F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (24 page)

           
Seeing them together like this made
Kara intensely uneasy. She wanted no new ties to Rob. Their break up ten years
ago had been excruciating. She didn't want to go through that again — for both
their sakes. And she did
not
want to
try to explain why she had raised his daughter all these years without telling
him she existed. Because she wasn't quite sure herself.

           
But the bonding between Jill and Rob
didn't explain all the tension she sensed coiled within her now. After passing
the hypnosis test this afternoon she had expected to feel relieved,
exhilarated, free,
cleansed
. And she
had, briefly. But then an ill-defined malaise had set in, a vague, pervasive
sense of something not-quite-right that she hadn't noticed before.

           
Maybe it was the city. That had to
be it. It was always the city. A good thing she and Jill were leaving tomorrow.
Not a moment too soon. If she stayed much longer there was no telling what
might happen. She could even imagine herself falling in love with Rob again.

           
She wondered if she had ever really
stopping loving him.

           
"Jill," she said, rousing
herself, "come on over here and sit with me and let Mr. Harris get the
cooking done."

           
Jill hopped of the stool and ran
over to where Kara was sitting. Rob had tied an apron around her neck. It
dangled around her knees and she almost tripped over it.

           
"He needs my help, mom,"
she said in a loud whisper. "He wants me to cut the scallions real thick,
and we always cut them thin."

           
"I think you can cut them thick
when you're putting them in a wok," Kara whispered back.

           
"Really?" She glanced at
Rob with new respect. "How come we don't ever wok?"

           
"We will, if you want to."

           
"Yeah!" Her eyes were
bright with excitement. She loved to cook. "It's fun!"

           
"Okay. Then we'll buy one as
soon as we get back to the farm."

           
Jill glanced furtively at Rob and
lowered her voice further.

           
"He doesn't exploit women, does
he." It was a statement.

           
"What do you mean?"

           
"I mean,
he's
doing the cooking and
you're
sitting out here. That's good, isn't it?"

           
"And
you're
helping him. Sharing the jobs, that's what's really
important."

           
Jill nodded sagely.
"Right." She turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

           
"Where're you going, bug?"

           
"To help him with the shrimp.
He doesn't clean them as good as we do."

           
"Well," Kara said.

           
Jill rolled her eyes. "As
well
as we do." She cupped a hand
around her mouth. "He leaves some of the black stuff along the back."
She made a disgusted face.

           
Kara laughed. "Then maybe you'd
better
help him."

           
After dinner there was coffee and
Kahlua. When Jill left the table to use the bathroom, Rob turned to Kara.
"What a
great
kid she is! I love
her!"

           
Kara kept a two handed grip on her
coffee cup to keep it from shaking.

           
"Thank you."

           
"Even if she is bit of a
spaz," he added with a smile.

           
"Give her a break, Rob. She's
never even
seen
chopsticks
before!"

           
"All right. But I'm giving her
a pair to practice with. Next time you're back in town, we'll do this again and
I expect her to be a pro."

           
There
won't be a next time
, Kara thought with genuine regret.

           
"What's on the schedule
tomorrow?" he said.

           
"Got an appointment with my
editor—to see if I can get an extension on the deadline for my book—and then
it's back to the farm."

           
"Ever think of trying the city
again? It's a great place for writers."

           
Kara gave him a level stare and
returned the ball to his court.

           
"Why don't you open that
restaurant you've always talked about? Lancaster can always use another good
restaurant. And no matter how great New York is for writing, it's a lousy place
to raise a child. Besides, I like writing at the farm."

           
Rob sighed resignedly. "Got a
title for your book?"

           
Kara was grateful for the change of
subject.

           
"It's called
Feminism and Fascism
."

           
He raised his eyebrows.
"Catchy. What's it about?"

