Foundation (25 page)
A stunned and disbelieving Benedict typed away on his computer console, looking for Faith’s profile. When Trumaine had told him that he had possibly discovered who the crawler was, Benedict had smiled in delight, but when he had heard who it was, the grin had faded, replaced with doubt.
“
You are accusing one of our best believers,” said Benedict. “She has been with us for over seven years now. I wonder if she really is the telepath we’re looking for, Detective—I’d hate to lose her.”
“
I’m sure she entered my dreams! I’m sure she took Starshanna’s identity! As I go over in my head the words Faith said when we were on the beach, the way she said them, it’s clear they weren’t her own, but Starshanna’s. And the only place Faith could have heard them was in my dreams! She
did
enter my dreams, Benedict, it’s true! There actually is a telepath—it’s her, it’s always been her! If only I had realized that sooner ...”
“
You must have solid proof to make such accusations, Detective. If she really is the crawler we have been looking for, we will need real evidence to arrest her. With all respect, I don’t think your words will be enough.”
“
I’ll get that evidence, even if I have to wring it out of her.”
Trumaine stood, about to leave.
“
Where are you going?” asked Benedict.
“
Why, to confront her ...”
Trumaine returned to the gallery, looking for Faith, when he realized that her couch was in its cradle and she was nowhere to be seen.
He asked the gallery guard about Faith’s last turn; the guard checked in his computer and told him that Faith had finished half an hour before—if she wasn’t at the canteen, she certainly was at home.
Trumaine combed the canteen, but she wasn’t there, either—she must be at home.
He returned to the parking lot and climbed in his car, but when he tried to start it, nothing happened. He tried once more—nothing. At long last, a feeble message blinked on the dashboard, reading:
BATTERY FAILURE - REPLACE BATTERY.
“
Damn!” cried Trumaine.
The last thing he needed now was a broken car. He reached out for his cell phone.
“
Detective Trumaine,
4415.
This is a request for car service.”
As soon as his call had been processed, he shut the phone, crossed his arms angrily and slumped down on the front fender of the unmarked car.
Twenty minutes later, the battery had finally been replaced. Trumaine watched the bulky tow truck the police department garage had sent over as it turned around, loaded with the flat yet cumbersome pack of faulty batteries, passed him again, then drove up the main street, disappearing from view.
He jumped into his car and started it. The vehicle squealed away, finally getting into traffic.
Trumaine drove past the porch of the Goldmars’, under which the Meteor ’55 sat, collecting dust, and parked at the end of Faith’s house’s driveway.
He bounded up to the house and rang the bell. Nobody answered him, so he rang a second time. This time, the lock of the door clicked open.
It was a deserted living room that he set foot in.
Wondering where the hell Faith had gone, he suddenly heard her voice from the bathroom upstairs.
“
I’m in the shower!” she shouted. “Why don’t you sit down? Give me one minute, I’ll be right back!”
Trumaine grunted from impatience. Once again, he studied the room. Once again, his attention was drawn to the wicker chest sitting under the ebony African mask.
He approached it, kneeling in front of it.
He reached out his hand, unsure if he should open it ... To hell with good manners, he said to himself—she had lied to him.
He threw the lid.
The chest contained various junk:
A discarded patchwork comforter, a tennis racket, an old pan, framed pictures that hadn’t found a hanging place anywhere on the walls, and a few old-fashioned toys.
It was one of them that left Trumaine flabbergasted; it was a one-half-foot, cast-iron Pinocchio toy doll which sneered nastily from behind the black, curved line it had for a mouth.
He retrieved it, weighted it in his hands—it felt heavy. He looked at the sharp, pointed nose of the toy—it made for a terribly effective spiked club.
He had already seen its twin; it was on the scene of a murder. It was the weapon that killed a famous neuroscientist. The question formed quickly and clearly in Trumaine’s head: why was a perfect copy of the toy that had killed Jarva in Faith’s junk chest?
“
Here I am,” said a voice from behind him.
Faith entered the room. Barefooted, she wore a couple of Syntex jeans under a striped sweater and held a towel around her head.
She noticed immediately the doll in Trumaine’s hands.
“
You found Grandma’s old toy,” she said cheerfully. “It’s an old thing, but I’ve grown fond of it. I could never get rid of it.”
Trumaine was impressed by the total control Faith had over herself. Even if she knew what he had just discovered—because she
was
a telepath—all the same she pretended she didn’t know.
Just thinking about the many times she had been like that, lying to him, pretending she was innocent, drove Trumaine mad.
His voice became rough and cold in seconds; it was the merciless, uncompromising growl he reserved for felons.
“
What is this!?” he snarled.
Faith was shocked by his manners, but she’d better get used to them, it was all she was getting from him from now on.
“
Is it some fetish so deeply rooted in your subconscious that you couldn’t help but replicate it in the parasite feed, when you were planning to kill Jarva?” he asked.
