In Dark Places

by Michael Prescott

  "All right, I think we're ready to start."

  Wolper joined her again at the computer console.

  "Once I'm wearing the appliance," she said, "all you have to do is press the enter key. That will activate the appliance. I'll go into a trance. It should take five minutes or so. You'll see me getting relaxed."

  She thought about telling him that she should not be allowed to stay under for more than thirty minutes, because the procedure's safety over longer time intervals had never been verified. She decided against it, not wishing to be pulled out just as she was on the verge of a breakthrough. She would remain in an altered state of consciousness for as long as it took.

  "The MBI will be noisy. It makes a loud clicking sound. That's normal. Don't let it worry you."

  "Why should I be worried? You're the one who'll be wearing this gizmo."

  Robin didn't care for the term gizmo, but she let it ride.

  "So what am I supposed to do," he asked, "besides watch you get your brain scrambled?"

  "Your job is to ask me questions, the way you did in the interview room. Pretend you're taking a statement. Lead me through the events preceding the attack. My answers may be slow. It'll be like I'm on drugs or something."

  "I've done a few interviews with drugged-up witnesses."

  "There should be a point when I'm in position to see the assailant. That's the memory I need to recover."

  "Even if you do remember, evidence like this will never be allowed in court."

  "I'm not thinking about court. I just want to know where our focus should be."

  Wolper studied her. "You already think you know where to focus. You're sold on Brand."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "You've been working with Gray for months. You want to believe he's clean. But he's not. A leopard can't change his spots."

  She had no time or energy to waste on arguing. "There's one other thing you need to know," she said. "The MBI process inhibits motor functioning. In other words, I'll be immobilized. It's natural. It doesn't mean there's a problem."

  "Suppose there is a problem. Suppose you start spouting gibberishmore so than usual, that is. Or you start twitching and jerking"

  "The term is seizing. It's unlikely. If it happens, end the session."

  "How?"

  "Press the enter key again. Okay?"

  "I think I can handle that."

  "So are you set?"

  "One more question," Wolper said. "Have you ever done this before?"

  "I do it all the time. It's my job."

  "I mean on yourself."

  She'd been hoping he wouldn't ask, but since he had, she gave a truthful answer. "Only twice. For experimental purposes. And I didn't go very deep."

  "Nervous?"

  This time she lied. "No."

  She settled back in the chair, her hands on the armrests. Eyes closed, she practiced taking slow abdominal breaths.

  "I'm ready," she said.

  "Then here goes."

  The appliance came on. The sudden clicking of the coils was louder than she'd expected. She worried that she might not be able to shift into alpha rhythm while distracted by the noise.

  But even as that thought occurred to her, she felt the peculiar distancing of her mind from her body, the strange numbness that told her she was being carried gently away.

  She needed a fantasy environment in which to feel safe, and she chose a park in Ojai, an artists' community near Santa Barbara where she and Dan had often gone with Meg.

  No, she couldn't think of Megnot if she wanted to relax. Had to forget Dan, also. Too much baggage there.

  She was in the park alone, untroubled, and it was a clear spring day. The breeze, laced with moisture from the Pacific a few miles distant, played over her skin and hair. The clicking of the coils receded. It became the chirping of crickets, the rustling of leaves.

  In the park she settled down on the carpet of grass, sinking into the green, dewy shoots, letting sun and air envelop her. She was calm.

  Wolper's voice reached her over the background sounds.

  "It's been five minutes, Doctor. Are you relaxed?"

  "Relaxed. Call me Robin."

  "Okay, Robin. We need to talk about what happened here at your office a few hours ago. You were having a session with Justin Gray. Remember?"

  "Yes."

  "I want you to tell me how the session ended."

  "It was amp; everything went dark."

  "Before it went dark. Go back a few minutes earlier. Gray had the, uh, the helmet thing on. And I guess you were talking to him. Bringing him out of it?"

  "Yes."

  "So he comes out of the trance amp;"

  "Yes."

  "What are you doing right at that moment?"

