John Locke - Lethal Experiment

“You’re very good at what you do, Nadine.”

“Not as good as you,” she said.

I kept my eyes fixed on hers until she blinked. “You’re a psychiatrist,” I said. You’re supposed to stand for something. You seriously expect me to believe you want me to keep killing innocent people?”

“Your issues with innocence started with Victor, and they’ll end the moment you stop working for him.”

“It’s good money,” I said, though I had already made the decision to stop.

“You took the work for one reason. And I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is.”

I already knew. “There was too much hang time,” I said, “between the killings.”

Nadine’s eyes misted briefly. She patted my hand. “This is one of the three reasons it’s worth giving up my practice to work with people like you.”

“What are the other two?”

“Money and Joan.”

“Joan of Arc again?”

“You remember the first time we met, the pictures on my desk?”

“The two Japanese-American boys your sister adopted?”

“You have a prodigious memory,” she said.

“For me it was a month ago.”

“Joan was my sister. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she worked on the top floor of the World Trade Center.”

I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“She called her husband that morning, but he was busy with a client. She called me, terrified, but I was busy with a patient. She tried to leave me a message, but her phone went dead.”

“You feel somehow responsible?”

“Of course not. But it shouldn’t have happened. And when it did, I should have been there for her.”

“And now you want revenge.”

She shook her head. “Revenge is a waste of emotion.”

“But you want me to prevent it from happening again, even though innocent people will die. Sounds to me like you have a fatal fl aw. You can’t remain detached from what happened to your sister.”

“Let’s keep this about you,” she said. “You’re a soldier, a man of action. You can’t survive in captivity.”

“By captivity you mean settling down, raising a family?”

“You tried it before, with Janet and Kimberly. Didn’t you learn anything? Your domestication only served to torment the people you love.”

“You think you know me—”

“We both know you. You’re an eagle. Eagles don’t flock. They can’t be domesticated. They do not thrive in captivity.”

“You must be the worst marriage counselor in the world,” I said.

“Quit working for Victor. Get your mind back in the game.”

“My country needs me, eh?”

“Not to make a cliché out of it, but yes, we do.”

“What about Sal?”

“Sal Bonadello?”

“Do you object to my working for him?”

Nadine took some time to weigh the question. She sighed. “I suppose not.” She saw my eyebrows rise in disbelief and added, “Sal’s jobs keep you sharp. In the end, what’s it to society if tomorrow morning we all wake up and find there’s one less bit of scum on the pond?”

“Nadine, you’re an astonishingly bad psychotherapist.”

“That’s entirely possible, but it doesn’t change who you are, or what you were meant to do.”

“Nevertheless,” I said, “I aim to quit the business, marry Kathleen, and help her raise Addie.”

She said nothing.

“You’re disappointed in me,” I said.

“Not true. As for marrying Kathleen, if that’s your motivation for getting strong and healthy, it’s as good as any.”

Chapter 46

I’d been warned that the physical therapy would be agonizing. Instead, it was thrilling. Every stabbing pain made me feel alive, eager for more. Dr. Howard kept trying to back me off the weights and leg machines, but I was relentless, having set a goal to be in Kathleen’s arms within ten days. Nadine was just as relentless in her attempt to keep me out of “captivity,” but what could she do? In a competition for my soul, Kathleen would always win.

One day Nadine walked into my room and turned off the CPM machine that had been flexing and extending my knees.

“Conner,” she said, “there’s someone here to see you.”

My heart raced. “Kathleen?”

She shook her head. “If you choose Kathleen, you’ll have to approach her on your own.”

“So who’s here?”

I heard the electric whir before I saw him.

“Good to…see you…Mr. Payne…you’re…looking…well.”

“Hello, Victor. Where’s Hugo?”

“He’s…in the…corridor…with…someone.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me alive.”

“Curly…told me…you were…alive.”

“And you’ve not told anyone all this time? Not even Sal?”

“It was…not my…business…to tell…anyone.”

“Who wound up killing the couple from Nashville?”

“No one…I termi…nated…the pro…ject…after you…got here.”

“And you’re here to talk me into coming back to work for you?”

“No, I’m…part of…your…therapy…Dr. Crouch…wanted…me to…show you… something.”

“Then do so.”

Victor was a quadriplegic, which means his paralysis affects all four limbs. But like many quads, Victor’s paralysis and loss of function was not complete. He still retained partial use of his hands. With them, he controlled an array of buttons and toggles, one of which he used to summon his general, Hugo, and his mystery guest.

Hugo walked into the room with a very attractive woman who seemed familiar to me.

“Creed,” he said.

“Hi Hugo. These days I’m going by Conner Payne.” I studied the woman standing next to him. I knew it would come to me. She had shoulder-length blond hair. The eyes were a different color than the last time I’d seen her, but they were still deep set and expressive.

“Holy shit,” I said. “Monica Childers. I thought you were dead.”

“I wish you’d died,” she said. “But I take comfort knowing you’re going to suffer.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

I glanced at my wheelchair-bound former employer. “Victor, you told me Monica had been fucked to death by the Fathis.”

She gave him a hard look.

“That…was a…cover…story,” he said.

I said, “Monica, you’ve got every reason to hate me, but seriously, I’m glad to know you’re alive.”

“Fuck you,” she said.

“It’s a generous offer, but I’m already spoken for.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“You’re a saucy little thing,” I said.

“And you tried to kill me.”

I said, “Victor, what’s the story here?”

Victor gave Hugo a single nod, and Hugo said, “Monica was married to Baxter Childers, the surgeon who botched Victor’s operation and left him paralyzed.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Monica met Victor during the lawsuit. They kept in touch with throwaway phones. Baxter was a serial cheater, and a piece of shit human being,” Hugo said. He looked at Monica, held his hands up as if asking her to take over. She did.

“Not that I give a rat’s ass what you think,” she said to me, “but I knew for years he’d been cheating. I forgave him twice. Then I opened my heart to another man and fell in love. During the trial, I shared information with Victor’s people and they reciprocated. I found out Baxter had a child with one of his young lovers. He was getting ready to divorce me and marry her. I could go through an extended divorce, or I could see him put away for my murder.”

“And you chose the latter.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed, causing her eyebrows to flare like the wingspan of a predatory bird. “Victor said he’d take care of everything.” She turned to address him face-to-face: “You failed to mention I’d be beaten and murdered.”