Silent Partner

35

Sharon sat on the edge of the third bed, hands folded in her lap. A smile, tissue-thin, graced her lips.

She wore a long white dress that buttoned down the front. Her hair was combed out, parted in the middle. No makeup, no jewelry. Her eyes purplish in the light of the dome.

She fidgeted under my stare. Long fingers. Arms smooth as butter. Breasts straining against the dress. Silk. Expensive, but it resembled a nurse’s uniform.

“Hello, Alex.”

Shirlee Ransom’s swivel table held tissues, a hot water bottle, a mucus aspirator, a water pitcher, and an empty drinking glass. I picked up the glass, rolled it between my palms, and put it down.

“Come,” she said.

I sat down next to her, said, “Risen like Lazarus.”

“Never gone,” she said.

“Someone else is.”

She nodded.

I said, “The red dress? Strawberry daiquiris?”

“Her.”

“Sleeping with your patients?”

She shifted so that our flanks touched. “Her. She wanted to hurt me, didn’t care she was hurting others in the process. I didn’t know a thing until the cancellations started pouring in. I couldn’t understand it. Everything had been going so well- mostly short-term cases, but everyone liked me. I phoned them. Most of them refused to talk to me. A couple of wives got on, full of rage, threatening. It was like a bad dream. Then Sherry told me what she’d done. Laughing. She’d been staying with me, had taken my office key and made a copy. Used it to get into my files, picked out the ones who sounded cute, offered them free follow-up visits and… did them, then dumped them. That’s the way she put it. When I was calm enough, I asked her why. She said she’d be damned if she’d let me play doctor and lord it over her.”

She placed her hand on my thigh. Her palm was wet. “I knew she resented me, Alex, but I never imagined she’d carry it that far. When we first got together, she acted as if she loved me.”

“When was that?”

“My second year of grad school. Autumn.”

Surprised, I said, “Not the summer?”

“No. Autumn. October.”

“What was the family business that prevented you from going to San Francisco?”

“Therapy.”

“Conducting or receiving?”

“My therapy.”

“With Kruse.”

Nod. “It was a crucial time. I couldn’t leave. We were dealing with issues… It really was family business.”

“Where were you staying?”

“His house.”

I’d gone there, looking for her, watching Kruse’s face split in two…

Have a nice day…

“It was pretty intense,” she said. “He wanted to monitor all the variables.”

“You had no trouble sleeping there?”

“I… No, he helped me. Relaxed me.”

“Hypnosis.”

“Yes. He was preparing me- for meeting her. He thought it would be a healing process. For both of us. But he underestimated how much hatred remained.”

She stayed calm but the pressure of her hand increased. “She was pretending, Alex. It was easy for her- she’d studied acting.”

Some gravitate to the stage and screen… “Interesting career choice,” I said.

“It wasn’t a career, just a fling. Just like everything else. First she used it to get close to me, then again to target what she knew was dearest to me: you; then, years later, my work. She knew how much my work meant to me.”

“Why didn’t you get licensed?”

She tugged her earlobe. “Too many… distractions. I wasn’t ready.”

“Paul’s opinion?”

“And mine.”

She pressed against me. Her touch felt burdensome.

“You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, Alex.”

“What about Jasper? And Paul.”

The mention of Kruse’s name made her flinch. “I mean romantic love. Physical love. You’re the only one who’s ever been inside of me.”

I said nothing.

“Alex, it’s true. I know you suspected things, but Paul and I were never like that. I was his patient- sleeping with a patient’s like incest. Even after therapy stops.”

Something in her voice made me back off. “Okay. But let’s not forget Mickey Starbuck.”

“Who?”

“Your co-star. Checkup.”

“Was that his name? Mickey? All I knew about him was that he was an actor whom Paul had treated for cocaine addiction. Back in Florida. I’ve never been to Florida.”

“Her?”

She nodded.

I said, “Who cast her?”

“I know what it looks like, but Paul thought it might be curative.”

“Radical therapy. Working it through.”

“You’d have to see it in context, Alex. He’d worked with her for years without much success. He had to try something.”

I looked away, took in my surroundings. Hooked rug on the blue carpet. The samplers spouting truisms. No goddam place like home.

Spaceship homey. As if extraterrestrials had swooped down on a specimen-hunt, plundered Middle America of its clichés.

When I turned back, she was smiling. A shiny smile. Too shiny. Like glaze before crackling.

“Alex, I understand how strange all this must sound to you. It’s hard to sum up so many years in just a few minutes.”

I smiled back, let my confusion show. “It’s overwhelming- the dynamics- how it all fits together.”

“I’ll do my best to clear it up for you.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Where would you like me to start?”

“Right at the beginning seems as good a place as any.”

She put her head on my shoulder. “That’s the problem. There really is no beginning,” she said, in the same disembodied voice she’d used years ago, to talk about the death of her “parents.” “My primal years are a blur. I’ve been told about them, but it’s like hearing a story about someone else. That’s what therapy was about, that summer. Paul was trying to unblock me.”

“Age regression?”

