Blood Memory

Chapter 39

“What happened?” Michael asks. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

“My aunt Ann paid Nathan Malik’s bail.”

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“She must be a patient of Malik’s. That’s how Malik knows so much about me and my family.”

Michael’s eyes are bright with excitement. “If your aunt is a patient of Malik’s, he’s almost certainly treating her for sexual abuse. That means your grandfather is the one who molested you.”

“Not necessarily. Malik also treats people for bipolar disorder.”

“Exclusively? Or bipolar people who’ve also been sexually abused?”

“Exclusively, I think. Bipolarity, PTSD, and sexual abuse. Separate categories. May I use your phone?”

“Sure. Did your cell phone die?”

“No, but I don’t want the FBI to hear this call.”

Michael looks at me for several seconds in silence. “Are you calling Malik?”

“I’m going to leave him a message, yes. Are you okay with that?”

He goes out into the hall and brings back a cordless phone. “As long as you don’t do anything to risk your life.”

Even as I nod, I decide to tell Michael nothing about Margaret Lavigne’s suicide attempt or her note. When I dial the number Malik gave me last night, an automated voice instructs me to leave a message at the tone.

“This is Catherine Ferry. I’ve just learned that my aunt paid your bail. I’m assuming she’s a patient of yours. You’ve been dishonest with me, Doctor. I’d like to talk to you as soon as possible. You can reach me at-” I look up at Michael. “What’s this number?”

Michael rattles off his number, and I repeat it into the machine. “If you don’t return my call within an hour, I’m telling the FBI everything you’ve told me to date. Good-bye.”

I hang up Michael’s phone, pick up my cell, and scroll through the digital phone book. When I reach Aunt Ann, I press SEND.

A recording says, “We’re sorry, but the Cingular customer you’re trying to reach is unavailable or has traveled outside the service area. You may leave a voice mail at the tone.”

When the beep comes, I say, “Ann, this is Cat. I’m sure a lot of people are trying to get hold of you right now. I’m not trying to bother you. Your life is your own. But I know about you and Dr. Malik. I’ve talked to him, and I know why you like him. I have no desire to hurt him, or to help anyone else hurt him. All I’m asking is for you to call me back. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. God knows, if anyone can relate to how you feel right now, it’s me. Mood swings are my life. I promise I won’t tell Mom or Grandpapa anything, and I won’t talk to the FBI. In fact, I’d like to talk to you about Grandpapa. Also about Daddy. I’m trying to figure something out about my childhood, and I have a feeling you can help me. Thanks. Please, please call back.”

Michael is staring at me like a doctor now, as though trying to decide whether I might be in a manic state myself. I’m tempted to call my mother and ask if she knows where Ann is, but I know better. All that would accomplish is to put my mother into a panic. If Ann wants to disappear, no one in the family will be able to find her. She’s had too much practice.

“What can I do?” asks Michael.

“You already did it. You gave me a place to stay. Now I have to make some decisions.”

“How stable is your aunt?”

“Two suicide attempts. One in college and one in her late thirties. If my mother called in the next five minutes and told me Ann was dead, I wouldn’t be shocked.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. She was obsessed with having a baby, but she never could get pregnant. Outrageous mood swings. Her liver’s pickled in gin.”

“What was that other stuff this Kaiser told you? Did they find another murder victim?”

I hesitate. “I can’t tell you about that. No offense, but the task force is obsessive about secrecy.”

Michael looks suspicious. Last night I clearly broke every possible rule of confidentiality in my discussions with him, so why am I being-

“Cat?”

Before I can answer, Michael’s phone rings. The ID reads Unknown Caller. I show it to him. “May I answer it?”

He nods.

“This is Dr. Ferry.”

“Hello, Catherine.”

I nod at Michael and silently mouth, Malik. “What kind of fucking game have you been playing with me, Doctor? You’ve been acting like you have ESP, diagnosing my problems and hinting things about my family. The truth is, you had the facts all along from Ann. Didn’t you?”

He takes his time before answering, “Yes and no.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Cut the shit, will you?”

“Such a potty mouth, Catherine. What does Dr. Goldman make of that?”

My heart stutters. Did I tell Ann the name of my therapist? “Where’s my aunt, Doctor?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is she with you?”

“No.”

“Why did she pay your bail?”

“I asked her to. I was short of cash, and I knew she could get the money.”

“You are one unethical son of a bitch. Were you treating Ann for problems related to sexual abuse or for bipolar disorder?”

“You know that’s confidential.”

“Bullshit! You break the rules when you want to and hide behind them when you don’t!”

“We need to talk, Catherine. I don’t have much time now. We need to meet face-to-face.”

