Jeffery Deaver - Speaking In Tongues

He leaned down and kissed her tears.

The light touch of his lips felt so good…

She was so giddy, so happy…

Stretching out, getting comfortable… The room was hot, the room was wonderful…

And what was this? she thought like an excited high school girl.

He was kissing her on the mouth. Or am I kissing him? Bert didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to be close to him. To the man who’d found her single worst fear and killed it dead.

“No,” he protested. But his voice was a whisper.

But she was not letting him go. She knew she should stop but she couldn’t. She pulled him down next to her on the couch, refusing to let go, arms fixed forever around his neck. The room filling with heat, spinning, orange lights, yellow Eights

Kissing harder now.

Hands on her belly, then her chest. She glanced down and wasn’t surprised to see her blouse was undone. Her bra up, his fingers cupping her breast. This seemed completely natural. A pop, the snap of her jeans opened. Had he done that, or had she? It didn’t matter. Getting close to him was all that mattered, hearing him whisper whatever he would whisper in her ear as he lay on top of her. That was what she wanted, hearing him speak to her. The sex wasn't important but she’d gladly give him that if only he’d keep reassuring her, keep speaking to her…

She opened her mouth and kissed him hard.

And then the world ended.

The front door was swinging open. And a familiar voice was crying, “Bett…why, Bett!”

Gasping, she sat up.

Dr. Peters backing away a shocked look on his face.

Brad Markham stood in the doorway, his face a horrified mask. His key to her house dropped to the floor with a loud ring. “What…“ He was breathless. “What…“

“Brad, I thought…”

“I was in Baltimore?” he spat out. He shook his head. “I was. A policeman called and told me about Megan. I drove down to be with you…Your daughter’s missing and you’re fucking somebody. You’re cheating on me?”

“No,” she said, feeling faint and nauseous from the wine and shock. Tears coming again. Tears of horror. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Peters looked horrified. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. You never said anything.”

“Boyfriend?” Brad spat out. “We’re engaged.”

“You’re what?” The doctor stared at Brad. “I’m so sorry. She never said anything.”

“How could you?” Brad spat out, raging at her. “After everything I’ve done for you? And Megan? How could you?”

“I don’t know what happened..

Brad stalked outside leaving the door open.

“No!” Bett cried, sobbing, pulling her bra down and buttoning her blouse as she stumbled toward the door. “Wait.”

Through her tears she saw Brad’s car squeal off down the street.

Leaning against the doorjamb, sobbing, sinking to the floor. Close to fainting, wishing to die…

“No, no, no…

Then the doctor was standing next to her, crouching down. His mouth close to her ear. When he spoke the voice was so different from the soothing drone of ten minutes ago. It was flint, it was ice water.

“What I told you Megan said about you? That wasn’t true. I only said it to make you feel better… All she told me was that you were a selfish whore. I didn’t believe her. But I guess she was right.” He took a final sip of wine. “What a pitiful excuse for a mother you are.”

The doctor rose, set the glass on the table and stepped over her, out the door. It seemed he was smiling, though Bett was blinded by the tears and couldn’t say for certain.

Tate Collier hung up the phone. Sighed.

No, man, Josh still isn’t home. I don’t know where he is. You called, like, three times already. Maybe we’ll give it a rest now? Okay?

Well, where the hell was Megan’s boyfriend?

Konnie too was still out of the office. And it irked Tate that the detective hadn’t returned his page.

He fed the Dalmatian and paced up and down his front porch, looking at the clear early evening skies and the dusting of April growth over his fields.

No more Dead Rebs that he could see.

Again his eye settled on the dilapidated picnic bench in the backyard. Remembering Bett unhooking the Japanese lanterns, feeling the odd heat of that fall so many years ago, feeling the residual exhaustion from the funeral. Sweating in November, the hot wind pushing crisp, curled leaves over the shaggy grass.

He remembered:

Bett looking down at him. Asking, “What is it?”

Alarmed, as she gazed at the expression on his face.

What is it, what is it, what is it?… A simple question. Yet simple words can’t convey the answer-that two people who were once in love no longer are.

He’d closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be married to you anymore,” he’d said.

Good-bye…

Tate now looked away from the bench and glanced impatiently at the cordless phone, sitting on the porch swing. Why wasn’t- It rang. He blinked and snagged it from the cradle.

“Hello?”

Silence for a moment. Then: “Tate?”

“I’m here, Bett. What’s wrong?” His heart went cold at the sound in her voice.

“I’m on my way to Baltimore.”

“You are? Why?”

More silence. “Brad left me.”

“What? At a time like this?”

“It’s not his fault. I did something stupid. I don’t know… I don’t want to go into it. It’s… Oh, Jesus, it’s a mess.”

“Bett, you sound terrible. Are you crying?” “I can’t talk about it. Not now” “When’ll you be back? What about Megan?” “I don’t care.”

He heard utter defeat in her voice. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, Tate. We’ve blown it. There’s nothing we can do. We’ve ruined her life, she’s ruined ours. Maybe she’ll come back, maybe she won’t. Let’s just let her go and hope for the best. I don’t care anymore.”

“This doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, it is me, all right? It was stupid looking for her, it was stupid getting together like this, you and me. We should have kept our lives on different sides of the universe, Tate. What’ve we got to show for it? Just pain.”

“We’re going to find her.”

“She doesn’t want to be found. Don’t you get that? Let her go and don’t worry about it. She’s part of the past, Tate. Let her go. The phone’s breaking up. I’m coming to a tunnel. Good-bye, Tate… Good-bye…

Bait.

That’s me, yes sir. That’s me.

He’s on to you, Crazy Megan says. Move, move, move.

She went to the right and Peter Matthews went to the right.

Left and left, straight and straight.

Getting closer all the time.

Whispering, “Megan, Megan, Megan.”

Other words too. She wasn't sure but she thought he was muttering, “I want to fuck you, I want to fuck you.” Or maybe “cut you.”

Megan was part of his fantasy now. She was a victim from those disgusting comic books. The tentacles, the monsters, the purple dicks, the claws and pincers…

And was nothing more than a game to the boy-if you can call a six-foot, two-hundred-pound thing a boy.

As she moved up and down the corridors, gripping the handle of her glass knife in her right hand, which stung fiercely from the blisters, she had all sorts of terrible thoughts: why the father had brought her here, for instance. As a bride for his son. Jesus… Maybe Aaron Matthews had wanted grandchildren. Maybe Peter’d been at Jefferson High- they had a special ed department-and he’d gotten obsessed with her. That might be it. And his father had kidnapped her to be a present for his son.