Part 36 (1/2)
Will chose not to.
Mist had collected on the window which took up the entire eastern wall of the room. Lake Michigan loomed beyond, cold and gray and choppy. Wind buffeted the building.
Something hissed like a cat and Will flinched involuntarily - an unseen timed aerosol canister had sprayed an artificial pine scent into the room from high atop Smith's numerous heavily-laden shelves of psychology texts.
”Listen, Mr. Castleton. Will. Do you think you can trust me?”
”Tell you the truth, I'm afraid I'm going to end up in some scholarly journal as Patient X. Or, worse yet, in a tell-all book. I have trust issues when it comes to telling the skeletons in my closet. With good reason, but I think it's one of those things I'm supposed to *reveal to you, like it's a deep, dark secret.”
”I'm my own boss. I don't need to publish. All the confidentiality laws apply to what you want to do here. And I can't write for s.h.i.+t. My girlfriend - wife now - wrote all my papers in college.”
”You must be a great psychiatrist then. How'd you pa.s.s your exams?”
”I might be exaggerating a little. But I won't write about you.”
”You could get a ghost writer. That would be particularly ironic in my case.”
”So you're ready to talk about that aspect of your life? The alleged ghosts and such? I understand about the extreme nature of the cases you've been involved with. Your accident in Florida, the dead girl in Michigan, what you witnessed in Arizona. These things couldn't have been easy. But the claims of supernatural involvementa”
”They're not *claims.'”
”Sorry. Bad word choice again. Let me put it this way.... These waking nightmares you've had - ”
”Visions. Before the fact.”
”The ones in Michigana”
”Okay, those were after the fact. Obviously.”
”I think it's important we talk about these visions.”
”Look, I get it. You're saying I've experienced terrible things and I'm having waking nightmares about them. You're going to try to convince me my claims they were visions are some sort of mental compensation on my part, my way of dealing with latent guilt or something.”
”Why would anyone feel guilt when they've helped solve crimes? When they've put bad men in jail for what they've done?”
”I don't feel guilt. That's just it. What I feel is spooked. What I feel is a manipulated by some higher force. Like my life's not my own. And whatever this thing is, it keeps wanting to draw me back in. To draw me back under. I feel like I'm drowning again. But this time I'm drowning in blood, not salt.w.a.ter.”
”Interesting. Why don't you start by telling me about the accident.”
Will opened his mouth. Closed it.
”Okay, they're just claims. I didn't really have visions. I just got lucky in the hospital in Florida. I just did some spectacular detective work in Michigan. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time in Arizona. Can I get a pa.s.s now? Can you tell my bosses I said what they wanted to hear? Can I go back to work now?”
Click, click, click went the pen.
”I think it's important we talk about these events in your life.”