One and the same. Ever been there?"

"A splendid, beautiful area, and yes, I've been there and I know how to get there from here, yes."

"There are nine rungs of Hell, Eriq, and this guy appears to be populating each with each of his victims. He's going to kill at least three, possibly four more times before he ends it, if we allow him to. Is it too damn much to hope we end it?"

"I want to be on hand, help any way I can, Jess. I'll meet you in Jackson Hole. Meanwhile, fax any new developments to the BSU; I can't sit idly by any longer, Jess. And Jess-"

"Yes?"

"I am one step ahead of you on one lead we got on this guy."

"What kind of a lead?" She remained skeptical.

"How about a name?"

"A name?"

"Feydor Dorphmann, spelled…" He slowed to spell the name accurately for her.

At her end, Jessica took time to write it down.

"How did you get the man's name? How accurate is this information?"

"Right on, Jess. We sent his ugly little cryptograms to all major mental health facilities in the country, as you suggested, and bingo, up comes one in San Francisco called the Lombardh Institute for the Mentally Insane, where this Dorphmann character lived for a time."

"For a time?"

"Eight years without harming a soul. Then he's released-"

"Released when?"

"Seven months ago, and not three months passed when one of his doctors, a guy named Wetherbine, Dr. Stuart Wetherbine, is stabbed repeatedly with a knife and set aflame in an alleyway. Coincidence?"

"No one in San Francisco put those two facts together?"

"Dorphmann disappeared. He's been wanted ever since, but no one's seen him."

Jessica thought about the time line. "He murders his doctor three months after release, then four months pass before he goes on his kill spree? Not your usual serial killer, Eriq. Tell me, what was he in for?''

"Self-inflicted wounds-burning himself. Seems he's something of a masochist. Also delusional, something about seeing aliens behind his eyelids, that sort of thing."

"Aliens?"

"Aliens, elves, creatures from Hell, you name it."

"So his family committed him to the institution?"