“Age regression, free association, Gestalt exercises- all the standard techniques. Things I’ve used myself with patients. But nothing worked. I couldn’t remember a thing. I mean, intellectually I understood the defensive process, knew I was repressing, but that didn’t help me in here.” She placed my hand on her belly.

“How far back could you recall?” I asked.

“Happy times. Shirlee and Jasper. And Helen. Uncle Billy told me you met her yesterday. Isn’t she an exceptional person?”

“Yes, she is.” Yesterday. It seemed like centuries. “Does she know you’re alive?”

She winced as if bitten. Hard tug on the lobe. “Uncle Billy said he’d take care of it.”

“I’m sure he will. What were you and he talking about at the party?”

“Her. She was forcing herself on me again- dropping in at all hours, waking me up, screaming and cursing, or crawling into bed with me and mauling me, trying to suck my breasts. Once I caught her with scissors, trying to snip off my hair. Other times, she’d arrive stoned or drunk on her daiquiris, get sick all over the place, lose bladder control on the carpet. I kept changing the locks; she always found a way to get in. She ate pills like candy.”

Old scars between the toes. “Was she shooting dope?”

“She used to, years ago. I don’t know, maybe she started again- cocaine, speedballs. Over the years, she must have overdosed at least a dozen times. I had one of Uncle Billy’s doctors on call twenty-four hours a day, just for pumping her stomach. By the day of the party she’d really deteriorated and was trying to take me down with her. Kept saying we were going to be eternal roomies. I was scared, just couldn’t handle it anymore. So I asked Uncle Billy to handle it. Even after all she’d put me through, it was rough, knowing she’d be put away. So seeing you there at the party really lifted my spirits. A week before, I’d been at Paul’s house and Suzanne was doing the calligraphy for the invitations. I saw your name on the list, felt such a surge of feeling for you.”

She took my hand and ran it down toward her mons. I felt heat, heaviness, the soft mesh of pubic hair through silk.

“I hoped you’d attend,” she said. “Checked a couple of times to see if you’d RSVP’d, but you hadn’t. So when our eyes met I couldn’t believe it. Destiny. I knew I had to try to make contact.” She kissed my cheek. “And now you’re here. Hello, stranger.”

“Hello.” I sat there and allowed her to kiss me some more, run her fingers through my hair, touch me. Endured it and kissed back and knew how hookers feel. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I wiped it on my sleeve.

She said, “Would you like water?” Got up and poured me some from Shirlee’s pitcher.

I used the time to clear my head. When she came back I said, “Was Paul treating you for anything other than unblocking the past?”

“Actually it didn’t start out as real therapy- just clinical supervision, the usual stuff about how my feelings and communications style affected my work. But as we got into it, he could see that I had… identity problems, a poor sense of self, low self-esteem. I felt incomplete. And guilty.”

“Guilty about what?”

“Everything. Leaving Shirlee and Jasper- they’re darling. I really cared for them, but I never felt I belonged to them. And Helen. Even though she’d basically raised me, she wasn’t my mother- there was always a wall between us. It was confusing.”

I nodded.

“That first year of grad school,” she said, “there was a lot of pressure, being expected to actually help other people. It terrified me- that’s why I broke down in practicum. I guess, down deep, I agreed with what the others were saying, felt like an impostor.”

“Everyone feels that way at first.”

She smiled. “Always the therapist. That’s what you were that night. My rock. When I saw your name on the party list I guess I thought history might repeat itself.”

I said, “Before you met Sherry- before you knew about her- did you ever fantasize about having a twin?”

“Yes, all the time, when I was a child. But I never gave much credence to that. I was the type of kid who fantasized about everything.”

“Was there one twin image that kept recurring?”

Nod. “A girl my age who looked exactly like me, but was confident, popular, assertive. I named her Big Sharon, even though she was exactly my size, because her personality loomed. Paul said I saw myself as puny. Insignificant. Big Sharon stayed behind the scenes but she could always be counted on to help when things got rough. Years later, when I took my first psych course, I learned that kind of thing was normal- kids do it all the time. But I was doing it even into adolescence, even in college. I was embarrassed about it, afraid I’d talk in my sleep and my roommates would think I was weird. So I made a conscious effort to get rid of Big Sharon and finally grow up. Eventually, I managed to suppress her out of existence. But she came out under hypnosis, when Paul was probing. I began talking about her. Then to her. Paul said she was my partner. My silent partner, hanging around in the background. He said everyone has one- that’s really what Freud was getting at with ego, id, superego. That it was okay to have her- she was nothing more than another part of me. That was a very affirmative message.”

“And in autumn he decided to introduce you to your real silent partners.”

She tightened. The glazed smile took hold of her face again.

“Yes. By then the time was right.”

“How did he arrange it?”

“He called me into his office, said he had something to tell me. That I’d better sit down- it might be traumatic. But it would definitely be significant, a growth experience. Then he hypnotized me, gave me suggestions for deep muscle relaxation, transcendent serenity. When I was really mellow, he told me I was one of the luckiest people in the world because I had a real silent partner- two partners, actually. That I was one of three. Triplets.”

