Part 35 (1/2)
”Because he loves you,” she said, and the cab lurched to the left, as a loud explosion sounded behind them.
”What was that?” Barrett asked.
”Jimmy?” Ellen asked, ”Did you see?”
”Yes,” he settled back in his seat, his eyes on Barrett. ”No more detective Hobbs.”
”What?” Barrett shuddered, ”Ed ... what have you done?”
”You're very popular,” Ellen commented. ”What with the husband, the detective ... any more suitors we should know about?”
”Your detective Hobbs,” Jimmy commented in his wheezy old-man voice, ”just blew up. So sad, and I believe he had children, too.”
”No,” Barrett gasped, ”Oh G.o.d, no.”
”We can't be having other roosters in Jimbo's hen house,” he cackled, his voice dripping with the sarcasm Barrett had learned to a.s.sociate with the personality that claimed to be his father.
”And Barrett,” Ellen said, making eye contact through the rear-view mirror, ”you need to know that from this moment forward your actions have consequence. Should you attempt to escape or to contact your mother, or any friends or coworkers, they'll meet with fates similar to your detective and your poor, dead husband. Ralph, wasn't it? By now, your mother will have received a letter from you, apologizing for this shameful behavior, but you've fallen in love and for the time being desperately need to be alone with your fiance. In fact, you won't be able to show your face at your husband's funeral tomorrow.”
”She'll never believe that,” Barrett said, her fear growing by the second.
”For her sake,” Ellen said flatly, ”let's hope she does. If not, how sad, and a bit of a cliche, the female bartender walking home late at night. So many bad things can happen in such a big city. And if you're wondering about your colleagues and the good Dr. Fielding, by this time tomorrow he'll have explained to the clinic the seriousness of your behavior. You will become an example of the most serious of ethical breaches-falling in love with a patient. They will be cautioned against having anything to do with you.”
”Anton would never believe ...” but even as she spoke, she began to understand. ”How did you get to him?”
”It's not important,” Ellen said, ”suffice it to say that Dr. Fielding is finally on the way to the tenure he so desperately desires.”
Barrett found it hard to catch her breath. Through the mirror she saw the faintest of smiles on Ellen's painted lips. She thought about the board that oversaw Jimmy's release from the hospital, and wondered how they'd respond to this bizarre piece of news. Certainly they'd investigate. But that thought was immediately followed by the realization that Anton, as a key member of the review board and the director of the forensic clinic, could easily sway the discussion in whichever direction suited his needs.
”So now, Chicky,” Jimmy's wheezing father asked, ”what's on the menu?”
”Her,” Ellen replied, her voice tense.
”I a.s.sume you've worked through the indelicate details.”
”Of course,” she said. ”Mother told me the two of you never had s.e.x and that Dr. Jenson did the actual insemination. As for Little Jimmy, I don't think he's quite up to the task, and we've come too far to take the chance.”
”Very good, and will Dr. Jenson be officiating at tonight's festivities?”
Ellen pressed a remote-control b.u.t.ton on the dash as she turned onto 19th Street. ”That won't be necessary.” She eased the cab into the last bay door of the carriage house. ”I've got everything under control.” And hitting the b.u.t.ton again, the door shut behind them.
THIRTY-THREE.
Barrett lay flat on her back, her hands manacled over her head, and her feet stretched to the corners of the bed. She was alone in a dark room. ”Help me!” she screamed. But her ears, trained from an early age, recognized how her voice seemed encapsulated. It bounced from the ceiling and the walls; the room was soundproof. She thought that she was in the carriage house, but she couldn't be certain. She didn't know what had happened with Jimmy or Ellen; they'd left some time ago. At least it felt that way. She felt the soreness in her right shoulder, and remembered how they'd drugged her a second time ... or maybe it had been more than that.
Think Barrett; how long have you been here?
She strained against padded leather cuffs, the same kind used in psychiatric hospitals. She tensed the muscles of her forearm and twisted her fingers in tight, feeling for any play. She pictured the straps and the locks; she slowed her breath, and fought against the panic. Where's Justine? Her ears strained into the silence, wondering when they'd come back. ”Justine? Are you there?”
Only silence. Time pa.s.sed, as she tensed and relaxed her wrists, making tiny movements, and slowly creating give in the tight cuffs. ”Come on,” she whispered, feeling her right wrist slip further back. ”Come on.”
A door clicked; she froze. Then came a blinding light.
”So how are we doing?” Ellen asked.
Barrett peered through narrowed slits. What she saw was completely disorienting; it wasn't possible. ”Where? This can't ...”
”Nice, isn't it?” Ellen remarked.
Barrett's immediate thought was that this had to be a dream. Ellen Martin was dressed in a nurse's uniform, and Barrett was manacled to her own bed in her own condo. The sheets were ones she'd picked out with Ralph, the Ikea furniture was hers, the books, the medical journals, a stack of annotated musical scores on Ralph's bedside table. This has to be a dream.
”You must be getting tired of laying flat for so long,” Ellen commented. She reached down and checked the restraints.
Barrett couldn't breathe, as Ellen inspected the tightness, and felt pulses in her wrists and ankles to ensure that the blood flow wasn't being cut off.
”Not much longer,” Ellen said, as she pulled a syringe from a patch pocket on the front of her starched-white uniform.
”What is that?” Barrett managed, realizing this was no dream.
”Hormones,” Ellen replied, as she uncapped the syringe and tapped the tip with an elegantly manicured nail. ”Want to get you off to a good start.”
Barrett felt a cool alcohol wipe over her throbbing shoulder.
”Just a little p.r.i.c.k,” Ellen smiled, as the needle sank into her flesh. ”There we go, and now it's best for you to rest up. We've got quite a day ahead of us.”
”Where's Justine?” Barrett managed, as she watched Ellen pull out a second loaded syringe.
”She's safe ... nearby. In fact, if you're very good, I might let the two of you stay together. We'll have to see. I think it might be nice, get you through those difficult months.”
As she spoke, Barrett noted inconsistencies in her carefully constructed cage. This wasn't her condo, and the grand piano that she glimpsed through the opening into the living room was not hers. The bedspread that had fallen to the floor was the right pattern, but the parts that were supposed to be green were peach and vice versa. This wasn't her condo, but a carefully constructed approximation.
”You've gone to a lot of trouble,” she managed, through a throat that was parched.
”No trouble at all,” Ellen answered, ”now just one more shot.”
”Why?”
”To help you sleep.”
”No,” Barrett was trying to remember. ”Why? Why are you doing this?”
”It's not so strange,” Ellen said, gazing at Barrett. ”Many couples have trouble conceiving.”