Chris Abani - The Secret History of Las Vegas

No, she said, eyebrows arching at his tone. I keep it to remind me never to be so stupid again.

Love isn’t stupid, Sunil said, surprising himself.

Of course not, she said. She got up and crossed the room to the minibar. Want something?

No, he said, and headed into the bathroom. When he got back she was draped in a chair sipping on a glass of scotch. Why did we meet here, she asked.

I was at work. It was convenient.

You live closer to your work than this, she said. Is something going on?

It’s not like we’re dating, he said, a little sharper than he’d meant to.

You’re right, she said with a hurt tone.

Look, he said, I’ve been seeing these twins and—

Twins?

I mean at work. They are my patients. Anyway, they are conjoined twins and treating them is stirring up stuff for me.

You’ve never talked about work before, she said. Should you be telling me about your patients?

I’m sorry I brought it up.

She smiled and took a sip of scotch. It’s fine. I just don’t want to talk about work. I mean, imagine if I talked to you about my work.

Point taken, he said, and crossed the room to pull on his pants.

We can talk about other things, she said in a conciliatory tone. Like why you love this hotel so much.

How do you know I love it so much?

Well, I know you come here a lot. You said as much in the past and I’ve seen you here several times.

On dates with other men?

Not talking about work, remember, she said sweetly. So why do you love it so much?

It reminds me of my mother, he said, buttoning his shirt.

That’s a little weird, if you don’t mind me saying. Is that why you wanted to do it here?

I have to go, he said, stepping into his shoes. The room is paid up until tomorrow, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, her head soft on his chest. I’m sorry, she said, I didn’t say that to hurt you. I was just surprised.

He held her for a moment, nosing her hair. It smelled of sandalwood as always. He pulled away. This was a mistake, he said. I shouldn’t have called you.

Don’t say that, she said, her voice small.

I don’t know what I expected.

I do, she said, knowing full well that he was in love with her. But you know what I do, I can’t, she said. I just can’t. As she spoke she rubbed her tattoo reflexively.

He stopped at the door. It’s in the Bible in the bedside drawer, he said.

She didn’t look at him. Thank you, she said.

He closed the door behind him and immediately wanted to walk back in. He leaned against it for a moment to steady himself, wishing he had showered. Now he would have to stop at home on the way back to work. Just as well, he thought, pushing away from the door and heading down the corridor. He didn’t want to carry the smell of her around with him all day. Unknown to him, she had been leaning on the other side of the door and as she heard him walk away, she rubbed the hard wood of it.

I have a complaint, Fire said as soon as he got in the door.

Sit down, please, Sunil said, pointing to the couch.

The twins sat.

Some coffee first, and then we can get to your complaint?

Turkish bridegrooms promised their wives on their wedding day to always provide them with coffee, Water said.

We will both have coffee, Doc, Fire said.

Sunil poured two Styrofoam cups of coffee and passed them to the twins. Pouring his into a real cup, he leaned back.

Coffee was discovered in the Kingdom of Kaffa in Ethiopia, Water said. Even though there the bean was called bunna, coffee took its name from Kaffa.

Do you realize that the police think you are killers? That you are connected to a series of deaths from two years ago?

Serial killers? We are the witchdoctor, Doc, not killers. You know this deep down.

I have to keep you here until you tell me what you were doing by that lake with the blood.

We never saw the blood until the police pointed it out. We were there to sightsee.

I find that hard to believe, Sunil said.

I think you’re keeping us here because you are chasing old ghosts, Fire said. Something about us reminds you of them.

Is that so, Sunil asked. But he knew better than anyone that psychiatry was all about chasing ghosts. There was no precision to its science, no technology that allowed a doctor into a patient’s head. It was a game of deep insights, good instincts, and luck — the same as for any good priest. Eugene had told him as much.

We are songomas, you and I, he’d said to Sunil. We throw bones and read them for meaning, for hope, for direction. Your bones are more ethereal than mine. I mean, I usually throw people’s actual bones, but in the end it’s the same, we are both chasing spirits. We are hunting the demons that haunt others. We get a smell and off we go. And you know why, Sunil? You know why we are so good at hunting the demons of others? Because we are so good, gifted even, at stalking and evading our own. But all demon hunters think that they are really heroes, and you know what all heroes need? They need a myth. For me it is the ideal of order, of understanding that the world would spin off its axis without the order I bring. For you… for you it might be the illusion of doing good, of saving others.

The illusion, Sunil asked. What are you talking about?

Eugene smiled, a cruel peeling back of the lips from the teeth. Your myth, Sunil. I mean that you have yet to find your myth. When you do, you’ll be free like me. You will be a pure angel of purpose.

As much as he hated it, Sunil realized that Eugene was right. He hadn’t found his myth. What he didn’t know was what kept him from it.

He looked at Fire and shivered when he saw his lips peel back in a smile not unlike Eugene’s. Were the twins the gatekeepers to his myth? Was that why he was chasing them in a pointless game of bait? Something an intern could handle for him? The twins weren’t the killers from two years ago, but he didn’t know what they were. Two years ago he’d been clear about why he was helping, or pretending to help, Salazar. Now he had lost track of what the charade was about. Was he stalking himself, or Brewster? Or was Brewster stalking him? He remembered something Eugene had said. If a hunter ever loses track of his prey, he becomes prey.

You okay, Doc?

Yes, Fire, I’m fine, Sunil said.

Are you sure? Because you don’t look so good. You look like you’re suppressing something, something unpleasant, like, say, a sad truth?

The truth shall set you free, Water said.

Perhaps you’re projecting something onto me? Something you’d like to share, Sunil said.

Classic evasion, Doc. Very good, Fire said.

Why don’t you leave the psychiatry to me, Sunil said. You may be a little out of your depth there.

You know I’m right, Doc, you know you’re holding us because somewhere deep down you think we can help you with this truth that’s burning a hole in you.

Did you make your call to Fred, Sunil asked.

No, we didn’t and we want to, Fire said.

Fred will come for us, Water said.

And where is Fred right now?

Fred is in the desert, Water said. I love Fred. Fred is whom I love.

Can you tell me where to find Fred, Sunil asked.

Water was drinking his coffee, but Fire was just twirling the cup in his hands, not drinking. Sunil made a note about this, wondering if Fire could actually ingest anything. In spite of his earlier protestations to the contrary, he was looking forward to the results of the MRI that Brewster would be performing.

Why do we have Styrofoam cups and you have a real one, Fire asked.

Institute policy, Sunil said. Patients can’t use breakable crockery.