Long Shadows (Amos Decker, #7)(2)

“I don’t know, Mary. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

She sounded almost like the old Mary. Almost.

But there was something else going on here that he didn’t like.





Chapter 2



DECKER PUT HIS LARGE BARE feet on the cold wood of the floor. “I’ve been meaning to come to visit you. It’s been too long. But you sound better…than last time.”

“Yes, it has been too long. Far too long. But not you. Me.”

Decker straightened up and eyed the window, where the city lights winked lazily at him in the darkness. “I, uh, I don’t understand,” he replied. “I guess I’m still half-asleep,” he added by way of explanation, but she wasn’t making much sense.

“This…is a terrible thing I have…in my head. It’s…awful.”

“I know, Mary. And I wish you didn’t have to deal with it.” He stopped and struggled to come up with more sympathetic words; it was a task that would have been easy for his old self, and nearly impossible for his current one. “I…I wish there was a cure.”

“For you, too,” she said. “There is no cure for you, either.” In these words he could sense her seeking some level of solidarity with him in diseases of the mind that would end up doing them both in.

“We’re a lot alike in that regard,” he agreed.

“But also not alike,” she retorted in a tone she hadn’t used before. It was an escalation of sorts, at least he took it that way.

Decker didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He sat there listening to her breathing over the phone. In the ensuing silence he could also feel something building, like thrust did on an airplane about to take off. He was about to break the silence when she did.

“Does it keep changing?” she asked in a small, measured tone.

He knew exactly what she was referring to. “It seems to,” he answered. “But everyone’s mind changes, Mary, healthy or not. Nothing is static. Normal or not, whatever normal is.”

“But you’re the only one I know who truly…who could maybe understand what I’m going through.”

He heard a sound over the line and thought she might be slapping herself in the head, as though trying to dislodge in there what was slowly killing her. He tried to think of something to say, to draw her back to the conversation.

“But I thought you were getting counseling. It helped me. It can help you.”

“I did get counseling. But then I stopped getting it.”

“But why?” he said as his anxiety rose higher.

“They told me all I needed to know. After that, it was a waste of time. And I don’t have any time to waste, Amos, not one fucking second.” She let the blunt epithet hang there in the ether like smoke from a discharged gun.

“Mary, please let me know what’s wrong. I can tell something’s happened.”

Sharp as a pistol shot she barked, “I forgot Sandy today. Right before they left to go to Cleveland. I forgot her.”

“People forget names all the time, Mary,” said Decker, sounding a bit relieved. He sensed this was where the conversation was intended to go when all was said and done. He didn’t think this when next she spoke.

“I didn’t forget her name. I…I forgot who she was.” There came another lengthy pause where all Decker could hear was the woman’s breaths and then a sob that was so dry and drawn out it sounded like she was strangling.

“Mary, are you—”

She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. She said, “I just remembered her before I called you. And only because I looked at a photo with her name on it. I forgot I had a daughter, Amos. For a time there was no Sandy Lancaster in existence for me. Can you understand how…terrible that is?”

He could almost sense the tears tumbling down her sallow cheeks.

“I was this close to…to not. Ever again. Forgetting my own child. My flesh and blood.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, Mary. I know what you said but I can’t believe that Earl—”

She cut in. “Earl doesn’t know that I am alone. He wouldn’t want that. He’s normally very careful about that.”

Decker stood, rigid in hushed anxiety. Her response was stealthy and, far worse, coolly victorious. He could feel clammy sweat forming all over him.

“Then who’s with you? The aide?”

“She was, but I made her leave.”

In a bewildered tone he said, “How exactly did you manage that? She shouldn’t have—”

“I have a gun, Amos. My old service automatic. I haven’t held it in years. But it fits my hand so fine. I remembered the gun safe combination, can you believe that? After I forgot pretty much everything else, I remembered that. I suppose it was…an omen of sorts,” she added offhandedly.

Every muscle that Decker had tightened. “Wait a minute, Mary. Hold on now.”

“I pointed the gun at her. And she left, very quickly. Right before I called you. I woke her up, you see. With the gun. It makes you wake up fast, you know that.”

Decker was now more awake than perhaps he’d ever been in his life. He glanced wildly around trying to think of something, anything. “Look, Mary, put the gun away right now, just put it down. And then go and sit as far away from it as you can, and just close your eyes and take deep breaths. I’ll have someone there in two minutes. No, one minute. Just one minute and help will be there. I won’t disconnect from you. Stay on the line. I’m going to put you on hold for just a sec—”