Part 13 (1/2)

”Fair enough.”

Jade s.h.i.+fted in his chair to face Thomas again. ”How about you, Thomas? How do you feel about your son?”

Thomas didn't look up from his fingers, which still roamed over the curves of the fireplace rocks. He hunched over and grabbed his ankles, looking up at Jade.

”Son . . . I just don't know. Years of therapy haven't helped me figure that out, and I sure as h.e.l.l can't give you a three-sentence answer now. But I do know that when . . . that when your child does a thing, a thing like he did-”

”I think that's enough, dear,” Darby said, cutting him off, her voice maintaining its sweet tone.

Jade sensed something in the brief exchange. The couple wasn't in agreement about Allander. Darby had looked away when she spoke of him, as if she were ashamed for still having motherly feelings toward him. Showing this kind of guilt before her husband seemed strange, especially in light of the closeness Jade sensed between the two of them.

And now she had interrupted her husband-not rudely, but as if she were worried about what he might say. What was ”the thing” that Thomas said Allander did?

”We don't need to get into all that right now,” Darby continued. ”I'm sure Mr. Marlow can read between the lines. Anything else, Mr. Marlow?”

Jade noticed that her tone had changed. Though she was still polite, her warmth had departed.

He had a lot more digging to do; he hadn't even touched the tip of the iceberg. The Atlasias seemed pretty disturbed just by the mention of Allander's name, however, so Jade decided to wait and give them some time to adjust to talking about their son again. He would come back, though, and he would get them to talk, however painful it might be. That was his job.

Jade leaned forward and, with great effort, pulled himself free of the chair. He took a card from his wallet and wrote his home phone number on it.

As he handed it to Darby, he took her gently by the wrist. ”Your husband said he doesn't think Allander will try to contact you. Do you agree?”

The name unnerved her, as it had her husband, and her hand shook ever so slightly.

”We haven't spoken to him in years. I can't imagine what he would want from us now.”

She paused, looking at Jade for a moment. ”You know, Mr. Marlow, we've done a lot to move on, to integrate ourselves back into the community. A lot of charity work, social service-that was our road back to sanity. People don't forget things easily. So you'll have to forgive us if we're less than enthusiastic at the prospect of opening some of these doors again.”

”Yeah.” Jade nodded once. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. ”If you need anything, please call me. Anything. Any hour.” He glanced over at Thomas, who was studying the carpet. ”Thank you both for your time.”

Thomas looked up at Jade and his eyes were strikingly empty. ”Good-bye.” He snapped his head down again. ”Good-bye, Mr. Marlow.”

26.

A F T E R Leah slid her hand into the noose of the tape so that it gathered around her wrist, she worked it back and forth for what seemed like hours. Robbie whimpered as the tape chafed his skin.

Finally, it had stretched enough to allow Leah to slide her sweat-lubricated hand through, freeing it. She ripped the tape from around her eyes and left it dangling from her hair. After yanking on the remaining tape around her waist, she pulled out her other arm. Once she had both arms free, she kicked off her shoes and slid out of her pants rather than trying to extricate them from the coils of tape. She stood, feeling pins and needles through her legs, and pulled the tape from around Robbie's head.

His blue eyes watered as he squinted in the light.

”Before I untie you all the way, I'm gonna go get help, okay?”

Robbie was too weary to scream that he wanted to go with her, so he bit his lip and nodded as the tears began to spill down his cheeks.

Clad only in her s.h.i.+rt and underwear, Leah tiptoed down the carpeted hallway. As she rounded the corner to the living room, she screamed and sank to the floor, landing on her rear. Immediately, her legs began churning, backing her to the wall, away from the horror that lay in front of her.

The corpses of her parents lay grotesquely intertwined. The empty holes of their eye sockets gazed blankly at her like those of the skeletons she had seen on the pirate ride at Disneyland. Her mother's stomach had been cut open, and there was blood splattered everywhere-all over the walls, on the white blinds, on the fireplace and mantel, seeping into the carpet.