She turned, faced me, took both my hands in hers. “Alex, all those feelings of not being complete- the attempt to fill the hole with Big Sharon- had been my subconscious mind not allowing me to forget, despite the repression. The fact that I’d been able to talk to Big Sharon in therapy was a sign to him that I’d reached a higher level, was ready to get in touch with my identity as one third of a whole.”

“How’d finding out make you feel?”

“At first it was wonderful. A wave of happiness washed over me- I was drunk with joy. Then, suddenly, everything got cold and dark and the walls started closing in.”

She wrapped her arms around me, held me tight.

“It was unreal, Alex- unbelievably horrible. As if someone was stepping on my chest, crushing me. I was sure I was about to die. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. Tried to stand up and fell, began crawling toward the door. Paul picked me up, held me, kept talking in my ear, telling me everything was all right, to breathe slowly and deeply, get my breathing rhythmic, it was just an anxiety attack. Finally I managed to do it but I didn’t feel normal. All my senses were stuffed. I was ready to burst. Then something came out, from deep inside of me- a terrible scream, louder than I’d ever screamed before. Someone else’s scream- it didn’t sound like me. I tried to step away from it, sit in the therapist’s chair and watch someone else scream. But it was me and I couldn’t stop. Paul clamped his hand over my mouth. When that didn’t work, he slapped my face. Hard. It hurt but it felt good, if you can understand that. To be cared for.”

“I understand,” I said.

She said, “Thank you,” and kissed me again.

“Then what?”

“Then he held me till I was calm. Stretched me out on the floor and let me lie there and put me deeper in hypnosis. Then he told me to open my eyes, reached into his shirt pocket- I can still see it: he was wearing a red silk shirt- and handed me a snapshot. Two little girls. Me and another me. He said to look on the back, he’d written something there. I did: S and S, Silent Partners. He said that was my catechism, my healing mantra. And the photo was my icon- he’d gotten it for me to keep. When in doubt or troubled, I should use it, fall into it. Then he told me to fall into it then and there and began telling me about the other girl. That her name was Sherry. She’d been his patient for years, long before he met me. The first time he saw me, he thought it was her. Meeting both of us was a miracle- miraculous karma- and his goal in life since then had been reuniting us into a functioning unit. A family.”

“How long had he kept her existence from you?”

“Just a short time. He couldn’t tell me about her until she agreed. She was his patient- everything was confidential.”

“But to get her to agree, he must have told her about you.”

She frowned, as if working on a difficult puzzle. “That was different. Ours was a supervision therapy- he viewed me as a fellow professional, thought I could handle it. It had to start somewhere, Alex. Breaking the circle.”

I said, “Of course. How did she react to learning about you?”

“At first she refused to believe him, even after he showed her a copy of the photo. Claimed it was trick photography, took a long time to accept the fact that I existed. Paul told me she’d been raised without love, had trouble bonding. Looking back, I realize he was warning me, right from the beginning. But I was in no state to consider negative input. All I knew was that my life had changed- magically. Triplets, the empty vessel filled.”

“Two out of three,” I said.

“Yes, a moment later I realized that and asked about my other partner. He said we’d gone far enough, ended the session. Then he served me herb tea and a light dinner, had Suzanne give me a massage, drove me home and told me to try on my new identity.”

“Home,” I said. “Who gave you the house?”

“Paul did. He told me it was a rental property of his that no one was using and he wanted me to live in it- I needed a new place for my new life. This one was perfect for me, harmonious, in synchrony with my vibrations.”

“Same with the car?”

“My little Alfa- wasn’t that a cute car? It finally gave out last year. Paul said he’d bought it for Suzanne but she couldn’t learn to drive a stick shift. He said after everything I’d been through, I deserved a little fun in my life so he was giving it to me. It wasn’t till later, of course, that I learned he’d been serving as a conduit- but he did put everything together, so in a sense, everything did come from him.”

“I can see that,” I said. “What happened once you got home?”

“I was exhausted. The sessions had taken a lot out of me. I got into bed and slept like a baby. But that night I woke up in a cold sweat, panicky, having another anxiety attack. I wanted to call Paul, was too shaky to dial the phone. Finally I managed to breathe myself calm, but by then my mood had changed- I was really depressed, didn’t want to speak with anyone. It was like falling head-first into a bottomless well- falling endlessly. I got under the covers, trying to escape. For three days I didn’t dress or eat or get out of bed. Just sat staring at that snapshot. The third day was when you found me. When I saw you I went crazy. I’m sorry, Alex. I lost control.”

She touched my cheek.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Long forgotten. What happened after I left?”

“I stayed that way for a while. Some time later- I’m really not sure how long it was- Paul came by to see how I was doing. He cleaned me up, dressed me, and took me back to his place. For a week I did nothing but relax, stayed up in my… in a room there. Then we had another session, even deeper hypnosis, and he told me about the separation.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That we’d been put up for adoption at birth and wrenched apart at three because Sherry kept trying to hurt me. He said it wasn’t the right way to handle it, but that our adoptive mother had problems of her own, couldn’t handle both of us. She liked Sherry more, so I was given away.”

She’d taken pains to speak in an offhand voice, but something raw and frigid had come into her eyes.

