Jeffery Deaver - Speaking In Tongues

“Please.

“We’re sorry,” the electronic voice reported, “there is no listing for that name. Do you have another request?”

He clicked the phone off. “That’s where she is. An old mental hospital in the Shenandoahs.” He tapped the reports. “Matthews was a shrink. I’d guess he was on the staff there a few years ago. It’s probably closed and that’s where he’s taken her.”

“You sure?”

“No. But it’s all we’ve got.”

“Go, Tate.”

He pulled onto the highway and steered toward the interstate. Thinking with frustration that they’d have to drive the entire way right on the speed limit. They could hardly afford to be stopped now.

Glass knife in front of her, Megan walked through the hallways.

There was silence, then the shuffling of footsteps. More silence.

I hate the quiet worse than his footsteps.

I’m with you there, Crazy Megan shares.

Then the steps again but from a different place, as if the intruder were a ghost materializing at will.

Five minutes passed. Another noise nearby, behind her. A sharp inhalation of breath. Megan gasped and turned quickly Aaron Matthews was twenty feet away. His eyes widened in surprise. She stumbled backward and fell over a table, went down hard. Grunted in pain as the edge of the table dug into her kidney

Despite the pain, though, she leapt to her feet, lifting the knife threateningly. She assumed he’d charge at her But he didn’t. He merely frowned and said, “Oh, my God, Megan. are you all right?”

Crouching, eyes fiery, breath hard, gripping the cloth handle of her wicked knife. Staring at his dark eyes, his large shoulders and long arms. Why wasn’t he coming at her?

She glanced behind her

“Wait,” he said with a heart-tugging plea in his voice. “Please, don’t run, Please.”

She hesitated.

He sighed. “Oh, I know you’re upset, Megan, honey. I know you’re scared… You hate me and you have every right to. But please. Just listen to me.” He held his hands up. “I don’t have a knife or gun or anything. Please, will you listen?”

His eyes were so sincere, radiating sympathy, and his voice so imploring…

“Please.”

Megan kept her tight grip on the knife. But she straightened up. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I’m listening.”

“Good,” he said. And offered her a smile.

“I didn’t know you’d gotten out of your room,” Aaron Matthews said.

“Cell,” she corrected bluntly.

“Cell,” he conceded, watching her eyes carefully. “But I should’ve guessed.” He laughed. “You’re the independent sort. Nobody was going to lock you away. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Matthews noted how she fixed her gaze on his eyes. How her pale lashes stuttered when he’d said the word “love.”

How had she done it? he wondered. He’d been over the cell so carefully-and the lock was still on the door. Had she gotten through the ceiling? The wall? And she was wearing some of his clothes. So she’d found his living area. What else did she know?

However it had happened, Matthews was surprised. It showed more mettle than he’d expected from the spoiled little whiner.

“Are you all right? Just tell me that.” He looked her up and down.

No answer.

He continued, “I’m sorry about your clothes. When you passed out from the medicine I gave you… well, you had an accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would happen. I’m washing your clothes in the laundry room here. They’re drying now. They should be reads’ soon. I didn’t touch you. I swear.”

He glanced at the knife in her hand. A long shard. He thought at first that there was something about the glass itself that was particularly unnerving, the sharp, green edge of the triangle. But then he decided that, no, it was her face that scared him. She was prepared-no, eager-to use the weapon. And so much in control… she’d be a hard one to crack. Harder than in Hanson’s office, where her defenses were down and her self-esteem bubbling near empty.

He eased forward. “Oh, Megan, I’m so sorry.”

The point of the knife tilted toward him and Matthews froze. He said in his best therapist’s tone, “I didn’t want it to happen this way.”

He fell silent. And to fill the intolerable gap of silence she asked, “What way?”

“This…“ He lifted his arms to the hallways. “If there’d been anything else I could have done, I would have. I promise you.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes. “You don’t really know me. But I know you. I’ve known you for a long time.”

She shook her head, frowning, confused. The tip of the knife was pointed lower.

“My name’s Aaron Matthews…

She’d’ve learned his real name, of course-from looking through the desk in his rooms here. But tell someone the truth-no matter how much you’ve lied to them in the past-and you nudge them closer toward you, if ever so slightly. He continued right away-Matthews had a spell to weave and spells work best when cast quickly. “I worked with your father on a case last year. He hired me as an expert witness. To evaluate a suspect. We were talking before the trial. Just making conversation. And I asked about children, if he had any, and he said…” Matthews paused and his face grew somber. He continued, “I’m sorry honey, but he said no, he didn’t.”

Megan’s beautiful light eyes widened. Shocked for a moment. Then they grew deeply sad, as they had in Hanson’s office. A child betrayed, a child alone.

What are the bears whispering to you?

“But I’d heard somebody mention his daughter and I asked him about you. He looked embarrassed and said that, well, yes, he did have a daughter. But she lived with her mother. He said you were technically his child but that was all. I told him about my son, Peter. See, he had some problems at birth. Serious mental problems.”

Another flicker of lash. So she knew about him too. He said, looking down, “But I’ve always felt that, despite all that, I loved my boy and wanted him to be with me. I mentioned that to your father. But he didn’t say anything. I asked him how often he saw you… He said virtually never. I asked him about you and he didn’t seem to know much at all. And then-” Matthews stopped abruptly, like a man finding himself in a minefield.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me,” she said with faint desperation in her voice.

“He said some things about you.”

“Please.” The knife was pointed straight down. Her face was no longer fierce. “I want to know.”

“He said being more involved with you would be… awkward.”

“No, he didn’t,” she whispered. “He didn’t say that at all, did he?”

“I’m not sure Matthews stammered, putting a vulnerable look on his face.

She muttered, “He said being involved with a child would be inconvenient. Right?”

“Yes,” Matthews conceded, sighing. “I’m so sorry, Megan. But that’s what he said. And when I heard it, all I could think of was how I hoped you had a good relationship with your mother. I hoped someone cared. I felt so bad for you.”

A faint laugh then her face went still. “My mother. Yeah, right.”

He cocked his head, offering her another sympathetic glance. And continued, “Well, I went to see her. When you were in school one day.”

“You did?”

Matthews eased a few inches closer He decided that anger wouldn’t work with Megan, unlike with her boyfriend, Josh. The madder she got, the more dangerous she’d be, No, the way to get inside her defenses was to tap into her sorrow and loneliness.