Andrew Neiderman - Deficiency

"I'll tell you, Curt. Just relax. Let me just see Will out," she said and followed the district attorney into the hallway. "What should I tell him?" she asked when they were beyond Curt's hearing.

"It doesn't look like he's going anywhere for a while. You can tell him all you know, if you like. Ask him to keep it to himself. He's earned it," Will Dennis said. "Not that it's anything he would want to earn, I'm sure," he added.

"Do you want me to meet with the police sketch artist? I'm no law enforcement officer, but I think it's about time."

"Yes, probably. We'll talk about it tomorrow," he said.

"Okay, but as a physician, I'm advising you to go home and get some sleep. One of us has to be fresh in the morning and I know it's not going to be me," she said.

"Should I alert your patients?" he asked jokingly.

"Hey, this won't be the first time I go to work on a few hours of sleep, if any. You should try interning."

"Thanks, but I have my own internship going at the moment," he replied, wished Curt well and left.

She returned to Curt's room. For a few moments, she thought he would doze off now and she could put off telling him anything, but as if he could sense her decision, his eyes popped open.

"Hey," he said. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"You said it yourself, big shot. You decided to be Superman."

"Okay," he said reaching for her hand. "I don't have the strength for crossexamination, so just give me your testimony straight." She smiled.

"Where do I begin?" she asked rhetorically, and then proceeded to tell him all she knew. His reactions moved from incredulity to abject terror.

"No one knows how he's doing these terrible crimes?"

"Nor can they say with certainty apparently that he is doing them at all. It's a mystery that just grows deeper and now, more complicated for me," she said examining his wound again.

"You're not going home now, are you?"

"I don't know. I didn't think about it."

"I'd feel a lot better if you would go to my house instead, Terri, or to your parents."

"Right. Go to my parents and we'll have panic in the streets," she said.

"Then go to my house. Our house," he added. She nodded. "Promise?"

"On my Hippocratic oath."

Two hours later, after Curt was resting comfortably, she got into the elevator and walked down the corridor to exit the hospital through the emergency room. That was when she knew not only wouldn't she go to Curt's house; she wouldn't get even an hour's sleep.

Darlene Stone finished cleaning up and shut down the lights behind the bar. Griffy asked the last two hangers-on to leave, telling them as he usually did, to get a life. She and he had no doubt they would stay until morning if Griffy didn't shove them off. He was the current owner of the Inn and lived with his wife in a small apartment above the bar and restaurant. She did most, if not all, of the cooking, not that they had that much of a food crowd here. Burgers, fries, meatloaf twice a week, and roast beef sandwiches were the heart of their small menu.

"All and all a pretty good night," Griffy told her after quickly reviewing their receipts. "I guess we'll keep the Outlaws on another month for sure."

"Sometimes I think you could have my grandparents up there howling and it wouldn't matter," she said.

"And they probably wouldn't charge as much," Griffy said laughing. She gave him a hug, said goodnight, and left the Inn. She was halfway to her car in the rear parking lot where the help parked when she noticed Paula Gilbert's automobile still in the lot. It gave her pause. She smirked and nodded to herself, imagining the handsome stranger had been waiting for her and taken her off to some rendezvous. Envy boiled in her heart. It could have been me, she thought. It should have been me.

She continued to walk, gazing back at Paula's car. Suddenly something caught her eye and she stopped again. The clouds had shifted and some starlight moved a shadow just enough to reveal what looked like someone silhouetted in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

Who was that? Paula? Why would she be just sitting there in her automobile this late in the evening?

Curious, Darlene changed direction and headed toward the car. As she drew closer, the sight before her became clearer and clearer and stopped her in her steps, practically gluing the soles of her feet to the tarred surface. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? She actually wiped them with her balled fists and looked again.

Paula Gilbert was naked. Her bare bosom could not be mistaken. The two mounds of white flesh capped by those large areolas were too impressive. She hurried over to the car and then, just before she reached out to knock on the window, gasped, and stepped back quickly. The sight brought up the little she had eaten and the small amount of beer she had drunk to wash it down. She shook her head to deny what she had seen and then she turned and ran back to the Inn.

Griffy had already locked the door behind her and put out the lights. She shook the handle and then pounded the door and shouted for him. Almost three full minutes later the light went on in the kitchen, and he appeared, moving cautiously with surprise toward the rear entrance. He was in just his pants.

"What's wrong, Darlene?" he asked opening the door. She started to speak, but turned instead and pointed at Paula Gilbert's car.

"What is it?"

"Go... look," she said.

"I ain't got my shoes on," he complained.

"Go look!" she screamed and he jumped and then started out and across the lot to Paula Gilbert's car. Darlene followed slowly but remained back a good twenty or so yards. Griffy slowed down as he approached the car, stopped, and then slowly opened the door.

"Jesus!" he shouted. "Get in there and call for an ambulance."

"Yes," she said, realizing that should have been the first thing she had done. In a panic she punched out 911 and gasped her words. The dispatcher needed her to repeat it all and she did, fighting the hysteria in herself to slow down and be sensible.

"They're on her way!" she shouted to Griffy. He was standing back. The car door was open, and he was just gaping at Paula Gilbert as if he was terrified of touching her or talking to her.

"You better see to her," he said.

"What's going on?" Darlene heard from behind. Griffy's wife Dorothy was there in her bathrobe. "What are you two doing? What's all the shouting for? What's happening?" she followed, delivering her questions in shotgun fashion.

"Paula Gilbert," Darlene said nodding at the car.

She walked to it slowly and joined Griffy to look in.

"Oh my God," she cried, but unlike Darlene and Griffy, she went forward and tried to rouse Paula. Her eyelids fluttered.

"She's alive!" she screamed. "Did you call for help?"

"They're on the way."

"Go get a blanket for her," she ordered Griffy, and he turned, happy to have a reason to get away from the scene. He charged past Darlene and into the restaurant.

Now feeling ashamed at her own response, especially in light of how quickly Dorothy had moved into action, Darlene joined her and they both looked in on Paula Gilbert.

"What happened to you, Paula?" Darlene asked her.

She opened and closed her eyes and moved her lips. Reluctantly, still feeling as if she was getting too close to a leper, she lowered her head to turn her ear like a cup catching the soft, nearly inaudible words.

Darlene's eyes widened as she listened to her speak, gasping out her incredible tale.

"What happened to her? What is she saying?" Dorothy asked. Darlene shook her head.

"She must be delirious," she said. "She's making no sense."

"God only knows what really happened to her," Dorothy said, "but whatever it was, I hope to hell it's not catching."

He was in an unusually disturbed state of mind. He had set out this evening believing he was in a vigorous, healthy state, never feeling more energized and contented. That was why he was so charming in that saloon and why he was so poetic and philosophical with Paula. He had really intended to have a simple romantic evening, make love, and bring her back as contented as he was. Despite some of the disturbing things that had recently happened, he still harbored the belief that he could transfer wonderful things to women when he didn't have to take what he needed from them. In a sense he was truly the world's greatest lover. Not only did women have difficulty turning him away, but they were ruined for other men, always dissatisfied afterward since none could come up to his level of satisfaction. It was a delicious sort of arrogance that put vigor in his strut and power in his eyes.