Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(57)

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Maybe one day.” He took a long sip of tea and fell quiet.

“What is your name?”

“Morrisey,” he replied.

“No. The other name. Don’t you have one?”

He hesitated. “Theo. It means divine gift.”

She rolled that around her mind for a while. She liked that. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“If you wish. I’ll have more blankets brought to you. It can get quite chilly.”

When next she looked over, he was gone.

She struggled and then pulled his name out of the void. “Theee…o.”

He felt right, like the nice man in the old place, the one who had cried for her. His name was still missing, but she thought she remembered his face. Her shoulders sagged with the effort. Each day brought a little bit more, but not enough.



~??~??~??~



Over the top of the psychiatrist’s bald head, Morrisey caught Fulham’s eyes. His assistant shrugged, which told him he just couldn’t chuck the fellow out the door. At least Jacynda wasn’t around to hear all this, resting after the lengthy psychiatric exam she’d had to endure.

To his annoyance, Dr. Weber was still warming to his subject. “It is important that we treat her Adrenalin Reactive Disorder now, rather than letting it continue to worsen,” he insisted. “If she recovers, she will be a more balanced individual, a productive member of society.”

“She was already a productive member of society.”

“No, she was a Time Rover. That profession is just a dumping ground for untreated Adrenalin Reactives because they can’t get a job anywhere else.”

Morrisey slowly counted to twenty. TPB’s shill had been pushing for the treatment the moment he’d first arrived, even before he’d examined Jacynda. That smacked of someone else’s agenda.

“She is already showing increasingly violent tendencies,” Weber continued. “She threatened me during my interview.”

“You were probably annoying her. She has a low threshold for irritating people.” No doubt, you sailed right past it.

“I was merely asking her questions,” he persisted.

Morrisey’s eyes narrowed. “What if your ARD treatment makes her worse?”

“It won’t. I’ve studied her case, and she’s a good candidate. She should have been treated when it first surfaced at age seventeen.”

“Why do you think she lost her memories?” Morrisey probed, wondering how he’d spin it.

“I believe it is a manifestation of accelerated Post Transfer Syndrome, accentuated by the untreated Adrenalin Reactive Disorder.”

“I disagree. To that end, I refuse to allow the ARD treatment.”



The shrink gave him a placid smile. “You have no legal right to withhold that treatment.”

“Actually, I do. I’ve been appointed Miss Lassiter’s legal guardian until such time as she returns to a full state of mental capacity and may determine her own medical care.”

Weber’s expression went dark. “What game are you playing?” he demanded.

“This is no game, Doctor. Unlike you, I know Miss Lassiter would refuse your medicine. She’s always done so.”

“And done herself irreparable harm in the process.”

“That is your opinion,” Morrisey countered, gesturing toward the door. “I don’t think we need to speak about this any further.”

“I’ll be filing a challenge. In the meanwhile, I have been asked to follow her case by the Time Protocol Board. That is something your guardianship cannot override.”

Morrisey’s voice turned cold. “Then issue your reports as you see fit. However, if you attempt to treat her in any fashion without my approval, I’ll see your license revoked.”

“You are condemning her to a hideous life.”

Morrisey drew a deep breath. “I accept that responsibility. Good day, Doctor.” Get the hell off my property.

The moment the door whooshed open, Jacynda peeked out from under the covers. She reminded Morrisey of a small child frightened by a thunderstorm.

“I don’t like the bald man,” she announced, wiggling around until she sat upright. “Tell him to go away.”

“I don’t like Dr. Weber either, but he will need to talk to you every now and then.”

“Will you be there?” she asked.

Morrisey smiled reassuringly. “If you wish. He will not be allowed to treat you unless I approve.”

“Will you?”

“No. You should heal on your own.”

“Can I have one of those boxes?”

“What box?” Morrisey asked, puzzled.

“He touched it and it blinked, then it made a funny noise.”



“Oh, a computer. Certainly. You can ask it questions, and it will give you answers.”

She eyed him dubiously. “How do I know if the answers are right?”

He barely hid the smile. “That’s for you to decide.”

“Why is…” She worked on the name, her face contorting with the effort. He didn’t hurry her. “Why is…” She mimed a long ponytail.

“Mr. Hamilton?” She didn’t call him that. “Ralph?”