Michael Prescott - Riptide

“As if you don’t know. You’re working with her.”

“With who?”

“That busybody, that bitch. I saw you talking to her.”

“Sandra Price? So what if I talked to her?”

“I know what she’s up to. She’s after me.”

“Why would she be after you? You haven’t done anything. Have you?”

“Who knows what I’ve done?”

“You’ve been going out at night. Late at night. Where do you go?”

“ You’d like to know. But I’ll never tell.”

“Richard, I’m afraid for you.”

“You should be afraid of me.”

“Why? Would you hurt me?” There was no answer. “Have you hurt other people?”

“You always hurt the ones you love.”

“Who have you hurt, Richard?”

“Ask your friend Sandra.”

“She doesn’t know the first thing about you.”

“Oh, she knows . I see the posters she puts all over the neighborhood. Posters with my picture on them.”

Jennifer had seen those posters, printed by C.A.S.T. They featured a computer-generated sketch of the suspect in a series of robberies. The picture was generic enough to look like almost anybody. It bore no particular resemblance to Richard, except in his mind.

“That’s not you,” she said. “That’s somebody else.”

“I know my own goddamned face.”

“Richard, you need to get back on your medication.”

“Sure, I know what that’s about. Keep me doped up so I won’t suspect what’s going on.”

“What do you think is going on?”

“You’re trying to frame me. You and Sandra Price. You want to put me in jail.”

“I don’t want you in jail.”

“Liar.”

“I’ve gone by your place a couple of times, and you’re never there. Why don’t you go home?”

“I am home. I’m home right now.”

“I hear traffic. You’re at a pay phone.”

“Guess I can’t put one over one you, can I?”

“You can’t stay out on the street. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m safe as long as you can’t find me. You and Sandra Price.”

“Richard, you’re smarter than this. You know you’re not thinking clearly.”

“All I know is what I saw tonight. You and Sandy, best pals. It explains a lot. You helped her put up those pictures of me. I’ll bet it was your idea. But I’m on to you now.”

Hearing him talk like this-it broke her heart. Once again she tried to get an answer to her question. “What do you do at night?”

“I walk. I ride the bus.”

That was responsive, at least. “Where do you go?”

“I get around.”

“Where?”

“Around and around and around…”

“Have you been to mom and dad’s graves?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Did you see me there this morning? Did you leave something on my car?”

“Like bird shit?”

“Did you leave a note?”

“Yes, it was C minor.”

“Richard, I want to know if you left a note on my windshield.”

“You ask stupid questions. You’ve always been stupid and useless. I was the smart one. I’m the real doctor. I’m an M.D.”

“Just tell me if you were at the graveyard today.”

“So you can track my movements? Put a homing beacon on me?”

“How about my house? Have you been here? Have you been inside the house?”

“It’s not your house. It’s mine. It should have been mine.”

“Did you break in? Did you come here after the rally-”

“Serves you right if I did. You shouldn’t be mixed up with her. She’s against me. If she’s your friend, it means you’re against me too.”

“Richard, I want you to listen to me. The posters don’t have your picture on them. Nobody is looking for you because of any crimes. I’m not working with Sandra Price.”

“I saw you with her. Who am I supposed to believe, you or my own eyes? You want me put away, and you want my money. You want the money I inherited from Mom.”

“There’s hardly any money left.”

“And the family papers too. The family papers you care about so much.”

“Have you looked through those papers? Have you read them?”

“I can read. I’m an M.D.”

“How much do you know about our family? Our father?”

“He’s the father of lies.”

“What does that mean?”

“The devil is the father of lies.”

“Was our father the devil?”

“He killed himself. And not just himself.”

“Who else did he kill?”

“You and me. And Mom. He killed us all.”

“Anyone else?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Richard, please trust me. I’m on your side.”

“Lying bitch .”

“You saved me in San Francisco.” She gripped her left arm, feeling the scar. “Remember that? Now I’m trying to save you.”

“Save yourself.”

“I’m not the one in trouble.”

“Yes, you are, big sister. Yes, you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re part of this family. You can’t escape.” He sucked in a breath. “I’ll be going now. Got places to be.”

“Richard!” Her voice broke. “Don’t hang up, please don’t-”

Click, and he was gone.

She sank to the floor, her head down, her body numb. She’d lost him. He might never call again.

In a corner of the darkness he lay curled in a fetal ball, rocking slowly back and forth, hugging his knees.

Like a fetus in the womb, awaiting birth.

Or rebirth, possibly.

At times he thought-was almost sure-that he had been born once before, as old Jack. And now, though he was a new man, he was still the old one.

At other times he thought this was a snare and a delusion, that old Jack was dead and he was only who and what he was.

But what he was-that was the true miracle. His calling, his destiny was unique in the world.

For years he’d fought against it, waging a lonely, secret battle.

At last he had yielded, and by yielding, he had won.

Now he was free. He contended against himself no longer.

It was illness that liberated him. His weakness was his strength.

People looked at him as a sad freak, a ruined shell. They pointed and mocked. But he was stronger than they knew.

Take what he had done tonight, for instance. Following little Jennifer to the gymnasium, watching her from the bleachers, in plain view of everyone, but unseen, because he wanted to be unseen.

And afterward, while she lingered over supper with that whore Sandra Price, he had returned to the house, slipping in so easily through the window.

He’d thought for sure he could find the diary. Take it from her, away from her unworthy eyes.

But it was nowhere. Nowhere .

She was a clever bitch. She’d hidden the treasure. Hidden it so craftily he could not find it.

He could have waited for her to return. Could have made her show it to him. But then he would have had to kill her. And he wasn't sure he was prepared to do that.

Not quite yet.

Soon, perhaps. His patience was great, but not inexhaustible. And he would weary of their telephone games eventually.

When he was ready, he would do it.

And he would make old Red Jack proud.

It was springtime in Denver, and Edward Hare was getting married.

He stood before the dark and wavy mirror over his dresser, adjusting the knot of his tie. He had been barbered and bathed and beautified, and he was pleased with the reflection in the glass.

Though he was in middle age now, forty-two years old, he had the bearing of a younger man. Hard living had kept him fit, and the mountain air had cleaned the soot from his lungs. He had even forsaken smoking, convinced that cigarettes left him winded.