Lori, p.9
Lori, page 9
The next thing she heard was the music. Soothing, lovely music, soft and reassuring. Then Dr. Chase's voice sounding over it.
"Don't worry. Nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Everything's going to be all right, I promise you."
Was he talking to her? He must be, for no one else spoke. There was only the music and the murmur of his voice; blending, tending, sending her to sleep.
It was just before she surrendered to slumber that she heard his voice rise. The nurse must have come in because he said, "It's time, Clara. We can't wait any longer."
She wanted to wait. She wanted to go on sleeping, sleep forever. Even that would be better than knowing it was time. Because time was now.
And now she could feel again, feel herself lying trapped and helpless on the bed with the coils and tubes twisting around her body like snakes-snakes that crawled and slithered, searching for a place to bury their fangs. If only she could open her eyes, open her mouth, move her hands to fight them off-
"Please! You mustn't fight."
The command came from far away and she obeyed, for the snakes seemed to lift from her body and the fear went with them. Now she realized there were no snakes, only coils and tubes.
Suddenly something bit her arm.
It was a snake.
Fangs stabbed; venom spurted and entered her veins, its numbness spreading.
She tried to fight but it was too late. She couldn't move, they'd tied her down, and the time was now.
Now.
She felt the sting of needles, the rush of cold air against bared flesh. Then the knife slashed.
The knife slashed, but it was the scream that woke her; the scream from her own throat.
"Wake up. Wake up!"
Someone was shaking her gently, speaking to her gently. Lori opened her eyes and saw the nurse bending over her as sunlight streamed into the room; real sunlight in a real world.
"I had a nightmare," she murmured.
"Better believe it." The nurse smiled. "I could hear you all the way from my station."
"Sorry." Lori's voice grew stronger. "It must have been that shot they gave me-"
"Don't knock it. You were sleeping like a baby right up until now."
As she spoke, the nurse reached into her pocket and Lori eyed her anxiously. "You're not going to give me one, are you?"
"No. Just take your temperature and pulse. Doctor will be in by the time you finish breakfast."
The prediction proved accurate. Lori was just drinking the last of her milk when Dr. Justin came bustling in.
"Good morning. How's my patient?"
"Not very."
"Not very what?"
"Patient." Lori met his glance. "I want to go home."
"And you will, just as soon as you're discharged."
"You promised it would be today." Lori pushed her tray aside. "There's no reason to keep me here. I feel much better, the nurse says I slept like a baby and-"
"You had another nightmare."
"She told you?"
"It's on your chart, along with everything else." Dr. Justin lowered himself into the chair at the left of the bed. "Want to tell me about it?"
"Frankly, no. It was just a bad dream." Lori smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss over nothing. Funny part is, I can scarcely remember any details now."
"Give it a try. Maybe they'll come back to you as you go along."
He was right; some details did come back as Lori spoke. Recollection lessened their impact but brought no enlightenment. When she finished she asked what Justin made of it all.
"Nothing. Not my department."
"Then why did you want me to tell you?"
"So you'd remember it the next time."
"What are you talking about?" Dr. Justin shrugged. "I'm going to keep my promise and send you home today, but on one condition."
"And that is-?"
"I've set up an appointment for you at four-thirty tomorrow afternoon in Beverly Hills."
"Another doctor?"
"Another opinion." Justin took a prescription form from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. "I wrote down the name and address for you."
Lori squinted at his scrawl. "Anthony Leverett. Never heard of him."
"Well, he's heard of you. He called after reading about that business with the gas leak in your apartment."
"You mean it was in the paper?"
"Just a squib, but he happened to see it. I reassured him you weren't injured and we got to talking about your general state of health since the funeral. The upshot was, I made this appointment."
"Why should he be concerned about me?"
"Because your dad was his patient."
"But you were Dad's doctor-you told me yourself there was nothing wrong with him."
"Not physically." Justin shrugged. "Dr. Leverett is an analyst."
"I don't need a shrink!"
He nodded. "You're probably right. All I'm saying is that we both know what a strain you've been under. The nightmares are symptomatic of tension, and that's why I want you to talk to someone competent to deal with the problem. It may not help but it certainly won't hurt."
Lori hesitated. "Did Dr. Leverett tell you why Dad was seeing him?"
"No, and I didn't ask. You can, tomorrow, if you like."
"If I go."
"Please. You'll be doing us both a favor. I don't want to keep writing triplicate prescriptions for you." Justin rose. "Matter of fact, I'm taking you off sedation right now."
"You think I'll be able to sleep without anything?"
