James Patterson - You’ve Been Warned

“The last person I got upset at was…”

“Myself.”

“The most important person in my life is…”

Without thinking, I open my mouth to answer “Michael.” I barely catch myself. I can’t tell him that!

“What’s wrong?” asks Dr. Curley.

“Uh, nothing,” I say, shifting in my seat. “I had to think about it for a second. The most important person in my life is Connie, my best friend.”

He nods. He’s been nodding all along, only this one is a little different, slower. Does he know I’m lying? Of course he does. The guy’s no dummy.

“Okay, last two,” he says. “I had a blank childhood.”

I hesitate before answering. “Difficult.”

“And last, the thing I’m most afraid of is…”

That’s easy. “Dying.”

I WATCH AS Dr. Curley makes a few more quick notes, his pen gliding back and forth across his notepad. Given my lack of sleep, the effect is like the swinging pocket watch of a hypnotist. I can barely keep my eyes open. But I do not want the dream to come again!

“Still with me, Kristin?”

I snap to. The pen’s down, and he’s staring at me. “Yes. Sorry about that,” I say.

“Quite all right. No problem.”

“So, did I pass?”

“Like I said, there are no wrong answers. No trick ones either. But I do appreciate your honesty.”

“What now?” I ask. Speaking of honesty.

He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” he begins. “It’s getting late, you’re miles from home, you’ve suffered a minor concussion, and you’re clearly exhausted. How would you feel about spending the night here at the hospital?”

When you put it that way…

The thought of not having to make the trip back to Manhattan immediately appeals to me so much. So does the prospect of – at long last – a good night’s sleep. Who knows? Maybe being in a hospital will stave off that damn dream, the burning smell, the bug thing.

“Sure, why not?” I say.

Dr. Curley tells me to “hang out and relax” for a moment, as he needs to clear it with another doctor. He leaves, closing the door behind him.

I sit and wait. I’m getting a little bit antsy now. And paranoid? Of course.

A few minutes go by, followed by a few more. I’m hanging out, but I’m definitely not relaxing. Where is he? C’mon, c’mon. I’m clearly exhausted, remember?

I get up from the chair and walk to the door, opening it just enough to poke my head out. Sure enough, I spot Dr. Curley down the hall, talking on his cell phone. He’s standing with another man, who I assume is the doctor he mentioned. But I can’t quite see him thanks to Curley’s bushy blond hair.

Then Dr. Curley shifts his feet, and I manage to catch a glimpse of the other doctor’s face. I immediately do a double take, and my heart does a little flip-flop. Make that a big flip-flop.

I know him!

Or at least I used to.

Before he was murdered in my hometown of Concord, Massachusetts.

THIS IS A MONSTER CLUE in the ongoing mystery called “my life of late.” It has to be.

I whip my head back from the hallway, quickly shutting the door. I’m alone in the room and desperately want to keep it that way.

I have no idea how Dr. Magnumsen, my pediatrician from my hometown, could be alive, let alone working in Brooklyn. What’s more, he hasn’t aged a day. He looks exactly as he did when I last saw him.

Back when I was twelve years old.

The doubts creep in like a heavy fog. Is it really him? Maybe this doctor just looks like Floyd Magnumsen. Right down to the cleft chin?

I know one way to find out. Walk right up and ask. If I’m right, he won’t even have to answer. Given the past – why and how he was killed – the look on his face will say it all.

Christ, listen to yourself, Kristin! If you’re right, that means you’ll be talking to a dead man!

And if I’m wrong? If I go into that hallway and make another insane scene?

Suffice to say, the hospital will put me up in a room, all right. One with wall-to-wall padding. And a little window so they can watch me at all times.

But it’s Magnumsen; I know it is.

Like I know I saw my father. I even have the pictures to prove it.

Wait. Pictures!

I rush over to my shoulder bag and grab my camera, checking for film. It’s ready.

Am I? And for what? The next test?

I pause by the door, swallowing hard, my cheek resting against the cool wood. I need to be quick and I need to be quiet. I can’t let anyone see me take the shot. Not Dr. Curley, and especially not Magnumsen. Why is that, Kris? Because the dead don’t like having their pictures taken?

Carefully, I peek into the hallway again. The two men are still together, but Dr. Curley and his blond hair have moved again, blocking my shot.

Camera raised, I watch through my lens, waiting for the Kodak moment. C’mon, Doc, move a little!

He doesn’t. The man’s a statue.

Which means I am too. How long can I stand here before someone -

Now!

For a split second, Dr. Curley shifts his feet as he tucks away his cell phone. I’ve got the shot! More proof that I’m not a mad person, just that the world has gone mad all around me. Makes sense – if you’re in my shoes, anyway.

Right as I snap the pic, I hear a scream over my shoulder. I spin to see a very pregnant woman hunched over at the entrance to the emergency room. She screams again, and two nurses rush toward her.

She’s pointing at the room I’m in – looking and pointing right at me.

She screams again and utters just one word: “Satan!”

And she’s not the only one looking my way. So is Dr. Magnumsen.

If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. It’s been nearly fifteen years, but it’s as if I haven’t aged a day either. This man who molested me – my pediatrician – recognizes who I am in an instant.

The wretched look on his face says it all.

“KRISTIN, PLEASE unlock the door,” says Dr. Robert Curley in the perfect tone for reading Dr. Seuss to preschoolers.

I don’t. I don’t even respond to this complete fraud.

“Whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure we can help.” Did you say “we,” Robbie?

I hear the strain in his voice as he tries to remain warm and fuzzy. There must be a book somewhere, How to Talk to a Nutcase. Lesson one: Never, ever lose your cool.

“C’mon, Kristin, I’m not the enemy,” he says.

It’s an interesting choice of words, and I speak up.

“Is he with you?” I ask. “Is he still out there?”

“Is who with me?”

Ha! I know Floyd Magnumsen is standing right there; I can feel it. Why is Robbie playing dumb now, I wonder? Unless, of course, he’s part of all this.

I fall silent again, listening as Curley repeatedly tries to coax me out of this tiny box of a room. It’s no use, and he knows it. His frustration mounts, and soon warm and fuzzy turn to piss and vinegar.

“JUST OPEN THE DOOR!” he yells. “OPEN IT THIS INSTANT.”

Curley begins pounding the door with his fist. I keep my eyes glued on the knob with its push-button lock, terrified that it might pop out from all the rattling.

“YOU CAN’T STAY IN THERE FOREVER!”

We’ll see about that.

The shouting and pounding stop, quickly replaced by whispering. I press my ear against the door. Magnumsen is talking. I can barely make out what he’s saying, but what I do hear is enough.

“The key. Who has the key? We have to get her out of there.”

Immediately, I grab one of the chairs and try to wedge it under the doorknob. It’s not tall enough.Now what?

Although I may be desperate, I’m not stupid. I won’t be able to hold off Curley and Magnumsen once they have the key.