The Sister(136)

He made a quick diversion to the men’s lavatories before going into reception. He looked at himself in the mirror while washing his hands. Picked out in the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting, the scar on his chin showed white against the peppery stubble. The cut had been so deep his beard no longer grew on it. Miller traced the smooth, inverted scimitar shape with his finger, to where it curved away from just below his lower lip onto his chin.

Donovan Kale had kept Miller’s identity a secret from the press, but someone, although unable to get it directly from Kale, had eventually tracked him down. They attacked him on an isolated section of a canal towpath beneath a bridge. The darkness had masked the danger signals, and he hadn’t seen the shadows as they'd swirled about him, warning of danger. At the last instant, he caught the dull gleam of a knife as it slashed at his face. If he hadn’t pulled out of the way, now that was a close shave. He dried his hands and sauntered out across the landing. Opening the door into the reception area, he was surprised to see the layout had not changed. The chairs, coffee tables and magazines lay out exactly as he remembered. He picked up a dog-eared old National Geographic magazine and checked the date: 1970. Like stepping back in time.





Ryan emerged from a door behind the reception desk and came around to greet him.

Miller felt the cool, papery texture of his skin as they shook hands. He was shocked at how frail the doctor had become, but gave no sign of it. The psychiatrist looked pleased to see him; his good eye full of mirth.

‘Bruce, how are you?’ he said, leaning back to get a better look at him. ‘How you’ve grown!’

Miller responded with a laugh. ‘I’m fine – you haven’t changed a bit!’

Ryan shot him a suspicious look. ‘Well, my boy – that can only mean one of two things. Either I look fabulous now or I looked old and decrepit back then.’ He indicated a chair.

‘Come on, Bruce, sit. We shan’t be disturbed.’ Both men sat. ‘I’m intrigued to know why you’ve contacted me after all these years.’ Ryan rubbed at his good eye. ‘You refused to say on the phone, so why are you here?’ He gestured, spreading both hands.

‘Doctor Ryan, people just call me Miller these days. I’ll tell you why later.’ He coughed into his fist and said, ‘I keep dreaming I’m drowning.’

‘How often do you have these dreams?’

‘Three times in the last week or so.’

‘Mm-m.’ His hands moved apart and revealed his silver propelling pencil. He rotated the shaft through a variety of angles to catch the best light.

Miller jerked his chin in the direction of the pencil. ‘I can’t believe you still do that.’

Ryan ignored him. ‘It’s all a question of timing, you having these dreams, contacting me. There’s something else going on. I don’t want to run out of time or get too tired to concentrate fully. I tire so easily these days.’ A hint of resignation tainted his voice. Since opening the prediction envelope, he felt as if he’d turned an hourglass, and started a countdown on his remaining life. Why have you set me this puzzle and then left me all alone to solve it?

Dismissing the fear he may have opened the envelope too soon, he decided to play for time. He retrieved his appointment book from the counter, flicked the pages forwards and then back again.

‘Mm-m, now let me see. I might be able to fit you in next week, once I’ve had the chance to go through your file properly.’ In reality, he was hoping to have heard from The Sister by then.

Miller could see the appointment book was empty. ‘What about tomorrow?’ he said in a voice edged with sarcasm. ‘That’s if you can fit me in with that busy schedule there?’

Ryan followed his gaze to the diary. ‘Aah, perhaps I should explain. This isn’t mine – or at least, it isn’t up to date. My secretary is looking for a job, you see.’

‘You still have the same secretary?’

‘No, she left years ago. This one started about three years ago. She’s made a few changes, one of which is not keeping my physical diary up to date, she keeps all my appointments on a computer now, so I don’t know what’s happening if she’s not here.’

‘Well, how do you know you can fit me in then?’

‘The truth is, Bruce, I’m winding down, that’s how I know. I’m keeping things going until Stella gets another job. Then I’ll call it a day. That’s where she is, by the way, at an interview. She’s as bright as a button; it won’t be long before someone snaps her up.’ Ryan didn’t tell Bruce about the coincidences involved in looking at his file when he’d telephoned, or the real reason he kept the business open.

‘You can’t do this afternoon?’

Ryan thought quickly. He felt sure deferring their meeting until the next day was the right thing to do. ‘I know we haven’t discussed what you came here to talk about. I'd like to cover everything in one go, and to do that I’m going to need to get your file out and read it again, just to refresh myself. Besides, I’m having to man reception while Stella isn’t here. I’ll ask if she can work tomorrow. If you come in around one o’clock, we’ll spend the whole afternoon going through everything.’

Ryan studied him over his silver-rimmed glasses. Miller noticed the pupil of his left eye was milky-blue and unfocused, looking into some distant point. The eye was blind. Most people would have tactfully avoided staring, but Miller was not good at such things. Ryan caught him and stared him out until he averted his gaze.