I close my eyes. “Tell me about Margaret Lavigne.”

“Margaret? ButWhat about her?”

“She tried to kill herself with a massive dose of insulin last night. She’s in a coma now, but she left a note implicating you in the murders.”

The silence on the line is absolute. “You’re lying.”

“You know I’m not.”

“What did the note say?”

“Something like, ‘God forgive me, an innocent man is dead. Please tell Dr. Malik to stop it.’“

“Oh, my God.” His voice is a ragged whisper.

“Margaret’s biological father was arrested yesterday on child abuse charges. Stranger still, her stepfather was one of our five victims in New Orleans. Does any of this ring a bell?”

Malik’s breathing fast and shallow.

“Do we still need to meet, Doctor? Or are you going to turn yourself in?”

“I can’tthis is beyond belief. We absolutely must meet.”

I could never have imagined Nathan Malik sounding this agitated. “Did you kill those men in New Orleans, Doctor?”

“No. I swear that to you.”

“But you know who did.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You have to tell someone.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Was my aunt in Group X, Doctor?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Is my grandfather’s life in danger?”

“I can’t talk to you about that. Not over the phone.”

“You expect me to meet you in person when you could be the killer?”

“You have nothing to fear from me, Catherine. You know that.”

For some reason, I believe him. But I’m not crazy. “Will you turn yourself in if I meet you?”

His breathing stops for several moments. I can picture him standing somewhere, utterly still. “If you promise to keep my film safe for me, I will.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“It has to be New Orleans, I’m afraid. Are you in Natchez?”

“Yes. Where in New Orleans?”

“I can’t tell you this far ahead. Can you be here in four hours?”

“I could be.”

“Call the number I gave you when you’re five miles outside the city. I’ll tell you where to go.”

No matter what logic tells me, I can’t refuse him. “All right.”

“And, Cat?”

“Yes?”

“If you bring the FBI with you, you’ll regret it. I don’t want to threaten you, but I have to protect myself. I’m the only one who can tell you certain things about yourself, and if I don’t, you’ll never know the truth. Good-bye.”

“Wait!”

“I know you’re nervous about meeting me. But I’m not dangerous to you. Do you know why? Because I know the evil in myself. When we were talking about abuse the other day, I had to censor myself. The FBI was listening, after all. The main thing I left out was the pleasure of it.”

A cold tingle races along my back. “The pleasure?”

“Yes.” Malik’s voice takes on a snakelike sibilance. “What we call sexual abuse is a very intense experience for both offender and victim. The offender experiences absolute power over another human being, while the victim experiences absolute surrender. Absolute submission. The partners occupy the extremes of control and helplessness. These experiences are imprinted for life, Catherine. And the first thing a sexualized child wants to do when it grows in strength is to reverse those roles. To experience control. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

I don’t answer, but my mind has already filled with memories of my sexual past, things I wanted to do-sometimes did do-to men, and things I wanted done to me. So often my fantasies were about control, abandoning or possessing it. All my pleasure was tied up in that.

“Your silence is enough,” Malik says, his voice hypnotic. “All my life I’ve had to fight that urge. It took years to master. But I know my enemy now. It’s a poison that propagates through generations, like a bad gene. It lives within me, as it does in all the others who’ve survived those experiences. Eradicating that poison is my obsession now. My personal war. I’ve got to go now, Catherine. Call me when you’re five miles outside New Orleans.”

The phone clicks. He’s gone.

“You’re not meeting that guy alone,” Michael says firmly.

Malik’s words and tone are still spinning in my head. “You’re not coming with me, Michael.”

“If I’m not, someone else is. You should call the FBI right now and tell them everything. And I mean everything.”

“That’s not an option. Not yet. Malik knows things I have to know, and if I bring in the FBI now, I never will. I’ll be this fucked-up for the rest of my life. Is that what you want?”

His eyes bore into mine with startling intensity. “I want you alive, not dead.”

I nod slowly. “Sean Regan.”

“Is that your married boyfriend?”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with anything. Sean is trained for this kind of thing. He can protect me, and I can trust him to keep quiet about this.”

Michael looks sad, but I can’t take time to deal with his emotions now.

“Can I still use your Expedition?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. I need to go to Malmaison before I leave for New Orleans.”

Michael reaches out and takes me by the shoulders. His grip is amazingly strong. “Do you promise to take Sean with you to meet Malik?”

Even as I make the promise, I know it’s a lie. But I don’t need Michael freaking out and calling the FBI about this meeting. He could give them the plate number of his Expedition, and I’d never even reach New Orleans.

“What’s at Malmaison?” he asks.

“I need some clothes.” Another lie. What I need from Malmaison is something that’s always been there in abundance.

A gun.