Deja Who (Insighter #1)(18)

“It’s all the time now, don’t you understand?”

“I do understand. And as I told you, your ‘batten down the hatches and wait for it to go away’ plan will not work. You have to face what you did. And then you have to—”

“It wasn’t me!”

She just looked at him.

“It wasn’t.” He took a breath and visibly calmed himself. “And now it never stops. Not just when I’m asleep and not when I’m daydreaming. I close my eyes and I see all those little boys, all those blond, blue-eyed . . .”

She nodded, wondering what it said about a man who killed small, helpless versions of himself over and over.

“. . . and they’re screaming and bleeding and the rooms stink of blood, reek of it, and it never never stops.” He had stepped up to her desk and was leaning over it and nibbling on his hat rim and his face had flushed to the color of a brick. “You made it worse. Everything’s worse.”

“Mr. Reynolds, please step back and calm down.” She’d pressed the white button (stand by outside office) at his “you just made everything worse.” If she hit the red button (swarm!) security would pile in. “No one here wants to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Deep breath. “But I probably will.”

Hmm. That could be interesting. Was this man her destined killer? She knew she should have been tense, scared; instead she felt equal parts pity and irritation for the man who knew what he was but still wouldn’t face it.

No, she decided, looking him over. He’s not my killer. Though it’d be a rich irony if he were, if I were slashed because in my arrogance I didn’t see him as a threat. It’d serve me right, and then some.

“I don’t—” He took another breath, straightened, put his hat on. “I don’t understand how you can do this to people.”

He left without another word—and that happened sometimes, too. There’d be this big blowout scene and Leah would be prepared to defend herself, or unleash the forces of good (or at least the security detail), and then they’d just sort of deflate and wander off.

Regardless, Deb made sure he was off the property, security confirmed, and Leah flagged his chart and updated her clinic notes. It was unfortunate, and not uncommon. Just as car salesmen didn’t always advocate a new car for everyone, Leah didn’t think Insighting solved everyone’s problems every time. It was an unfortunate truth she’d been facing since she was old enough to understand it.

Her ten o’clock was a woman who had been a vestal virgin in 114 BC and again in 19 AD. Both times she had been wrongfully accused of having sex with a Roman citizen, which was considered treason, both times the accusations were false but she’d been found guilty due to the enormous political turmoil at the time, and both times she was buried alive, which was the traditional reprimand for treason (trumped up or otherwise).

As a result, she was a claustrophobic sex addict.

“Oh, Marcia,” she sighed. “Again?”

“Swear to God, Ms. Nazir, the cops just wait for me.”

“They really don’t.”

“They do!”

“This is Chicago. The police have better things to do than follow you around and wait for you to indulge in acts of public lewdness.”

“Nope! They’ve got nothing better to do than spy on me and wait for me to—to be attacked by my own disease and do stuff they know I can’t help. Buncha pervs. With all the porn out there for anyone on the Internet, they’ve gotta lie in wait for me?”

“Marcia.”

“I’m the victim!”

“Marcia.”

“And the poor guy I was with. He’s probably a victim, too. Mark, I wanna say? He looked like a Mark, right?”

“Marcia, Marcia, Marcia! You were busted having carnal relations in the dugout at Wrigley Field. The police take a dim view of such things. And also the public, presumably.”

“It’s not like it was the World Series or anything.” Her patient sulked. “Not even the playoffs.”

“Still.” Leah forced herself to soften her tone, though the urge to hit Marcia with her tape dispenser was strong. This was not her first arrest for sex alfresco. “I understand you have a disease—multiple diseases—”

“That’s right!”

“—but it is not and should never be a free pass.”

“Oh, here we go. You’re one to talk, Ms. Nazir.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Insighters get away with everything.”

“That is not true,” she said sharply, though an internal wriggling pricked her conscience. She hadn’t had to talk to a cop, post-stabbing. There had been no police report, and likely would not have been even if Archer had been inclined to press charges. Which, for some reason, he had not. “And if you have a problem with what I do for a living—which is strange, since you’re here of your own free will—I encourage you to seek help elsewhere.”

“No you don’t! You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Yes, well.” Leah, who had been prowling back and forth, sat behind her desk. “Worth an attempt. I have to write you up for this, Marcia, and I have to decide what to recommend to the DA. My inclination is to lock you up somewhere—”