Stephen Donaldson - The Runes of the Earth

“Until what?” asked Linden.

“That’s what I wanted to know. If you believe what he says about himself, the only thing he’s actually done since Joan abandoned him is wait for his twenty-first birthday. So he could inherit his father’s estate. That’s it.

“Why it matters to him, I have no idea.” Megan’s tone conveyed her bafflement. “Or what he wants to do with it. He has nothing to say on the subject. He doesn’t seem to understand the question.”

Linden probed at her sore lip with the tip of one finger. It was no accident that she had become Joan’s keeper, caretaker. With every nerve of her body and beat of her heart, she knew how Joan felt. She, too, had been paralysed by evil; left effectively comatose by the knowledge of her own frailty. Like Joan, she knew what it meant to have her mind erased-

But somehow Roger had made his mother look at him.

Still groping for comprehension, Linden said, “I assume he graduated high school. What’s he been doing since then?”

“Shit, Linden,” Megan growled. “It’s easier to get him to talk about the commune. But I pushed him pretty hard. He says he took some classes at the local community college. Pre-med, apparently. Biology, anatomy, chemistry, things like that.

“And,” she added in disgust, “he worked in a butcher shop. Thomas Covenant was one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known, not to mention a hell of a writer, and his son worked in a butcher shop. “Just passing the time” until he could live off his father’s accomplishments.

“ You make sense out of it,” she finished. “ I can’t.”

He wanted to take his mother’s place. And his father’s.

“That isn’t much help,” Linden said distantly.

“I know,” Megan sighed. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

As steadily as she could, Linden replied, “If you can believe it, he says he’s been waiting all this time for Covenant’s estate so that he’ll have money and a place to live while he takes care of Joan. He’s obsessed with the idea. It may be the only thing he thinks about. He believes he can reach her.”

Abruptly she leaned forward against the edge of her desk. “Megan, he has to be stopped.” An urgency which she could not control crept into her voice. “I’m absolutely sure about that. There’s something about him that scares me. I think he’s dangerous. With his background-” She shuddered. “We all know perfectly decent people who’ve been through worse. But this place:’ Berenford Memorial, “has plenty of patients who haven’t been through as much. What only bends one person breaks another. And I think he’s broken.”

Unwilling to say more, she repeated inadequately, “He has to be stopped.”

At once, Megan’s manner became crisper, more businesslike. “You say dangerous. Can you give me anything more concrete than that? Anything I can take to a judge? I can’t get a restraining order unless I have something solid to go on.”

In response Linden wanted to shout, Tell the judge people are going to die! But she controlled herself. “I don’t suppose you could just ask him to trust my instincts?”

“Actually, I could,” Megan answered. “In this county, anyway. You have a fair amount of credibility.” Then she reconsidered. “But even a judge who thinks you hung the moon will want some kind of evidence. He might give us a restraining order for a few days on your say-so, but that’s all. If we don’t offer him real evidence before it expires, we’ll never get another one.”

Linden sighed to herself. “I understand.”

Again she considered dropping the problem, washing her hands of it. She could leave work right this minute, if she chose. No one would question her. God knew she was entitled to a little time off every once in a while. And Joan’s claim on her did not run as deep as Jeremiah’s.

He was her adopted son: he filled her heart. Nothing could replace him, Indeed, his irreducible need for her only made him more essential to her. Simply remembering the way his hair smelled after she washed it for him could bring tears to her eyes.

Anything that threatened her endangered him profoundly. Any attack on her would find him in the line of fire: at risk because she loved him, and he was dependent on her.

He had already been damaged enough.

But she also belonged here. All of her patients had already been damaged enough. And Joan did not deserve what Roger intended for her.

Quietly Linden asked Megan, “Can you think of anything else?”

Megan hesitated. “Well,” she said uncertainly, “you could call Lytton-”

Linden had already thought of that. “He’s next on my list.” Barton Lytton had been county sheriff for nearly three decades. If anyone had the knowledge and experience to stop Roger Covenant, surely he did?

“Be careful with him, Linden,” Megan cautioned. “He isn’t what we might call a fan of yours. As far as he’s concerned, Berenford Memorial is just a liberal ruse to keep crooks out of jail. From his point of view, that practically makes you an accessory.”

“I know.” Linden was familiar with Lytton’s attitude. However, she hoped that he might feel otherwise about Joan. How could he not? Beyond question he had played a part in her condition. For the sake of his self-regard, if for no other reason, he might be willing to protect her now.

“Call me after you talk to him.” Megan’s voice held an undercurrent of anxiety. “I want to know what he says.”

“I will.” Now Linden was in a hurry to get off the phone. Her urgency had shifted its focus. She needed to get in touch with Sandy.

She was about to thank Megan and hang up when a new concern occurred to her: a possibility like a touch of foresight. Quickly she added, “Call my pager if you need to reach me.”

Roger might call Megan, trying to enlist her aid-

I will,” replied Megan. “I always do.”

Finally they hung up.

Staring blindly around her office, Linden looked for some way to contain her primitive alarm. She had made it clear to Roger that he could only obtain his father’s ring by theft or violence. He did not know that Jeremiah existed. Nevertheless she under stood obsession well enough to be sure that her own claim on the ring meant nothing to Roger. Inadvertently she had placed her son in peril.

A butcher shop-?

Instead of calling Sheriff Lytton, she dialled her home number. Helpless to do otherwise, she counted the rings while she waited for Sandy Eastwall to pick up the phone.

Sandy answered after the third. “This is Sandy.”

Brusque with concern, Linden asked, “Is Jeremiah all right?”

“Sure he is.” Sandy sounded worried, troubled by Linden’s manner. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Linden could not explain. “Has anything happened this morning? Anything out of the ordinary? Phone calls? Someone at the door?”

“Nothing important,” Sandy replied defensively. “Sam called. He wants to know if Jeremiah can come Tuesday instead of Monday next week. I was going to give you the message when you got home.”

Linden wished to soothe Sandy, but other considerations impelled her. “And Jeremiah?” she insisted.

“Sure,” said Sandy again. “He’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be? I’ve done everything-”

“I’m sorry,” Linden put in hastily. “I didn’t mean that. Of course you haven’t done anything.” In fact, Sandy’s unquestioning regard for Jeremiah, like her cheerful attendance to his needs, was precious to Linden. “I trust you. I’ve just been worried about him this morning for some reason.” Trying to account for herself in terms that would make sense to Sandy, she said, “You know those feelings you get sometimes? Out of the blue, you suddenly think that something bad has happened to someone you care about?”