“What is it?” I said.

“Nothing. Just the irony. She lived like a princess all her life, but her soul was impoverished. I ended up being the lucky one.”

“Did you ever meet Mrs. Blalock?”

“No. Not even at the party. Why should I? She was a name to me- not even a face. Someone else’s mother.”

I gazed at the plastic walls of the dome and said nothing. Let my eyes rest on the husk in the next bed.

“When did Paul tell you about partner number two?”

“Third session, but there wasn’t much to tell. All he knew was that she’d been born disabled, was institutionalized somewhere.”

“Someone filled you in. Uncle Billy?”

“Yes.”

“The handsome paternal lawyer?”

“After all these years, you remember? Amazing.” Trying to sound pleased, but edgy. “As a matter of fact, Uncle Billy always wanted to be a lawyer. He even applied to law school, but he got caught up with other things and never went.”

“When did he come into the picture?”

“The second time Paul sent me home. Maybe a week after we… parted. I was doing much better, putting things in perspective. The doorbell rang. An older man with a beautiful smile was standing there. With candy and flowers and a bottle of wine. He said he was the brother of the woman who’d given me away- he apologized for that, said I shouldn’t hate her, though he understood if I did. That she was an inadequate person but he’d always looked after me. Both as an uncle and an emissary of my father.”

She looked over at the empty bed. “Then he told me who my father was.”

I said, “How’d it feel learning you were Leland Belding’s heir?”

“Not as strange as you’d think. Of course I’d heard of him, knew he was a genius and rich, and it was strange finding out we were related. But he was dead, gone, no chance for any connection. I was more concerned with living ties.”

She hadn’t answered the question. I let it pass. “How did Uncle Billy chance to find you?”

“Paul had traced my roots and found him. He said he’d wanted to meet me for years, had been unsure of what to say or do and stayed away out of fear of doing the wrong thing. Now that the cat was out of the bag, he wanted me to hear everything from the source.

“I told him I knew about Sherry and we talked a little about her- I could tell he wasn’t fond of her, but he didn’t push it and I didn’t challenge him. I wanted to know about my other sister, about my roots. We sat there and drank wine and he told me everything- how the three of us were the love children of Mr. Belding and an actress whom he’d loved very much but couldn’t marry for social reasons. Her name was Linda. She died of childbirth complications. He showed me a picture. She was very beautiful.”

“An actress,” I said. When she didn’t react, I said, “You look like her.”

“That’s quite a compliment,” she said. “We were also miracle children- premature, tiny at birth, and not expected to live. Linda became sick, with septicemia, but she never stopped thinking about us, praying for us. She named us just minutes before she died. Jana, Joan, and Jewel Rae- that’s me. And though we all made it, Joan had multiple deformities. Despite being rich and powerful, Mr. Belding was in no position to raise her- or any of us. He was painfully shy- actually phobic about people, especially children. From what Uncle Billy described, a bit agoraphobic as well. So Uncle Billy had us adopted by his sister. He’d thought she’d turn out to be a better mother than she did. All these years both he and Mr. Belding felt tremendously guilty about letting us go.

“I told him Paul was going to arrange a meeting with Sherry and he said he knew. Then I asked if he could arrange one with Joan.”

“So he and Paul were working together.”

“They were cooperating. He was evasive about Joan, but I kept pressing him and finally he told me she was somewhere in Connecticut. I said I wanted to see her. He said there was no point- she was severely disabled, had no conscious mind to speak of. I said not only did I want to see her, I wanted to be with her, to take care of her. He said that was impossible- she required full-time care and that I should concentrate on my education. I said she was a part of me. I’d never be able to concentrate on anything else again unless I could have her with me. He thought about that, asked if I could take some time off from school, and I said sure. We drove straight to a private airport, hopped on a corporate jet to New York, then took a limousine to Connecticut. I know he thought the way she looked would change my mind. But it only made me more resolute. I lay down in bed next to her, hugged her, kissed her. Felt her vibrations. When he saw that, he agreed to move her out here. The corporation bought Resthaven and set up a private wing for her. I got to interview attendants, hand-picked Elmo. She became part of my life. I came to really love her. Loved the other patients, too- I’ve always felt at home with the defective. If I had it all to do over again, I would have spent my life working with them.”

At home. The only real home she’d known had been shared with two retarded people. A textbook insight, but she wasn’t getting it.

I said, “And you changed her name.”

“Yes. A new name symbolizes a new life. Both Jana and I had been given S names; I thought Joan should have one too. To fit in.”

She got up, sat by her sister’s side, and touched the sunken cheeks.

“She goes on forever,” she said. “She’s been a constant in my life. A real comfort.”

“Unlike your other partner.”

That cold look again. “Yes, unlike her.” Then a smile. “Well, Alex, I’m pooped. We’ve covered a lot of ground.”

“There are a few other things, if you don’t mind?”

Pause. For the first time since I’d known her, she looked drawn. “No, of course not. What else would you like to know?”

There was plenty, but I was looking at her smile: stuck to her without being part of her- like a clown’s makeup. Too wide, too bright. A prodrome- early warning of something. I ordered my thoughts, said, “The story you told me about being orphaned- the accident in Majorca. Where did that come from?”

