Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(6)

But in any case, Howard was shaking his head. “No,” he said hoarsely. “You couldn’t. Ever. If you knew.”

She let out a silent sigh. “Knew what? Try me.”

Howard’s lank gray hair had gotten long, and it flapped against his sunken face as he waved his head back and forth. “Please,” he begged. “Please, don’t ask me that, Lil.”

Around and around, like always. She knew this song by heart. There was the plea for forgiveness, the heebie-jeebie-inducing hints, then the coy retreat. “OK,” she soothed. “Whatever. It’s all good.”

“No. That’s just it. It’s not good. It’ll never be OK.” His bloodshot eyes were wide and desperate. “I can’t stand it anymore. It’s like my chest’s caving in. It’s breaking my bones. I can’t breathe anymore.”

Lily gazed at him, helpless. She’d written papers on abnormal psych, on Jungian symbolism, on Freud. She’d studihe esoteric knowledge of all the world’s great religions. One might think she’d know how to unravel Howard’s ravings, or have a clue as to how to comfort him with a little lofty wisdom. But her brain wasn’t really wired for that slippery, subjective stuff, though she invariably got good grades in it. Or rather, her clients did. She took a tiny bit of secret pride in all those A’s.

In her heart of hearts, she was practical, nut-and-bolts Lil. No funny stuff, no woo-woo, no rabbit tricks, no fluff. No excuses, either.

But oh, Christ, how she hated to see him suffer.

She reached out to touch his hand. It was ice cold. “So lay it down, Howard,” she suggested. “Tell me what’s bugging you.”

Howard’s clammy hand twitched in hers. “It’ll put you in danger.” His voice was a thread of a whisper. She had to lean down to catch it. “They’re listening, Lil. They’re always listening. If I tell you, they’ll know. They’ll come for you.” His scratchy voice broke off into a hacking cough, eyes rolling to the right, the left. “They’ll kill me. They’ll kill both of us.”

She patted his hand. “No, they won’t. Not here,” she assured him. “You’re safe here.” God knows, she paid enough for him to be.

Howard’s hair flopped again. “No. Nowhere is safe,” he insisted. “You’re my little girl, Lil. I can’t do that to you. My first responsibility was to you. Always to you. That was the reason for . . . for all of it.”

Lily winced. Responsibility, her ass. His drug binges had made her feel orphaned ever since she was ten. Let it go, Lil. “I’m not little anymore, Howard,” she said. “I can look out for myself.”

“Don’t think that. Ever. We’re all still in danger. Magda warned me. She said they’re listening. Even now, after all these years.”

“Magda?” That was a name she’d never heard. In fact, she’d had no idea Howard had visitors at all, other than herself. He’d isolated himself from the rest of the world decades ago. “Who’s Magda?”

“Magda Ranieri. They killed her,” Howie whispered.

A chill started around the small of her back, fluttering nastily upward. Visits from dead people. Not a good sign.

“Howard?” she said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His hand tightened, grinding her fingers together. “Magda tried to stop them,” he burst out. “She wanted me to help, but I was so scared, Lil. For you. We were trying to get proof. But they found out.”

“Proof of what, Howie?”

“Of what I’d done, for him. I swear, Lil, I didn’t know what he was planning. I didn’t know he was a . . . a demon. And by the time I understood, it was too late. I had you to think about, and he—”

“He? Who is he?” she demanded, her voice getting sharper. “And who the hell is this Magda Ranieri?”

“Don’t say the name so loudly!” he hissed, with unexpected force. Then his mouth started shaking again. “They killed her, Lil. In front of me. They beat her to death. They told me you’d be next if I . . . if I . . .” His voice choked off. “I still see it. Whether my eyes are open or closed. All that blood. I can’t stand it anymore. I tried to kill myself so you’d be safe. No reason to punish me if I’m dead, right? But I was never man enough to finish the job.” His voice choked off. His hand shook.

Lily squeezed his fingers, trying not to shiver.he torment in Howard’s eyes was very real. Whether the events that caused it were also real was unlikely, but that did not make his pain any the less.

And this did not feel like rambling. This felt . . . genuine.

She stared down at him. She’d written papers for future health professionals about PTSD in combat stress, or victims of rape or other attacks. And Howard was so terrified of blood. He had been ever since she could remember. Could this be . . . ?

No. It couldn’t be. This was mental illness. Years of systematic drug abuse that had worn holes in his brain. She would not fall for this. She was a grown-up. She knew better.

But even so. Howard was detailing the contents of his delusions, which he’d never done before. Dr. Stark, Howard’s psychiatrist, always complained about the fact that Howard refused to do talk therapy. Maybe Dr. Stark could use this information to treat him. Lily couldn’t waste this opportunity, no matter how much it was creeping her out.