  She could see the scene playing before her closed eyelids. "Saving the session to a CD."

  "And Gray?"

  She heard Gray's voice in the background. "He's talking. Talking about his father. The way his father punished him." She heard the rustling of his jumpsuit. "And he's shifting in the chair. Restless amp;"

  "What's happening now?"

  "I'm labeling the CD. Writing with my pen." Bouncing circles of light over the letters she formed. "My flashlight pen."

  "And then?"

  Blackness. "Everything's dark."

  "No, something happens before it all goes dark. Go back."

  She reversed time, running it backward like a filmstrip. "Label the CD amp;"

  "Right."

  The light of the pen in her hand. Thenno light. "Dark. All dark."

  "So you can't remember?"

  "Can't amp;" This wasn't quite true. "Won't," she said slowly.

  "Won't?"

  This was odd. She needed to remember. But amp; "Don't want to."

  "So you do remember. You just don't want to? Is that it?"

  She didn't answer. She was trying to understand. Obviously some psychological defense mechanism was trying to protect her from reexperiencing the trauma. This was a good thing. It meant that the memory was there, retrievable, if she could overcome the mental barrier.

  "Robin? Is that it?"

  "Yes."

  "Part of you remembers?"

  "Yes."

  "It's remembering right now?"

  That sounded correct. "Right now," she whispered.

  "Can you get in touch with that part of you?"

  It was a good question, the proper question to ask, but she didn't know the answer. "Maybe."

  "Will you try?"

  "Don't want amp;"

  "Will you?"

  Her reluctance was irrational, but irrationalities could have as strong a hold as any rational conviction. Stronger, sometimes. She had to fight it, push past it.

  "Robin? Will you?"

  "Yes."

  "What are you seeing now?"

  The room wheeled around her. "I'm turning amp; turning in my chair."

  "Why are you turning?"

  "His voice. I hear it in his voice."

  "Hear what?"

  "Danger. A threat. So I'm turning amp;"

  "Yes? You turn, and what do you see?"

  "Dark."

  Wolper sighed. "Everything's gone dark again? This isn't going to work, Robin. I'm sorry. It's a dead end."

  He hadn't understood. She plunged forward in a rush of words. "The room is dark. I turned off the lights for the session. When I turn, I see the dark. Shadows. Movement amp;" She felt herself flinch and let out a soft cry.

  "He hit me. I'm falling. I'm on the floor. He got loose, Justin got loose."

  It was all happening again, happening at this moment, but in dreamy slow motion.

  "You see him?" Wolper asked.

  "Can't see. Too dark. Need to scream. Deputy's in the next room. If I scream amp; But his hand is on my mouth. He's leaning over me. There's light."

  "What light?"

  "The penlight. In my hand. It comes on. I see him. Right before he hits me again, I see him; I see his face."r />
  "Is it Gray?"

  "No."

  "Is it Brand?"

  "No."

  "Who is it, Robin?"

  "You. I see you."

  She opened her eyes, and in the glow of the computer console Wolper smiled.

  "That's right, Doctor," he said softly. "You saw me."

  Chapter Forty-nine

  After leaving Hollywood, Brand had driven into Newton Area, checking his rearview mirror to be sure he wasn't followed. He'd parked at the station house and gone inside, heading straight to his locker, ignoring the startled hellos from officers working the night watch.

  There had been nothing in his locker except his uniform and his other gear. He'd gone over it twice, searching everywhere, until he was satisfied.

  His house, then. It had to be in his house.

  Back in his car, guiding the Crown Vic onto the freeway to make the crosstown run, he asked himself what the hell he was going to do. He didn't know.

  This thing he'd gotten himself mixed up in was too big. Or maybe the real problem was that he was too small. The small fish always ended up as bait, snack food for the marlins and the sharks. He didn't have the clout andhe might as well face itdidn't have the smarts, either, to deal with his present circumstances. He was cornered, treed, sweating through his shirt, scared shitless, out of luck and out of moves.

  God damn it, he hated his life.

  The gate to his driveway was locked, as always. He got out of his car and opened it, then motored into the carport.

