Jeffery Deaver - Speaking In Tongues

Tate couldn’t help but think of Bett’s sister, Susan. The woman had desperately wanted children, while Bell had always been indifferent to the idea. After her husband, Harris’s, death Susan had moved in with a man very briefly-he was abusive and, from what Tate heard, half crazy. But he was a single man-divorced or widowed-with a child. And Susan put up with a lot of crap from him just to have the young boy around; she desperately’ wanted someone to mother. After they’d broken up, the lover had turned dangerous and stalked her but even at the worst moments Susan still seemed to regret the loss of that child in her life. Tate now wished Bett had shown some of that desire for Megan.

“I saw she was unhappy,” Bett said. “But who the hell isn’t? What was I supposed to do? Wave a magic wand?”

His anger wouldn’t release the death grip it had on his heart. “Hell, that’s probably exactly your idea of mothering. Sure. Or cast a spell, look up something in the I Ching. Read her tarot.”

“Oh, stop it! I gave up all that shit years ago… I tried to be a good mother. I tried.”

“Did you?” he was astonished to find himself saying. “You sure you weren’t out looking for your King Arthur? Easier than changing diapers or helping her with homework or making sure when she was home after school. Making sure she wasn’t fucking-”

“I tried… I tried Bett was sobbing, shaking.

Tate realized the car was nudging eighty. He slowed. A deep breath. Another.

Long, long silence. His eyes, too, welled up with tears. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

“I tried. I wanted… I wanted..

“Bett, please. I’m sorry.”

“I wanted a family too, you know,” she whispered, wiping her face on the sleeve of her blouse. “I saw the Judge and his wife and you and the rest of the Colliers. I didn’t talk about it the way you did but I wanted a family too. But then things happened… You know.”

“I lost my temper. I don’t… You’re right. Those kids back there… it was probably just gossip.”

But his words were flaccid. And, of course, they came far too late. The damage had been done. He wondered if they’d separate now and never speak to each other again. He supposed that would happen. He supposed that it would have to.

And oddly, he realized how much the idea upset him, No, it terrified him; he had no idea why.

A long moment passed.

Bett spoke first. He was surprised to hear her say, in a calm, reasoned voice, “Maybe it’s true, Tate-what you heard about her. Maybe it is. And maybe part of it’s my fault. But you know, people change. They can. They really can.”

They continued on in silence. Bett closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the headrest.

What a man hears, he may doubt. What he sees, he may possibly doubt.

“Bett? I am sorry.” What he does… “Bett?”

But she didn’t answer.

She decided she was safest here, in her cell.

If the father-Aaron Matthews-had wanted to kill her he could have done so easily. He didn’t have to stash her away here, he didn’t have to buy all the food. No, no, she had this funny sense that though he kidnapped her he didn’t want to hurt her.

But the son… He was the threat. She needed protection from him. She’d stay here locked in Crazy Megan’s padded cell until she figured out how to escape.

She opened one of the files she’d taken from Peter’s room. In the dim light she scanned the pages, trying to find something that might help her. Maybe the hospital was near a town. Were there photos or brochures of the hospital and grounds? Maybe she could find a map. If she started a fire, people might see the smoke. Or maybe she’d find ventilation shafts or emergency exits. She remembered a padlocked door marked Basement down one of the corridors nearby. If she could break the lock on the door, were there exits down there she might get through? She flipped through the documents, looking for a picture or photo of the hospital-trying to find basement windows or doors she might climb out of.

Damn, that’s smart, says an impressed Crazy Megan.

Shhhh…

Megan happened to glance at the papers on the top of the pile.

…patient Victoria Skelling, 37, paranoid schizophrenic, was found dead in her room at 0620 hours, April 23. COD was asphyxia, from inhalation of mattress fibers. County police (see annexed report) investigated and declared the death suicide. It appeared patient Skelling gnawed through the canvas ducking of her mattress and pulled out wads of stuffing. She inhaled approximately ten ounces of this material, which lodged in her throat. The patient had been on Thorazine and Haldol, delusions were minimal. Orderlies described her in “good spirits” for much of the morning of her death but after spending the day on the grounds with a group of other patients she grew increasingly depressed and agitated. She complained that rats were coming to get her. They were going to chew her breasts off (earlier delusions and certain dreams centered around poisoned breast milk and suckling). She calmed again at dinnertime and spent the evening in the TV room. She was extremely upset when she went to bed and orderlies considered using restraints. She was given an extra dose of Haldol and locked into her room at 2200 hours. She said. “It’s time to take care of the rats. They win, they win.” She was found the next morning dead…

Gross, both Megan and C.M. think simultaneously.

She flipped through more pages.

…Patient Matthews (No. 97-4335) was the last person to see her alive and he reported that she seemed “all spooky.”

So Aaron Matthews’s son, Peter, had been hospitalized here. And after the hospital was closed his father brought him back. Why, she couldn’t guess. Maybe he felt at home here. Maybe his father broke him out of the hospital for the criminally insane to have him nearby.

She flipped through another report and learned that someone else had committed suicide.

…The body of Patient Garber (No, 78-7547) was found behind the main building. The police and coroner had determined that he had swallowed a garden hose and turned the water on full force. The pressure from the water ruptured his stomach and several feet of intestine. He died from internal hemorrhaging and shock. Although several patients were nearby when this happened (Matthews, No. 97-4335, and Ketter, No. 9h3212), they could offer no further information. The death was ruled suicide by the medical examiner.

Megan read through several other files. They were all similar-reports of patients killing themselves. One victim was found in the library. He’d apparently spent hours tearing apart books and magazines, looking for a sheet of paper sturdy enough to slice through the artery in his neck. He finally succeeded.

She shivered at the thought.

Someone else had leapt out of a tree and broken his neck. He didn’t die but was paralyzed for life. When asked about why he’d done it he said, “He’d been talking to ‘some patients’ and he realized how pointless life was, how he was never going to get better Death would bring some peace.”

Yet another report stated, “Patient Matthews was the last person to see victim alive.” The administrator wondered if he’d been involved and the boy had been interviewed and evaluated but no charges were brought.

Reading more, she found that not long after the last suicide a reporter from the Washington Times heard of the deaths and filed an investigative report. The state board of examiners looked into the matter and closed the hospital.

But Megan understood that the deaths weren’t suicides at all. How could they have missed it? Peter Matthews had killed the other patients and somehow covered up the evidence to make the deaths look like suicide.