“A fantasy,” she said. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

“Wishing for what?”

“Romance.”

“But the way you tell it, the true story of your parents is pretty romantic. Why embellish?”

She lost color. “I… I don’t know what to tell you, Alex. When you asked me about the house, that story came out- just poured out of me. Does it matter after all these years?”

“You really have no idea where it came from?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s identical to the way Leland Belding’s parents died.”

She turned ghostly. “No, that couldn’t…” Then, again, the glazed smile. “How strange. Yes, I can see why that would intrigue you.”

She thought, tugged her ear. “Maybe Jung was right. The collective unconscious- genetic material transmitting images as well as physical traits. Memories. Perhaps when you asked me, my unconscious kicked in. I was remembering him. Eulogizing him.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but something else comes to mind.”

“What’s that?”

“It was something Paul told you under hypnosis, then suggested you forget. Something that surfaced anyway.”

“No. I… there were no suggestions for amnesia.”

“Would you remember if there were?”

She stood, clenched her hands, held them stiff at her sides.

“No, Alex. He wouldn’t have done that.” Pause. “And what if he did? It would only have been to protect me.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. “Pardon the armchair analysis. Occupational hazard.”

She looked down at me. I took her hand and she relaxed.

“After all,” I said, “he did tell you about the drowning- which was pretty emotionally loaded stuff.”

“The drowning,” she said. “Yes. He did tell me that. I remember it clearly.”

“And you told me. And Helen.” Twisting and turning the truth like wood in a lathe.

“Yes, of course I did. You were the people I felt close to. I wanted both of you to know.”

She pulled away, sat down on the opposite end of the bed. Bewildered.

I said, “It must have been a terrible experience, being forced under water, someone trying to kill you. Especially at that age. The primal age.”

She turned her back to me. I listened to the arrhythmic hiss and squeak of Shirlee’s breathing.

“Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think lies are… a combination of elements?” Her voice was empty, dead, like that of a torture victim. “Fiction combined with repressed truth? That when we lie, what we’re really doing is taking truth and changing its temporal context- bringing it forward from the past to the present?”

I said, “It’s an interesting theory.” Then, “If you feel up to it, I’d like to hear about how you and Sherry finally met.”

“A couple of days after Uncle Billy visited me, Paul came by and told me she was ready.”

“Back to his house.”

“Yes. He put me up in my room and told me to meditate, be sure to get a good night’s sleep. The next morning he brought me down to the living room. Everything was set up with big soft pillows and dim lighting. He told me to wait, and left. A moment later he reappeared. With her.

“When I saw her a jolt of electricity shot up my spine. I couldn’t move. She must have been going through the same thing, because both of us just stared at each other for a long time. She looked exactly like me except she’d dyed her hair platinum-blond and was wearing sexy clothes. We started to smile- at precisely the same moment. Then we started giggling, then laughing out loud, threw out our arms and ran toward each other- it was like running into a mirror. A few minutes later and we were talking away as if we’d been best friends all our lives.

“She was funny and sweet- nothing at all like Paul had described. Not selfish or spoiled the way Uncle Billy had implied. It was obvious she wasn’t highly educated, which surprised me because I knew she’d grown up rich. But she was bright. And well-bred- her posture, the way she crossed her legs. She told me she was studying to be an actress, had already starred in one film. I asked her the title but she just laughed and changed the subject. She wanted to know all about grad school, all about psych, said she was so proud that I was going to get a Ph.D. We really hit it off, discovering that we liked the same foods, used the same toothpaste and mouthwash and deodorant. Noticing little mannerisms we had in common.”

“Like this?” I tugged on my earlobe.

“No.” She laughed. “I’m afraid that’s all me.”

“Did she talk about her home life?”

“Not much that first time- we really didn’t want to talk about anything but us. And she hadn’t been told about Joan yet- Paul said she wasn’t ready for that. So we concentrated on just the two of us. We stayed in that room all day. The first time I had a hint of anything negative was when we got on the topic of men. She told me she’d done lots of men, so many she’d lost count. She was sounding me out- wanted to see if I approved or disapproved. I wasn’t judgmental, but told her I was a one-man woman. She refused to believe that at first, then said she hoped he was one hell of a man. That’s when I told her all about you. For a moment a scary look came into her eyes- predatory. Hungry. As if she hated me for loving. But then it disappeared so quickly that I thought I’d imagined it. If I’d known better, I would have protected you, believe me, Alex. Protected us.”

“When did it start going bad?”

Her eyes moistened. “Soon after, though I didn’t realize it at the time. We were supposed to go shopping together, but she didn’t show. When I got back to Paul’s house, he told me she’d packed her bags and left town without telling anyone. That it was her pattern- she had no impulse control. Not to worry, it wasn’t my fault. She finally came back, two weeks later, in terrible shape- bruised, groggy, unable to remember anything that had happened other than that she’d ended up in a bar in Reno. From that point on, that’s what it was like- drop in, drop out. Fugue states, drug abuse.”

“Jana. Your dissertation.”

