Andrew Vachss: Down in the Zero

His hands were shaking— he gripped the edge of his desk to steady them, a shot fighter, lying back on the ropes, waiting for the ref to stop the contest. I tossed the Mole's calculations on his desk. He looked at the papers without moving his hands, frozen, watching the scorpion twitching its tail on the polished wood.

"What is— ?"

"Charm's been doing experiments. On kids. Your kids. The ones who come here for help. She's got a drug she thinks induces suicide. And she's managed to make sure half of the kids who come here get it. Double–blind experiments she's running. Now tell me…tell me she doesn't have access to them."

"She…does. But I never— "

"No, I don't think you did either. You're in business, aren't you? You and Cherry. What's the tariff, doc? For a new face? For a new life?"

"It…varies."

"I'll bet. You're down to two choices now. You live, or you die."

"What do you want?" he whispered, his face so stark it looked X–rayed.

"The truth. Some cash. And silence. You put that on the table, you stay alive. And in business too, if that's what you want."

"What do you want to know?"

"Charm was doing experiments?"

"Yes. With psychotropics. I knew about it. But she told me it was an antidepressant. Something she'd developed herself. She didn't want to go through the FDA maze— it takes too long, costs too much. You have to wait forever, to get human subjects. A real breakthrough, that's what she called it. We don't know very much about endogenous depression…depression from the inside. I thought— "

"How do they get it? The drug?"

"It's an injection. Intramuscular. One dose, five cc's."

"And she gave it to them herself?"

"No. She doesn't come here. She…gave me the…material. And I did it."

"And you kept records?"

"I didn't keep them. I turned my notes over to her. Every week. To a post office box. They were coded— nobody could know which…"

"Where is it?"

"What?"

"The drugs, Doctor. Where's your supply?"

"Right over there," he said, pointing to a mini–refrigerator with a black face built into the bottom of the bookcase, right next to the VCR. "It's…unstable. You need a fresh supply every couple of weeks. She just dropped some off, the day before yesterday."

I moved over to the refrigerator, opened it up. It was full of those little cartons of fruit juice, the kind you pierce with a plastic straw. Two little bottles at the back, full of clear fluid, with flat rubber screw–on tops…for the hypodermic needle to draw through.

I pocketed the bottles. "Did Cherry know?" I asked him.

"She knows Charm is…dangerous. Sociopathic. And she always suspected she might hurt Randy in some way. But she doesn't know about this…"

"How does she know…that Charm is crazy?"

" I told her. Charm never wanted me to treat her— she had her own agenda. Still, she wasn't a difficult case to diagnose. Classic. She doesn't see people as people— they're just objects to her. Things to be rearranged, like furniture."

"Why did you let someone like her into your life? I mean, she's got some hanky–spanky films of you, so what? You're not running for office."

"I told you…it's nothing like that. I first met her as a patient. She self–referred. I probably wouldn't have seen her personally, but Cherry asked me to. My profession is founded on secrecy— I figured it out— Cherry wanted to learn Charm's secrets…through me."

"Did you?"

"Oh yes. At least I thought so. Charm is…capable of anything. Anything at all. She has no superego at all, no moral controls. She doesn't feel anything. Inside or out. Her pain threshold is incredible. I saw her once, right in this office, I saw her hold a finger over a burning match until I could smell the flesh burn. She never changed expression."

"You were afraid of her?"

"Everybody's afraid of her. She is a person utterly without limits."

"A lot of crazy— "

"Charm is not crazy, Mr. Burke. She's well oriented in all spheres; she has excellent reality contact. She's not psychotic…"

"Just dangerous."

"Yes."

"Dangerous enough to kill?"

He got up from his desk, walked in tight, agitated circles, dry–washing his hands. I watched his walk, timing my voice so it hit him as he circled just in front of me. "You remember the tape I just showed you, doctor? Diagnosis is your business. The question for you isn't whether Charm's dangerous, it's whether the man I just showed you is. The man on the tape. There's only one way out for you now."

He reached inside of himself, got a grip somewhere, sat back down. "She killed her father," he said. "Maybe her mother, too. I don't know that for sure, not about her mother, but she has the…knowledge to do it."

"Was that revenge? For the incest?"

"You know about that? How could… she would never tell anyone.

"She didn't. I put it together. From other stuff. Stuff Fancy told me."

"It wasn't for revenge. At least I don't think so. He was in the way, her father. That's what she said. That's all it takes. For Charm, that's all it takes. She told me… all about it. Sat right where you're sitting and laughed about it— she knows all about doctor–patient privilege— I could never testify against her."

"So you thought I was working for her? I was here to blackmail you?"

"I guess I expected it. I've been expecting it for years. I was trying to…protect someone."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. I'm going to tie up all the loose ends, or I'm not. If I don't, you can talk to Blankenship."

"Blankenship?"

"The man on the tape," I said. "Diandra's father. You don't believe me, check your own records."

He didn't say anything for a minute. I waited. Like Blankenship was waiting.

"Randy," he finally said. "She said she'd destroy him. I know she had a… relationship with him. When he was just a boy. I got her to promise to leave him alone."

"And she did?"

"Yes. Absolutely. I probed it fairly deeply. When he was in treatment with me. For a long time. He's very close to working it through. Once he finds something to connect with…"

"He already has," I said. "But what's the kid to you?"

"He's my son," Barryrnore said, meeting my eyes for the first time. "When Cherry wanted a child, she didn't want to go near a sperm bank— all those stories about tainted blood. Looks as though she was right too— look what's happened since. Bad screening for HIV. And that doctor who used his own sperm on dozens of his own patients. She was afraid. So I…did it myself."

"And Charm found out?"

"Yes. I don't know how, but she did. She swore she'd never tell, if only I'd…"

I stood up. "The experiments are over," I told him. "Charm's out of business. Your business, you go and do what you want with it— it's not my problem. This cost me and my associates a lot of money. You have to make it good. But it's a one–shot tap— I won't be back."

"How much do you— ?"

"Half a million. Cash. It's a small bite— I got a good idea of what you all take in with this operation. You'll get a call— somebody'll be using my name. They'll make all the arrangements for the pick–up. You keep nice and quiet, so do I. You say one word, to anybody, and the list gets into circulation. Then people will die…and they won't go alone, understand?"

"Yes."

"Don't say one word to Charm. Not one word."

"I understand."

"Doctor, listen to me now. I'm going to walk out of here. And out of your life. You pick up that phone, it won't help you. You swallowed some poison— I'm the antidote. Got it?"

"Yes," he said, head down, looking at his desk.

I drove the Lexus away from the grounds, feeling Blankenship's thermal track all over my back. I kept driving all the way to his house. Parked in his driveway and waited.