“
What are you talking about?”
Faith seemed truly confused—what a class act she could be!
Trumaine stood on his feet and strode up to her with the toy in his hands. He thrust it under her nose.
“
Your plan would have worked just fine, if you hadn’t left a copy of this behind,” he hissed.
“
I—I don’t understand ...”
Trumaine had never heard her stutter before. Someone should give her a prize, he thought—a slap, also.
“
Stop lying to me!” he exploded. “If you’re innocent, if you are no telepath, how did this get in Jarva’s bunker?”
“
I—I don’t know ...”
“
You don’t know, huh?”
Trumaine got an inch from her, pressing on.
“
I’ll tell you, then! Your subconscious put it in there! This thing slipped from your mind! This toy doesn’t belong to Jarva, it belongs to you!”
“
I didn’t kill him!” she squealed.
She lowered her hands, forgetting about the towel she was holding—it slid off her head and crumpled to the floor. She stood that way, anguished and flushed, her damp hair falling over her shoulders.
He could’ve kissed her, but he continued instead.
“
Benedict was right! You got into my head out of sheer curiosity! Because you couldn’t help it, you had to take a peek at my mind! It was so easy, I was close at hand, why not try? Why not look? What might be hiding in the intricate head of this little, conceited detective who had no business with Credence’s believers and who didn’t have a darned idea about things bigger than him?”
Faith shook her head and her eyes were wide with confusion. Trumaine looked at her hands—they were shaking. He stepped toward her and she backed up against the wall where the hairy African mask hung.
“
Isn’t that so?” he asked, chasing her.
“
No ...” said Faith in a whisper.
“
ISN’T THAT SO!?”
“
NOOO!”
At Faith’s scream, Trumaine’s whole world turned into the cold blade of a knife. Everything he looked at—the African masks on the wall, the Indian runner on the floor, the armchairs, the knickknacks sitting on the corner tables—all slashed back painfully at his mind like a many-bladed weapon.
Trumaine grabbed his head, his face twisted in excruciating pain, and dropped to his knees.
“
AAARGH ...!!!” he kept shouting, but he couldn’t hear himself.
Faith moved next to the African mask and both looked down at him for a while, then she stepped forth with a crazed, triumphant gaze, and circled him, never taking her eyes off him.
“
You want the truth, Detective Christian Trumaine? I’ll tell you the truth!” she shrieked like a witch.
“
You’re right, I was curious. I looked into your mind, that’s true. I’ve seen everything ... I’ve seen the charming, golden-haired Starshanna. I was there with you when poor Maia died and when you tried to revive her. I felt your despair and I felt sorry for her, Tru! I cried with you! I’m so sorry she died, I’m so sorry she died that way. I would do anything to bring her back, but I can’t ... I just can’t ...”
“
AAARGH ...!!!” The pain inside Trumaine was searing—Faith’s words tore into him like meat hooks.
She reached out, caressing his jerking head ... and, suddenly, she was Faith again.
“
Can’t you understand?” she said softly. “All I did was comfort you ...”
Despite the pain she was sharing because of her powers, she looked truly compassionate and caring. She glanced at him lovingly and tears started to fall from her eyes.
For a brief moment, the pain dimmed in Trumaine’s mind ...
It was the chance he was waiting for. He exploded suddenly, forward and up, driving his head into Faith’s stomach, pushing and slamming her into the next wall, so hard that even the mask had jerked, about to topple off the nail that held it.
Faith let out a squelching sound; winded and wide eyed, she held her belly, her mental hold broken at last.
An aching Trumaine rose to his feet, wiping the dribble from his mouth on the sleeve of his suit.
“
I hope I’ve been up to your sexual expectations ...” he said. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Aarmo and Raili Jarva.”
He backhanded her, sending her unconscious to the floor.
The sky was overcast.
It was cold and a thin, insistent rain lashed down. A man could be glimpsed through the gray sheets of raindrops, kneeling on the patio flagstones of a beach house.
He was bent over the small, lifeless body of a little girl, his arms desperately pumping her chest, trying to revive her, but she didn’t react to any of the stimuli.
Trumaine went on pumping Maia’s chest for what felt like hours; impervious to the flogging rain, to the cold and to the gray, silent, mournful dolphin that kept circling in the channel a few feet away from them, like a broken record of times past.
Then, all of a sudden ... Trumaine stopped.
He looked up, toward the sky, pained and anguished but, this time, there was no horror in his eyes. Beyond all the helplessness and the despair, a sense of hard acceptance had finally found its way inside him.
The rain that was the tears he hadn’t in him anymore, washed away the sweat from his body. He lifted his fingers, touching Maia’s shoulder in one long caress, then he kissed her forehead, as if he was wishing her good night.
Trumaine stood.
He strode to the house, entering the living room.