Andrew Neiderman - Deficiency

No, he heard and turned.

He was standing there shaking his head.

What?

We can't just go on. They'll come after us, armed to the teeth with information, pictures, witnesses. They'll hunt us down and they'll stomp on us. He saw that his hair wasn't dyed.

"Your hair isn't dyed, too," he said.

He smiled back at him.

"Doesn't have to be. I'm inside you most of the time, remember? Thanks to you, that is."

"Oh. Right. Well, what do we do?"

"You'll know what to do. Just go on," he said nodding at the door.

"Right. I do know what to do."

He opened the door. The rush of cool air washed over him and despite the clouds, the light made him squint. He pulled up his shoulders. He could feel him slipping back inside him, strengthening, supporting. He was confident again and started for the car.

Yes, he thought as he opened the car door. I know what to do. I know exactly what to do.

Curt sat beside her when she made the call. It took quite a while to track Will Dennis down, and at one point his secretary tried to talk her into calling later.

"No, I must speak with him now. You have to get to him," she said firmly.

"Well, I'm trying. He hasn't responded to the page yet. You want to continue holding?"

"Absolutely," Terri said. "We'll hold until hell freezes over." She heard the secretary blow air through her lips and then the elevator music began again, periodically interrupted by messages and information from the district attorney's office, the county clerk's office, and the tax assessor's office.

"He's busy composing what new lies he's going to tell you," Curt said.

"My next call will be to the newspapers and radio and television stations," she threatened.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before the secretary came back on to say, "Please hold for Mr. Dennis."

Terri sat up.

"Before you start, let me tell you I've been on the phone all this time with Dr. Stanley's people," Will Dennis began.

"And?"

There was a truly pregnant pause.

"Apparently, we sent Dr. Stanley back in a body bag and not, what shall I call him, It?"

"What? How could that be?"

"You know he's a perfect duplication. If I had any doubt, which I didn't at the time, you would have ended it when you described how you had struck him in the forehead. Both of them had head bruises, and practically in the same place. He wore Stanley's clothing. He responded to everything the way I expected Doctor Stanley to respond. There just wasn't any way to tell," he claimed, his voice now high-pitched.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked.

"I'm working on it with the higher-ups," he said. "They're bringing in everyone they can. There hasn't been a manhunt like this since we went after bin Laden." Curt, who was sharing the earpiece, pulled back and shook his head.

"Tell him, they have to have a press conference and let the public know it all," she told Will Dennis.

"It's not my decision, Doc. I've made that suggestion myself. It's out of my hands."

"It's not out of mine," she said.

"Nothing's changed in that regard, Terri. You do that and they'll paint you into a corner. They..."

"They've lost control now, Will. If you care at all about the people who elected you, and the people who are vulnerable to this, you'll take a leadership position, I'll stand beside you," she said. "We'll do it together." He was silent a moment.

"Will?"

"Let me think about that, Terri. You might be right," he admitted. "I'll call you later today. I want to hear what they've got to say, what they're doing. Okay? I'll call you this afternoon."

"I'm not back home. I'm at Hyman's cabin in Willowemac. I'm supposedly taking a much-needed rest with Curt."

"Understood," he said. "I know the place. It's peaceful. I envy you."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not feeling very restful at the moment, Will." Curt smiled.

"Squeeze the bastard," he cheered.

"If this goes on, Will, you will be the one blamed."

"Is that a threat?"

"Just a clearly thought-out realization, Will. You have the information and you're sitting on it and another person is dead, and a teenager to boot." He was quiet.

Curt's smile widened as he nodded and whispered, "Yeah, right on."

"I'll call you later," Will said. The line went dead. She held the receiver a moment and then slowly cradled it.

"Maybe, I should go back to the office," she said.

"To do what? You're only an hour away, baby. Seconds away from reaching the media. Will Dennis knows that in spades now. We might as well go fishing. You've done what you can and very well, too," he added.

"I guess you're right," she said after a moment's thinking.

"Sure I'm right. It's like any negotiation. You deliver your best assault and then you let the other side stew. A watched pot never boils," he added. She smiled.

"Who told you that one?"

"My grandmother always used it, and Dad never forgot it. He loved to move on to another case and leave the first one hanging there."

"Yes, well I don't know if this one is hanging or seeping," she said. He leaned over to kiss her.

"You'll know soon enough," he said. "C'mon, I'll put the worms on the hooks." She laughed and followed him out. He had their fishing poles set against the railing and a basket between them.

"What's in there? And don't tell me worms," she said quickly.

"No, some wine, some cheese, a loaf of that French bread. A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou beneath me in the wilderness. Ah love," he moaned and she poked him.

"Curt Levitt, since when did you become the romantic?"

"It was that smack on my head," he told her.

"In that case I'll bop you every night."

"Big talker," he teased, kissed her on the cheek and started for the boat. She watched him a moment and then followed. Despite it all she couldn't help feeling guilty about enjoying anything. She should be doing more, she thought, only she had no idea what it was she could do now.

Pick on the unsuspecting fish, she thought and hurried to catch up to Curt.

He sat in his vehicle and watched the front entrance of the county building. At one point he saw the two men who had accompanied Will Dennis to the motel and handled the cleanup. They went into the building and a little over an hour later, they emerged, but without Will Dennis.

He wasn't patient, but he looked patient sitting there in the car, calm. No one going by paid the slightest attention to him, he thought, actually, to us. He actually felt invisible. Finally, Will Dennis came out of the building. He was accompanied by two sheriff's patrolmen. They stopped at the bottom of the steps and spoke for a while. Then the patrolmen went to their vehicle and Will Dennis walked around and into the parking lot where his county vehicle was parked. He got into it and drove out.

Following at a safe distance behind, he could see Will using his car phone. He drove a good fifteen minutes before pulling into a self-service gas station about five miles or so past what was once the Monticello Trotters Race Track. Restaurants and gas stations, as well as motels had sprouted around it, but it all looked in hibernation now. There was nowhere near the bustling activity that characterized the area in its heyday.

Ghosts, he thought to himself. This place is haunted by its past. Memories lingered in old road signs that made promises no longer kept, hawking this bungalow colony or that small hotel, tempting visitors with now faded pictures of beautiful lakes and emerald-green golf courses. We've got to do our business and move on, he thought. There was an inherent danger to camping out in cemeteries. The dead might enjoy your company.

He pulled up behind Will Dennis, who was again on his cellular, talking while he filled his gas tank. Dennis had his back to him. He got out slowly, fingering the pistol he had used back in the motel owner's apartment. There was only one other gas customer, and he was finished, closing his tank and getting into his car. He watched him drive away. Will Dennis still had his back to him, still talked on the phone.