William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

“It’s no good, Lisa. You know I can’t tolerate just sitting around, and I would hate being coddled even worse. The best thing for me to do is get back to my job and forget-”

She started to cry. This really bothered me because, for starters, Lisa is my friend, and furthermore, it seemed like if anyone should be crying it should be me-and I wasn’t, so what right did she have?

And I wondered what she could possibly be holding back that was worse than what she had already divulged.

“Susan… you don’t have a job anymore.”

No.

“Don’t blame Chief O’Bannon. It’s not his fault. IA was all over what happened, and that boy’s family is threatening to sue the department. O’Bannon had to do something.”

“So-so-” I was having trouble forming the words. “So-they suspended me?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“What? What? ”

She pulled up to a light, then turned to face me. “They fired you, Susan.”

“No way. I’ll just talk to O’Bannon.”

“He didn’t want to do it. But he had no choice.”

“This can’t be right. It can’t be.”

“But there are lots of things a trained psychologist can do, Susan. It might be good for you to get away from police work, where there are so many… reminders. This could be a golden opportunity. Look on the bright side.”

Sure. Other than that, how did you like the parade, Mrs. Kennedy? “This isn’t right. It can’t be. I’m the best profiler O’Bannon has, and he knows it. I’m the one who solved the Wyndham killings. I’m the one who-”

“That was before,” Lisa said forcefully.

“Before this one stupid little incident?”

“Before you started drinking.” The word hit me like a brick. She continued to talk, but it rolled off me like water on a slick surface. There was a liquor store on the corner, and another on the corner after that. Liquor was everywhere. It was pervasive, and not just here in Sin City, either. I spotted an ad for some tarted-up booze, Chivas Regal or some other stuff I couldn’t afford. I remembered the smoky scent of a good scotch, the warm assurance as it glided down my throat.

“Lisa… could you stop the car?”

“You can’t drink, Susan. Not at all. Not even once.”

“I need… something. I can’t… everything… it’s all…”

“I’ll stay with you tonight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m not asking-I’m telling. I’ll stay with you.”

“I’m not going to drink.”

“Then you won’t mind my being there.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’ve heard the first night is the hardest. For people in your situation.”

So that’s what I’d become. A situation.

I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up the memory of David just as I’d seen him that morning, but it wouldn’t come. At best, I got a turbid glimmer, a toothy smile, a dimpled chin. Pieces of the whole.

It seemed I had nowhere to go and no one to see. Nothing to do. Nothing to live for.

The throbbing in my left wrist intensified. Beneath the bandage, it was sending me a message.

If ever there was a girl who deserved a drink, it was me.

He lifted his spade and began to dig. The soil was soft and loose, as he had known it would be. It was only about two feet deep, but that would be sufficient. It didn’t really need to be buried. It was the suggestion that was important. The re-creation of the sacred image.

Despite the simplicity of the task, he found himself tiring and perspiring. But this entire area was deserted and he knew it would remain so until six in the morning, so it didn’t matter how long he took. Just so the job was done right. According to plan.

He slowly lowered the long box off the dolly and into the freshly dug cavity. He lifted a spadeful of dirt and tossed it onto the box. The resultant clamor caught him by surprise.

Merciful Zeus. How could I be so forgetful? He leaned over the edge of the pit and lifted the half lid from the top section of the box.

Helen screamed.

He clamped his hand over her mouth. “My dear, I can’t allow you to make a commotion.”

She struggled to get free of his hand. She tried to bite him. She spit on him. Nothing worked.

“I’m going to release you in a moment. And when I do, I don’t want to hear any more screaming. You know, I could’ve deadened your entire body. And I still can, if need be. Do you comprehend what I’m saying?”

Slowly, he removed the hand from her mouth. She did not scream.

“Now that’s more like it.”

With the half lid open, she was visible from her bare shoulders up. “I couldn’t breathe in there, mister. I thought I was going to die.”

He made no comment.

“I could tell you were moving me, but I didn’t know where we were going. And then I heard that thumping on the lid and I didn’t know what was happening and I hate confined spaces and I panicked.”

“Of course you did. Entirely understandable.”

She craned her neck, trying to see something other than the walls of the box surrounding her, gazing straight up at the cobwebs and skeletons and white sheet ghosts. “What is this place?”

“A gallery. A tableau, if you will. To honor the prophet.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, choking. “I want to go home.”

“And you will, in a sense,” he said reassuringly. “To a far, far better home than any you have known before. Better than the one you kept sneaking away from.”

“How do you know that? Did Amber tell you?”

“You must pardon me, but I really don’t have time to continue this conversation.”

Her eyes were red and watery. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Do you see a gun in my hand? Am I wielding a knife?”

“Answer me!”

“You have the potential to be reborn. To become something greater than you ever dreamed possible. To usher in a milestone in the evolution of mankind.”

“Please don’t kill me. I’m begging you! I’ll do anything. You want sex? I can give you sex. You want to put it in my mouth? I can do that. Hey, I’d like to do it. I’d enjoy it. Just give me a chance, mister.” She was babbling, rambling, desperate. “You’ve already hurt me so bad,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please don’t kill me. Please let me go home.”

“I can’t,” he said gently. “I know this is difficult for you, but it is for your own good. I’m helping you.”

She stared at him, breathing in short, quick gasps. “Would you come closer, please? I’d like to whisper something to you. It’s a secret.”

He almost did it. But at the last moment, he stopped. “You were going to bite me.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“And you thought if I came close enough you could bite my nose, maybe even my eyeball?” He made a tsking sound. “I suppose anything is possible for a girl who would wear thong underwear.”

Her eyes closed. Her last hope was lost. There was nothing left now.

“This is a coffin, isn’t it?”

“ ‘I could no longer doubt that I reposed in a coffin at last.’ ” He caressed her smooth bald head. “Don’t focus on the here and now, my dear. The all-too-present present. Give your mind to the ineluctable truths of the cosmos. Cast your eyes to the stars!” He gestured heavenward, or ceilingward, like a master showman unveiling his main attraction. “There is so much more out there, so much more that we can become.”

A tiny light blazed one last time. “I think you’re a crazy man. I think you’re an impotent little-”

With a single smooth gesture, he flung the lid of the wooden coffin closed and locked it. “I daresay that’s enough of that,” he murmured quietly. “I detest vulgarity.”