That jolted her.

I said, “I read it. I was interested- in you. Whose idea was it?”

“It started out as a joke. I’d just been through a rough month with her- a couple of overdoses, lots of verbal abuse. And I was under pressure, needed to come up with a dissertation topic or apply for an extension from the department- my second one. I was unloading on Paul about how much she frustrated me, how hard she was making it for me. That it would have been easier to be her therapist than her sister. He laughed at that, said being her therapist was no picnic either. We talked about the loss of control that comes from dealing with people like that. Then he said, why didn’t I put myself in the therapist role- as a means of establishing some sense of control in the relationship- and write it all down.”

“Working it through.”

“Paul said she owed it to me.”

“Sounds like Paul was angry at her too.”

“He was frustrated- all those years, and she kept getting worse. Deteriorating. Toward the end she was downright paranoid, near psychotic.”

“Paranoid about what?”

“Everything. The last time she came back- the time she wrecked my practice- she was convinced I was out to get her, that I was revealing her personal secrets to my patients, humiliating her. It came from her own pain, but she was projecting it onto me- blaming me, the way she’d done years before.”

“Tell me about that.”

“It was a long time ago, Alex.”

“I’d still like to hear about it.”

She thought for a while, shrugged and smiled. “If it’s that important to you.”

I smiled back.

She said, “It happened after she got married- to Italian nobility, a marchese named Benito di Orano whom her mother introduced her to. Ten years younger than her, suave, handsome, heir to some sort of shoe company- another impulsive thing- they’d only known each other a week, flew to Liechtenstein and had a civil ceremony. He bought her a Lamborghini, moved her into his villa overlooking the Spanish Steps. Paul and I hoped she’d finally settle down. But Benito turned out to be a sadist and a druggie. He beat her, doped her up, took her to the family palazzo in Venice, crammed her with dope, and gave her to his friends- as a party favor. When she woke up, he told her he’d had the marriage annulled because she was trash, then kicked her out. Literally.

“She crawled back to the States like a worm, burst into my office in the middle of a session, screaming and bawling and begging me to help her. I called Paul. Both of us tried to calm her down, persuade her to admit herself. But she wouldn’t cooperate and she wasn’t a clear and present danger, so there was nothing we could do, legally. She stomped out, cursing both of us. A few days later she was the old Sherry again- foul-mouthed, popping pills, back on the road, constantly on the move. From time to time I heard from her- middle of the night phone calls, postcards that tried to be friendly. Once or twice I even drove out to the airport to see her between planes. We’d chat, have drinks, pretend everything between us was okay. But her rage hadn’t dissipated. The next time she came back to L.A. to stay, she got close to me again, then started in with her follow-up visits. God, I loved my work, Alex. Still miss it.”

“What brought things to a head?”

“The party. She loved parties as much as I hated them. But Paul wanted me at this one- ordered her to stay away. She argued, threw a fit. He told her that both of us couldn’t go and I’d be the one. This was for psychologists. Professionals only. A special occasion for him and he wouldn’t see it ruined by her acting-out. That set her off- she attacked him, tried to stab him with a pair of scissors. The first time she’d ever gotten physical with him. He overpowered her, gave her a large dose of barbiturates, and locked her in her room. Saturday night, right after the party, he let her out. Told me she looked calm, was actually pleasant- remorseful. Forgive and forget.”

“How did you handle the party?” I asked. “Meeting Mrs. Blalock’s friends.”

“For them I was Sherry- smiling and looking sexy. It wasn’t that hard- there wasn’t much substance to her. For all the psych people I was me. The two groups didn’t mingle at all, and mostly I stayed with Uncle Billy.”

Magpies and swans…

“Forgive and forget,” I said. “But she’d done neither.”

She stared at me. “Must we go further, Alex? It’s so ugly. She’s gone now, out of my life- out of our lives. And I have a chance for a new start.”

She raised my hand to her lips. Licked the knuckles.

“Hard to begin without ending,” I said. “Closure. For both of us.”

She sighed. “For you,” she said. “Only for you. Because you mean so much to me.”

“Thanks. I know it’s hard, but I really think it’s best.”

She squeezed my hand. “I got your message on Sunday. I was disappointed, but I could tell from your voice that it wasn’t farewell. You were nervous, had left the lines open.”

I didn’t argue.

“So I was thinking about whether to call you, or wait until you called me to set up another date. I decided to wait, let you move at your own pace. You’d been on my mind all day and when the knock on my door sounded, I thought it was you. But it was her. All covered with blood. And laughing. I asked her what had happened- had she been in an accident? Was she okay? And then she told me. Laughing. What she’d done- the horror of it and she was laughing!”

Sharon burst into tears, began shaking violently, doubled over and held her head.

“She didn’t do it by herself,” I said. “Who helped her?”

She shook some more.

“Was it D.J. Rasmussen?”

She looked up, tear-streaked, mouth open. “You knew D.J.?”

“I met him.”

“Met him? Where?”

“At your house. Both of us thought you were dead. We came there to pay our last respects.”

She tore at her face. “Oh, God, poor, poor D.J. Until she told me what she’d… what they’d done, I’d never known he was one of her… conquests.”