           
"It's basically cautionary,
showing how some of the movement's more radical methods and legislative drives
may be turned around on us some day and do us harm instead of good. Right now
I'm working on a chapter that shows why we shouldn't wail and moan about so-called
'sexual bias' in tests like the SATs. The whole purpose of the movement is to
show we're just as sharp, just as smart as males, so how better to prove that
than by outscoring them on any test males take? If we're equal, why should we
insist on special treatment?"

           
"I'll buy the first copy,"
Rob said. "When do you think it'll be published?"

           
Before she could reply, Jill's
high-pitched yelp came from the bathroom.

           
"Whoa! Does
this
ever exploit women!"

           
Rob's eyes widened and he leapt from
his chair.

           
"Oh, Christ! My
Penthouses
!"

           
"Can we see Rob again
soon?" Jill said as they stepped inside Ellen's front door.

           
"Oh, so it's 'Rob' now, is
it?" Kara said, relieved that she had been able to get away without making
any more promises to him.

           
"He told me to call him
that."

           
"Well, you should still call
him 'Mr. Harris.' "

           
"Can we have him come down and
visit us on the farm?"

           
"Next time he's in
Elderun," Kara said, "I promise we'll have him over for dinner."

           
"Good! 'Cause I like him a
lot," she said, and ran toward her bedroom.

           
Kara bit her lip as she watched her
daughter scamper away. Soon or later she was going to have to tell them. But
when
?

 
 

           
So
excited. Don't recall ever seeing him this excited. Thinks he has her
now. Absolutely sure of it
.

           
Too
bad. Because he's rarely wrong.

           
Her
only hope is to flee, to get as far away as she can. But she won't. They never
do. He won't let them. Especially not this one. He wants her so very badly.

           
Wonder
why.

           
He'd
never tell me, even if I asked him, but think I know why. Because this one is
the twin of the other one. So angry when he lost her. No one's ever gotten away
from him before. So having this new one, this twin of the other, is just like
having the lost one back again.

           
That
must be the reason for his excitement. Like a little child, really: furious
when he doesn't get his way and euphoric when he does.

           
I'd
love to see him thwarted again. Wish I could find a way to warn the new one,
but of course that's impossible as long as all my free hours are spent caged in
this place.

           
Must
be a way. I'll have to work on it. Yes. That's my project.

           
Of
course, if the new blonde goes far enough away, I won't have to warn her. But
think I'll work on the plan anyway. For I don't think she has a chance.

 
 

           
Ed Bannion had spent a lot of time
in the New York Public Library since his visit with Kara Wade two nights ago.
He'd checked out what books he could, and every spare minute of his free time
during library hours had been spent pouring over psychiatric journals. He'd
done an awful lot of reading on multiple personalities and had become adept at
translating Psychobabble into plain English. Anyone who thought lawyers lived
in doubletalk should try reading this garbage for a couple of days.

           
And the more he read, the more he
became convinced that the medical profession didn't know squat about the human
mind. Right now he was studying the section on dissociative disorders in the
DSM-III-R
. Multiple personality disorder
was listed there. He'd read it so often he knew the diagnostic criteria by
heart.
Diagnostic criteria for 300.14
Multiple Personality Disorder
:

           
A.
The existence within the person of two or more distinct personalities or
personality states (each with its own relatively enduring pattern of
perceiving, relating to, and thinking about the environment and self).

           
B.
At least two of these personalities or personality states recurrently take full
control of the person's behavior.

           
So why was he reading this again?
Hell, why was he even
here
! It was
Happy Hour on Friday. He should have been heading for one of his usual weekend
haunts, like Nomura's, huddling with the regular crowd around the sushi bar,
drinking Kirin and scarfing down California rolls. But he had no desire for
that scene tonight. What was wrong with him?

           
It was that woman, that Kelly Wade.
Her tortured face before she went out the window still hovered about him.