Smeared across the window overlooking the beach were the letters ”S N E.” The blood had crusted already, and was beginning to flake.

Leah ran back down the hallway to her room screaming, ”DON'T LOOK, ROBBIE! DON'T LOOK AT IT! DON'T LOOK?”

The dam of Robbie's emotions broke when he heard the panic in his sister's voice, and fear overwhelmed him. He sobbed with complete abandon, twisting on the bed, his face swollen and red.

Leah ran screaming into the room and pulled the tape from her hair, not even noticing the sting as it yanked a clump from its roots. She fell on top of Robbie and stuck the tape over his eyes. The scream kept coming, ”DON'T BE SCARED, ROBBIE! JUST DON'T LOOK! DON'T LOOK!”

Then she ran back down the hallway, closing her eyes when she again pa.s.sed the room in which her parents lay. Feeling the rest of the way with her hands, she reached the kitchen and called 911.

It was quiet and the dimmed green lamps glowed across the dark wooden bookcases. The occasional clicking of footsteps was all that interrupted the perfect silence of the Josephine Public Library.

Allander's book list was set evenly in a black folder. Jade pulled it out, placed it on the big oak desk, and reviewed it again. He was amazed by its contents. Though the Tower restricted reading, Allander had checked out an incredible range of books during his time at Maingate proper. Library resources were unlimited at the main prison; officials even borrowed books from local libraries if the prisoners requested them.

It seemed Allander had read everything: Victorian literature, biographies of composers, art theory, legal journals, historical a.n.a.lyses. He had also read a number of computer journals, Jade noted. Even from within prison, Allander was trying to keep up with modern technology, probably so he could be self-sufficient if he ever escaped.

He scanned the rest of the list, his finger running down the page. One author's name appeared over and over: Sigmund Freud.

At first he didn't think it was so unusual; the study of psychology was encouraged because of Maingate's a.s.sociation with the Ressler Inst.i.tute. But as Jade glanced down the page, he realized that Allander must have read Freud's entire canon. The materials by and about Freud far outnumbered those of any other author.

Lacking a familiarity with some of the works listed, Jade asked the librarian for help. ”I need a brushup on Freud. I've read him before, but I was hoping I could get something like a summary.”

”I should recommend a reader,” the librarian said. ”Peter Gay edited one. He's fantastic on biography and-”

”Peter Gay. Good.” Jade turned and left.

He found the suggested reader after spending a few minutes poking around the dusty shelves. He also grabbed Introductory Lectures on Psycho-a.n.a.lysis. He settled into an armchair by a window and didn't move for an hour and a half as he leafed through the books.

Much of Allander's recorded interview came into focus as Jade read. One piece of the puzzle fell into place almost immediately. The first footnote he came across stated that Freud's given names were Sigismund Schlomo. Freud was the ”Doctor Schlomo” Allander had spoken of on the tape. He had been taunting his psychologist, daring him to discover the hidden clues.

Jade had already recognized some of Allander's language as Freudian, but now he uncovered more of its meaning. For example, Allander had expressed disdain for sublimation. ”What I carve, I'll carve in flesh. What I write, I'll write in blood,” he had said. He felt that his art was reality; by his art, he meant his violence. Instead of sublimating his violent tendencies into something productive or healthy, he prided himself on acting them out. While others distracted themselves with fantasies, he alone indulged his true self. His way was more real, he thought, more courageous.

So what was it he admitted? What did he need or want to act out?

On the tapes, Allander had talked about something that's ”there in every little boy.” The Oedipal complex? The complex, like the myth, was certainly filled with s.e.xual violence.

Jade jotted notes down on a pad. He'd have to run a lot of this by a psychologist when he got a chance. Setting down his notes, Jade stood up and cracked his back all the way up from the base. He stretched his arms over his head as he walked back to the front desk.

”Where's a phone?” he asked the librarian.

”There isn't a public phone in the building,” the man replied, folding his thin arms across his chest.

Jade looked down over the counter at the white phone in front of him. He pointed at it.

”I'm sorry. No public use.”