“He was the only one she held on to,” I said. “The most vulnerable. The most violent.”

She groaned and straightened, pulled herself to her feet and began circling the room, slowly, like a sleepwalker, then faster and faster, tugging her earlobe so hard I thought she’d tear it off.

“Yes, it was D.J. She laughed when she told me that, laughed about how she’d gotten him to do it- using dope, booze. Her body. Mostly her body. I’ll never forget the way she put it: ‘I did him, so he’d do them.’ Laughing, always laughing, about all the blood, how Paul and Suzanne had begged. And poor Lourdes, so sweet, leaving, on her way out, when they caught her coming down the stairs. Sunday was her day off- she’d stayed late to help tidy the house. Laughing, about how she’d tied them, watched as D.J. did them- with a baseball bat and a gun. Him thinking all the time that it was me he was doing it for-me who’d used him.”

She ran over and sank to her knees. “That’s what amused her the most, Alex! That he’d never known the truth- all the time he thought he was doing it for me!”

She took hold of my shirt, pulled me to her, to her breasts. “She said that made me a murderer too. That when you really got down to it, we were one and the same!”

I helped her up, then lowered her back to the bed. She lay down, curled fetally, eyes wide open, arms wrapped around her trunk like a straitjacket.

I patted her, stroked her, said, “She wasn’t you. You weren’t her.”

She uncurled her arms and put them around me. Drew me down, bathed my face with kisses. “Thank you, Alex. Thank you for saying that.”

Slowly, gently, I drew myself away, still patting. Saying, “Go on. Get it out.” The therapist’s prompt…

She said, “Then her laughter got crazy- weird, hysterical. All of a sudden she stopped laughing completely, looked at me, then down at herself, all the blood, and started to tear off her clothes. Coming down hard. Realizing what she’d done: By destroying Paul, she’d destroyed herself. He was everything to her, the closest she’d ever come to a father. She needed him, depended on him, and now he was gone and it was her fault. She fell apart, right before my eyes. Decompensating. Sobbing- not play-acting now, real tears- just wailing like a helpless baby. Begging me to bring him back, saying I was smart, I was a doctor, I could do it.

“I could have calmed her down. The way I’d done so many times before. Instead, I told her Paul was never coming back, that it was her fault, she’d have to pay, no one would be able to protect her from this one, not even Uncle Billy. She looked at me in a way I’d never seen before- scared to death. Like a condemned woman. Started in again, begging me to bring Paul back. I repeated that he was dead. Said the word over and over. Dead. Dead. Dead. She tried to come to me for comfort. I pushed her away, slapped her hard, once, twice. She backed away from me, stumbled, fell, reached into her purse and took out her daiquiri flask. Drank it, slobbering and crying, letting it dribble down her chin. Then out came her pills. She took handfuls of them, began gobbling them down. Stopping every few seconds to stare at me- daring me to stop her, the way I’d done so many times before. But I didn’t. She lurched into my bedroom, still carrying her purse- stark naked, but with the purse, she looked so… pathetic.

“I followed her in. She took something else out of the purse. A gun. A little gold-plated pistol I’d never seen before. My new toy, she said. Like it? Got it on Rodeo fucking Drive. Broke it in today. Then she pointed it at me, tightened her finger on the trigger. I was sure I was going to die, but I didn’t beg, just remained calm, looked her straight in the eye, and said, ‘Go ahead, spill some more innocent blood. Get filthier, you worthless piece of scum.’ ”

“Then the strangest look came onto her face. She said, ‘I’m sorry, partner,’ put the gun to her temple, and pulled the trigger.”

Silence.

“I just sat there looking at her for a while. Watching her bleed, her soul pass out of her. Wondering where it was headed. Then I called Uncle Billy. He took care of the rest.”

My chest hurt. I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out.

She lay there, gradually loosening, getting dreamy-eyed. “And that’s all there is, my darling. An ending. And a beginning. For us.”

She sat up, smoothed her hair, loosened the top button of her dress, and leaned forward. “I’m cleansed now. Free. Ready for you, Alex- ready to give you everything, to give myself in a way I’ve never given to anyone. I’ve waited so long for this moment, Alex. Never thought it would come.” She reached for me.

Now it was my turn to get up and pace.

“This is a lot to handle,” I said.

“I know it is, darling, but we’ve got time. All the time in the world. I’m finally free.”

“Free,” I said. “And rich. I never thought of myself as a kept man.”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t be. I’m really not an heiress. Mr. Belding’s will says the money stays in the corporation.”

“Still,” I said, “with Uncle Billy administering everything- the way he feels about you, life’s bound to be pretty luxurious.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be. I don’t need that. Money was never important to me- not for its own sake, or for the things it could buy. That was her thing. When she found out who she was, she freaked out, started screaming at Uncle Billy, accused him of ripping her off and threatened to take him to court. Such greed- she already had more than she needed. She even tried to get me to go along with her, but I refused. That really made her vicious.”

“How far did she go with the threat?”

“Not far. Uncle Billy managed to calm her down.”

“How?”