           
At least now he had an explanation.
The second personality, the one named Ingrid, was the one that had picked up
Phil and him. Ingrid had been the sexual acrobat. And then for one reason or
another, Kelly had come back. She'd been shocked and repulsed by the situation
in which she suddenly found herself. Must've figured out that her other half
had got her into it. Right. The Jekyll half had suddenly awakened in the middle
of one of Hyde's orgies and it scared the shit out of her. So she panicked and
started bouncing off the walls looking for a way out. Unfortunately she found
the window before she found the door. She probably didn't know the window was
twelve stories up.

           
Or did she? Had she seen that window
as a way out of more than just the hotel room?

           
Ed sighed and leaned back and rubbed
his weary eyes. Whatever the case, he wasn't responsible. He and his brother
had merely accompanied "Ingrid" up to her room for a little dirty fun
between three consenting adults. What happened after that was not their fault.

           
So
why do I feel so damn guilty?

           
He looked up and saw the librarians
going from table to table, shooing everybody out. Closing time. Ed left the
journals where they were and headed for the street. He hunched his shoulders
against the icy wind as he pushed his way through the crowds clustering on the
corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street.

           
Getting dark. Friday night in the
Big City. The tunnel rats and bridge brats from Jersey and Long Island were
already making their entrance despite the cold. He studied some of the bright,
eager, excited teenage faces, watched them puff their cigarettes, trying to
look cool, look tough, trying to look like real New Yorkers but giving
themselves away immediately with their Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirts. Ed realized
with a start that he had twenty years on them. He wondered if he'd ever looked
that young, or felt that alive.

           
Feeling old, he hailed a cab and
pondered the guilt question as he rode home. By the time he stepped into his
apartment he had given up on it. What did it matter? The woman was dead.

           
He went immediately to the kitchen
and poured himself a stiff Absolut Citron on the rocks. He was beginning to
really like this stuff, actually looking forward to it, and that concerned him
a little. Sipping slowly, he went over to the entertainment center that took up
most of the inner wall of the living room. He browsed through his CD
collection. He had a new multi-disk player and had bought a new pair of
trimline speakers with fabulous bass, but could find nothing he wanted to hear.
He turned on the TV. He had a built-in rear projection model with a 48-inch
screen and full cable hook-up. Between MSG, ESPN and Sports Channel, there had
to be
something
diverting on.

           
Ah. The Knicks were on. He sat down,
figuring to lose himself in bitching about why they weren't a better team.

           
It didn't work.

           
Kelly Wade was there, standing next
to him, naked, looking down at him like he was some sort of roach.

           
Ed closed his eyes. Maybe it wasn't
all guilt. Maybe he wasn't feeling guilty so much as feeling
dirty
. He'd been humping a mental case
and he'd
liked
it. Sure, he hadn't
known then, but he knew now, and he
still
liked it. He saw her blond hair, her equally blond bush, the black garter belt
against her creamy white skin, the tiny navel, the curve of her hip, her
questing mouth…

           
He wanted her
again!

           
But not just her, not just Ingrid.
He wanted Kelly, too. He wanted them both, the good girl and the dirty girl,
madonna and whore all rolled into one.

           
Ed shook his head.

           
What
a pervo you're turning out to be.

           
Which made him feel even guiltier.
This was becoming a fucking merry-go-round.

           
And the merry-go-round carried him
toward the second twin, Kara. Wednesday night she'd looked almost as tortured
as her sister. And when Ed had mentioned child abuse, she'd exploded and
started talking about her father.

           
This was heavy shit.

           
He went over and poured himself
another.
Child abuse
. What a world.
He was glad he'd never had kids. He looked around the apartment. What
did
he have? He stared at the elegantly
matched, cool-toned furnishings which so perfectly complemented the aloof,
distant, abstract paintings, at the racks of electronic gadgetry that
surrounded him. He was going to hit the big four-oh soon and what did he really
have? A good income, yes, but from a career that had plateaued five years ago;
no wife, no family, and an apartment that was more like a Sharper Image catalog
than a home. Just a short while ago all of this had mattered so much. The
apartment had seemed so full. Now it seemed barren, deserted.