  The gate was one gap in the bungalow's security. Would have been better to have an automatic gate that closed behind him as soon as he entered. Leaving it open until he closed it manually could allow an intrusion.

  But he guessed he didn't have to worry about that now. When they came for him, they wouldn't be sneaking onto the property. They would come with a warrant, and he would let them in, because he would have no choice. And they would find what they were looking for.

  Unless he found it first.

  He turned off the engine, opened the car doorand was thrown back across both seats by the weight of a man's body atop his own.

  In the glow of the Vic's ceiling light, he looked up into the face of Justin Gray.

  "Hey, Sarge." Gray smiled. "You and me need to have a conversation."

  Brand thought about the gun under his windbreaker, but Gray had thought of it first. He patted Brand down, unholstered the gun, and tossed it into the backseat, out of reach. "No tricks," Gray said.

  "What the fuck do you want?"

  "Like I said, I'm in a talkative mood. Hope you are, too."

  "I've got nothing to say to you."

  "We'll see."

  As Brand watched, Gray depressed the cigarette lighter.

  "Hey," Gray said. "I know you, motherfucker. You're the dude from the video place."

  Brand was silent.

  "You was chasing meyou and your friend. All official, with your guns out and shit. Two big men hunting the bad guy. Funny thing. You don't seem so big now."

  "Neither do you."

  "Oh, I'm big enough, Sarge. Why'd you set me up?"

  "What?"

  "You framed me for conking Doc Robin, snuffing the Deputy Dawg. Why?"

  "I don't know anything about that."

  "Right, right." The cigarette lighter popped out. Gray extracted it from the socket. "You're one tough mother, right, Sergeant Brand?"

  Brand tried not to stare at the lighter.

  "Brand," Gray said. "Now that's an interesting name. One of those names that means something, you know. Like, there's brands of cereal. And something that's never been used is brand-new. And then, of course, there's this kind of brand."

  He pressed the burning end of the lighter into Brand's cheek.

  Brand screamed, but no one heard it. Gray's hand covered his mouth.

  The pain went on forever. Brand had never known there could be this kind of pain.

  Finally Gray withdrew the lighter and pushed it back into the socketall the way.

  "That hurt, I bet," Gray said. "I know about shit like that. My daddy used to burn me with the radiator."

  Brand couldn't answer. His eyes were wet. He was crying, maybe for the first time in his adult life.

  "Used to brand me, I guess you'd say." Gray chuckled. "I don't got all night, Sarge. You wanna tell me what kind of game you crooked-ass cops are runnin' on me?"

  He tried one more time to resist, not out of bravery but self-preservation. He was sure Gray would kill him if he heard the truth. "Nobody's playing any games."

  "Pissing me off, Sarge." The lighter popped out again, recharged, and Gray grabbed it. It found Brand's ear, drilling partway into the ear canal, sending hot wires of agony straight into his brain.

  Brand wanted to tell this man everything, but he couldn't stop screaming long enough to get the words out.

  The lighter withdrew. The left side of Brand's head throbbed with pain. He thought his eardrum had been ruptured. Something oozed out of his ear and down his cheek.

  He was crying againbig, racking sobs interspersed with shallow wheezing.

  "Gonna talk?" Gray asked. His voice seemed far away. Brand figured he'd gone deaf in one ear.

  I'll talk, he tried to say, but his mouth wouldn't work properly, and no sound came out.

  Gray interpreted the silence as resistance. "Still holding out on me? Okay, then. Let's say I try putting this hot little number in your fucking eye." Gray popped the lighter back into the plug.

  That did it. Brand recovered speech. "No, don't, I'll tell, I'll talk, don't amp;" All one flood of words, undignified and desperate.

  "Knew you would. Gotta say I'm a little disappointed, though. I thought you'd take longer to crack. You ain't much of a man, are you, Sarge?"

  "I'll talk," Brand said again.

  "I got that." Gray smiled down at him. "So go on. Tell me a bedtime story."