“I have no idea. But let’s not talk about her anymore. Or money, or anything negative. I’m here, with you. In this wonderful place, where no one can find us or soil us. You and me and Shirlee. We’ll make a family, be together forever.”

She came toward me, lips parted for a kiss.

I held her at arm’s length.

“It’s not that simple, Sharon.”

Her eyes went big. “I… I don’t understand.”

“There are problems. Things that don’t make sense.”

“Alex.” Tears. “Please don’t play games with me, not after what I’ve been through.”

She tried pushing against me. I held her fast.

“Oh, Alex, please don’t do this to me. I want to touch you, want you to hold me!”

“Sherry killing Kruse,” I said. “It wasn’t about the party- that may have been the final straw, but she’d been planning it, paying off D.J. Rasmussen for at least two weeks before then. Thousands of dollars. Priming him for the big job.”

She gasped, reversed her movements, trying to free herself from my grasp. Still I held fast.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t believe that! As bad as she was, that’s not true!”

“It’s true, all right. And you know it better than anyone.”

“What do you mean?” And all at once her face- that flawless face- was ugly.

Ugly with rage. Empathic failure…

“What I mean is that you set it up. Planted the seeds. Sent her a six-year-old dissertation and confirmed her worst anxieties.”

Her eyes went wild. “Go to hell.”

She twisted, tried to free herself.

“You know it’s true, Sharon.”

“Of course it isn’t true. She didn’t read. She was a stupid, stupid girl, didn’t like books! And you’re stupid for even saying something like that!”

“This is one book she would have struggled through. Because you’d been priming her for it- using the same techniques Kruse used on you. Verbal manipulations, hypnotic suggestions. Things you suggested to her while she was under, then ordered her to forget- about Kruse and you, his liking you better. She was borderline from the beginning, but you pushed her over the border. The sad thing is, you’d gotten over there yourself, first.”

She snarled, turned her fingers into claws and tried to sink her nails into my hands. We wrestled, panting. I managed to get both of her wrists in one hand, used the other to hold her fast.

“Let go of me, you bastard! Ow, you’re hurting me! Fuck you, let go!”

“How long did it take, Sharon? To break her, turn her on Paul?”

“I didn’t! You’re crazy! Why would I?”

“To clean things up. Get free. Get rid of someone you finally realized had been manipulating you instead of helping you. What made you break? Finding the two of them? Up in her room, doing what they’d probably been doing for years? Or maybe she’d told you about it when you hypnotized her. Incest. The worst kind. Daddy fucking her. He was your daddy too. And, by doing it, fucking you over.”

“No! No, no, no, no! You slime-bastard, you lying fucking bastard! No! Shut up! Get out, you fuck, you piece of shit!”

The filth poured out of her, the way I’d heard it pour out of her sister. The look on her face, that of the girl in the flame dress, loathing me. Murderous.

I said, “Two birds with one stone, Sharon. Turn Sherry on Kruse, then wait for her to come for you. You’d been planning it for months- at least half a year. That’s when you told Elmo to get another job. You knew Resthaven was closing down, because Resthaven was something Uncle Billy had set up for Shirlee and you were taking Shirlee out of there. To your new home. You and me and Shirlee makes three. A new partnership.”

“No, no! That’s fucking crazy- you’re out of your mind! She had D.J.- dangerous, violent, you said so yourself. Two against one! I’d have been crazy to put myself in that kind of danger!”

She fought one hand loose, finally got a nail in and ripped downward. I felt pain, wetness, shoved her away from me, hard. She flew backward, the backs of her legs hit the bed, and she sprawled. Panting. Sobbing. Mouthing silent obscenities.

I said, “D.J. was no threat to you. Because all along, he thought it was you he’d been making-it with, you who’d paid him to kill Kruse. Sherry couldn’t risk blowing that, telling him he’d been deceived and having him turn on her. She had to take care of you by herself. Thought she’d be able to surprise you. But you had the advantage. She stepped right into your trap and you were ready. With your gold-plated twenty-two.”

She kicked her feet in the air, waved her arms. Tantrum. Early trauma. Bad genes…

“Fucking… bastard… fuckdick slimebastard…”

“First you shot her,” I said. “Then you poured dope and booze down her throat. A good forensic analysis would be able to show she’d swallowed all of it after she died, but there’ll never be a forensic analysis, because Uncle Billy took care of it. Along with everything else.”

“Lies, all lies, you fuck!”

“I don’t think so, Sharon. And now you’ve got everything. Enjoy it.”

I backed away from her.

“You can’t prove a fucking thing,” she said.

“I know,” I said. And made it to the door.

A gurgling, roaring sound- the only thing I could think of was a cesspool overflowing- came from deep inside her. She picked up the water glass she’d gotten for me, drew her arm back, and threw it at me.

If it had hit, it would have done damage. I ducked. It bounced off the plastic wall, landed on the carpet with an ineffectual thud.

“Your right hand,” I said. “At least I’m finally sure which side of the mirror I’ve been looking at.”

She whipped her eyes down to her hand, stared at it as if it had betrayed her.

I left. Had to walk for a long time in the darkness before I stopped hearing her screams.