Dan Brown - The Lost Symbol

“Ms. Solomon?” an unusually airy voice had said. “My name is Dr. Christopher Abaddon. I was hoping I might speak to you for a moment about your brother?”

“I’m sorry, who is this?” she had demanded. And how did you get my private cell-phone number?

“Dr. Christopher Abaddon.”

Katherine did not recognize the name.

The man cleared his throat, as if the situation had just become awkward. “I apologize, Ms. Solomon. I was under the impression your brother had told you about me. I’m his doctor. Your cell number was listed as his emergency contact.”

Katherine’s heart skipped. Emergency contact? “Is something wrong?”

“No… I don’t think so,” the man said. “Your brother missed an appointment this morning, and I can’t reach him on any of his numbers. He never misses appointments without calling, and I’m just a little worried. I hesitated to phone you, but —”

“No, no, not at all, I appreciate the concern.” Katherine was still trying to place the doctor’s name. “I haven’t spoken to my brother since yesterday morning, but he probably just forgot to turn on his cell.” Katherine had recently given him a new iPhone, and he still hadn’t taken the time to figure out how to use it.

“You say you’re his doctor ?” she asked. Does Peter have an illness he’s keeping from me?

There was a weighty pause on the line. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’ve obviously just made a rather serious professional error by calling you. Your brother told me you were aware of his visits to me, but now I see that’s not the case.”

My brother lied to his doctor? Katherine’s concern was now growing steadily. “Is he sick?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Solomon, doctor-patient confidentiality precludes me from discussing your brother’s condition, and I’ve already said too much by admitting he is my patient. I’m going to hang up now, but if you hear from him today, please ask him to call me so I know he’s okay.”

“Wait!” Katherine said. “Please tell me what’s wrong with Peter!”

Dr. Abaddon exhaled, sounding displeased with his mistake. “Ms. Solomon, I can hear you’re upset, and I don’t blame you. I’m sure your brother is fine. He was in my office just yesterday.”

“Yesterday? And he’s scheduled again today ? This sounds urgent.”

The man heaved a sigh. “I suggest we give him a little more time before we —”

“I’m coming by your office right now,” Katherine said, heading for the door. “Where are you located?”

Silence.

“Dr. Christopher Abaddon?” Katherine said. “I can look up your address myself, or you can simply give it to me. Either way, I’m coming over.”

The doctor paused. “If I meet with you, Ms. Solomon, would you please do me the courtesy of saying nothing to your brother until I’ve had a chance to explain my misstep?”

“That’s fine.”

“Thank you. My office is in Kalorama Heights.” He gave her an address.

Twenty minutes later, Katherine Solomon was navigating the stately streets of Kalorama Heights. She had phoned all of her brother’s numbers with no reply. She did not feel overly concerned about her brother’s whereabouts, and yet, the news that he was secretly seeing a doctor… was troubling.

When Katherine finally located the address, she stared up at the building in confusion. This is a doctor’s office?

The opulent mansion before her had a wrought-iron security fence, electronic cameras, and lush grounds. As she slowed to double-check the address, one of the security cameras rotated toward her, and the gate swung open. Tentatively, Katherine drove up the driveway and parked next to a six-car garage and a stretch limo.

What kind of doctor is this guy?

As she got out of her car, the front door of the mansion opened, and an elegant figure drifted out onto the landing. He was handsome, exceptionally tall, and younger than she had imagined. Even so, he projected the sophistication and polish of an older man. He was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and tie, and his thick blond hair was immaculately coiffed.

“Ms. Solomon, I’m Dr. Christopher Abaddon,” he said, his voice a breathy whisper. When they shook hands, his skin felt smooth and well tended.

“Katherine Solomon,” she said, trying not to stare at his skin, which was unusually smooth and bronzed. Is he wearing makeup?

Katherine felt a growing disquiet as she stepped into the home’s beautifully appointed foyer. Classical music played softly in the background, and it smelled as if someone had burned incense. “This is lovely,” she said, “although I expected more of… an office.”

“I’m fortunate to work out of my home.” The man led her into a living room, where there was a crackling fire. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’m just steeping some tea. I’ll bring it out, and we can talk.” He strode toward the kitchen and disappeared.

Katherine Solomon did not sit. Female intuition was a potent instinct that she had learned to trust, and something about this place was making her skin crawl. She saw nothing that looked anything like any doctor’s office she had ever seen. The walls of this antique-adorned living room were covered with classical art, primarily paintings with strange mythical themes. She paused before a large canvas depicting the Three Graces, whose nude bodies were spectacularly rendered in vivid colors.

“That’s the original Michael Parkes oil.” Dr. Abaddon appeared without warning beside her, holding a tray of steaming tea. “I thought we’d sit by the fire?” He led her over to the living room and offered her a seat. “There’s no reason to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Katherine said entirely too quickly.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Actually, it is my business to know when people are nervous.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m a practicing psychiatrist, Ms. Solomon. That is my profession. I’ve been seeing your brother for almost a year now. I’m his therapist.”

Katherine could only stare. My brother is in therapy?

“Patients often choose to keep their therapy to themselves,” the man said. “I made a mistake by calling you, although in my defense, your brother did mislead me.”

“I… I had no idea.”

“I apologize if I made you nervous,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “I noticed you studying my face when we met, and yes, I do wear makeup.” He touched his own cheek, looking self-conscious. “I have a dermatological condition, which I prefer to hide. My wife usually puts the makeup on for me, but when she’s not here, I have to rely on my own heavy touch.”

Katherine nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

“And this lovely hair…” He touched his lush blond mane. “A wig. My skin condition affected my scalp follicles as well, and all my hair jumped ship.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid my one sin is vanity.”

“Apparently mine is rudeness,” Katherine said.

“Not at all.” Dr. Abaddon’s smile was disarming. “Shall we start over? Perhaps with some tea?”

They sat in front of the fire and Abaddon poured tea. “Your brother got me in the habit of serving tea during our sessions. He said the Solomons are tea drinkers.”

“Family tradition,” Katherine said. “Black, please.”

They sipped their tea and made small talk for a few minutes, but Katherine was eager for information about her brother. “Why was my brother coming to you?” she asked. And why didn’t he tell me? Admittedly, Peter had endured more than his fair share of tragedy in his life — losing his father at a young age, and then, within a span of five years, burying his only son and then his mother. Even so, Peter had always found a way to cope.