  He fought to control his breathing. He was deathly afraid that he would lose his voice again, and Gray would punish him for the pleasure of it.

  "It wasn't me. I didn't amp; I wasn't in the office today."

  "Then who was?"

  "Wolper. He's the one. He's been dirty for years. I met him at the academy, worked with him on and off"

  "I don't want your bio. Who's Wolper?"

  "Lieutenant in Newton Area. Where I work."

  "You say he's dirty. Dirty how?"

  "He takes payoffs."

  Gray snorted. "What cop doesn't?"

  "I'm not talking about a free meal at the taco wagon. I'm talking about major funds changing hands."

  "Whose funds?"

  "The Gs'. They're a street gang"

  "I know who they are. I keep my ear to the ground. San Pedro Street Gangstas. They run a serious posse, deal an ass-load of drugs. Right?"

  Brand nodded. "Right."

  "You're saying this lieutenant, this Wolper, is tight with the Gs?"

  "Has been for a long time. They pay him off every couple weeks. But lately he's been taking more chances. Getting bigger payoffs, I think."

  "Son of a bitch got greedy?"

  "I think it's his ex. She's always after him for money. Wants to send their kid to a special school or something."

  "Yeah, blame it on the girl. I hear you."

  "Whatever she wants, Wolper's pretty tapped out. He's doing things to raise money that he wouldn't have done before."

  Talking wasn't so hard now. He was breathing almost normally. The pain in his cheek and his ear had receded to a spreading numbness.

  "And what do the homeboys buy for their hard-earned cash?" Gray asked.

  "Protection. Wolper's the watch commander. If he knows something is about to go down on his shift, he can deploy patrol units to other parts of the territory. Try and clear out the area where the action will be, give the Gs a better chance to get in and out. After the incident is called in, he can work it so the response is slower than it has to be and a little less organized. Nothing
obvious. Just enough to give the Gs an edge."

  Gray was watching, nodding. Brand felt a prickle of hope. Maybe he could give this crazy bastard what he wanted. Maybe Gray would let him live.

  It was funnya few minutes ago, he'd been thinking how much he hated his life, and now he wanted nothing more than to prolong it. Half-dead, disfiguredit didn't matter; he wanted to live.

  "And there's other stuff," he added, trying to be helpful.

  "Like?"

  "Sometimes evidence goes missing from the storage rooms. A whole case has gotta be thrown out. Typical police bungling, everybody thinks. Wolper always shrugs it off. 'You can't spell slapdash without LAPD,' that's what he says."

  He thought this was goodslipping in a little humorand he was alarmed when Gray's eyes narrowed. "Wait a sec. Was this the asshole that was with you at the arcade tonight?"

  Brand sensed a new danger here. He wanted to lie, deny it, but he was sure Gray would see right through him, and then the lighter would come out again amp;

  "That's right," Brand said. "That was him. He was escorting Cameron. If he hadn't been with her amp;"

  But Gray wasn't listening anymore. He drew a gun from his waistband, yanked Brand into a sitting position. Brand looked at the gun, and the words This is it lit up in his mind like a neon sign.

  "Slide over," Gray said. "I'm driving your car. Mine's got too much heat on her."

  A reprieve. The psycho wasn't going to shoot him. Not yet.

  Brand obeyed the order, risking a question as he slid into the passenger seat. "We going someplace?"

  Gray tossed him a grin, and in that grin Brand saw a wildness, a ferocity that was almost inhuman. "Straight to the doc's office, Sargeburning rubber all the way."

  Chapter Fifty

  Wolper wheeled the swivel chair close to Robin and stared intently into her face. "You really can't move, can you? Not a muscle."

  To test the statement, he reached out with one hand and touched her face. She felt herself flinch internally, but her body registered no reaction. He dragged a fingernail lightly along her cheek.

  "Amazing," he said, his voice low.

  She willed herself to move. Lift an arm, twitch a finger, anything. It seemed like such a simple thing, the contraction of a muscle in response to a mental command, but now the communications line between her higher cerebral functions and her body had been broken, and there was nothing simple about it.