"That's up to you. If not, you'll have all night to think about what I'm suggesting."
And she did.
Trust me. I'm the doctor.
That's what he'd said, and he was telling the truth, he was the doctor.
But which one? There were too many doctors-Dr. Justin, Dr. Roy, Dr. Chase. They were all mixed up in her thoughts because of the dreams. She could visualize Dr. Justin, that was easy, but Dr. Roy and Dr. Chase were just voices, voices of people she'd never seen.
Or had she?
Somewhere in the back of her mind there were images, like Priscilla Fairmount's in the yearbook-images of real persons she felt she knew. But their faces were not visible to her mind's eye. All that remained was their words lingering in her mind's ear.
Now they chorused together, echoing and reechoing. "Trust me."
"I'm the doctor."
Yes, she must trust, because they wanted to help her. That's why she had to see the doctor. Dr. Leverett would help her too, release her from doubts and dreams.
As Lori drifted into sleep she knew that this was what she wanted most of all.
Release.
TWELVE
Release brought relief, but it was slow in coming, as slow as the wheelchair which brought Lori from her room to her car in the parking lot behind the hospital. There was no need for the chair nor for the services of the nurse's aide who piloted their course, but Lori thanked her and didn't complain.
Right now it was enough to know that she was free-or would be as soon as she paid the ransom demanded by the booth attendant at the exit.
Lori wondered why insurance benefits didn't cover hospital parking fees. She wondered if there might be a special reduced parking rate for the cars of patients who died during their stay. She wondered whether the hospital provided an unmarked rear or side entrance for the morticians who drove in to pick up the bodies. And then, driving off, she wondered why she wondered about such nonsense.
Right now there were more important matters to consider. What else might have been learned about Nadia Hope's death? Did the arson squad make any final report on their investigation of the fire? And, above all, when would she hear from Russ?
By the time she got home Lori was beginning to tense up again, anxious to be in reach of the phone in case Russ called. But first there were bills to be scooped from the downstairs mailbox, and two daily papers were lying outside her front door.
The door itself had two new panels; whoever installed them had done a neat job. For an instant she panicked, key in hand, wondering if the lock had been changed. But the key worked and the door swung open.
Once inside, Lori tossed the mail and newspapers on the coffee table and made a quick tour of inspection. Her bed was unmade; aside from that there were no signs of disorder. The pilot of the kitchen stove had been lighted and the burners worked. She checked them quickly, head cocked toward the hall, wanting to be sure to hear a summons from the living room.
But the phone didn't ring.
She put the water on for coffee, found fruit and cold cuts in the fridge, brought out the bread, located a jar of mustard on a cupboard shelf, made herself two big sandwiches, listening intently all the while.
And the phone didn't ring.
Lori carried her food to the table and set it down beside the metal box, resting undisturbed. But the sight of it disturbed her. Inside the box was the book and inside the book was the picture, and she didn't want to think about that now.
Somehow her appetite seemed to have left her and it was all she could do to swallow part of one sandwich. Why didn't the phone ring?
Pushing her plate aside, she rose and hurried into the living room to catch the news on a local channel. What had happened in Acapulco was still the top story tonight. The death toll from the quake had risen to sixty-two, hundreds injured, thousands homeless, and stranded tourists were sleeping on the floor at the airport. And the telephone was-
Ringing.
Turning the set off, she picked up the receiver.
"Lori-are you all right?" The faraway voice filtered faintly through crackling and humming noise, but it was Russ's voice, and she was all right now.
"Fine. They discharged me today. What about you?"
"I'm okay. Sorry I couldn't get to you sooner, but they're swamped with calls and some of the lines are still down. You wouldn't believe what's happening here."
"Tell me."
"There isn't time. They put a three-minute limit on all outgoing calls."
"Where are you-at a hotel?"
"Everything's jammed to capacity. I ran into Fred Hablinger, friend of mine with the San Diego paper. He drove down here in his camper and offered me a place to crash, so I lucked out. But there's no phone, I'm at a public booth. Took almost an hour standing in line to wait my turn."
"How much longer will you be down there?"
"Hard to say. I've got some interviews lined up for tomorrow and the day after. Problem then will be how to get a flight out of here."
"You'll call me again?"
"Do my best. If not, don't worry." The crackling in the background mounted, muffling his words. "Damn this phone! Can you hear me? There's something I want to tell you-"
His voice rose but the noise on the line drowned out his words. And then, with a sharp click, the line went dead.
Lori put the receiver down. Maybe he'd call back later when he had the chance. At least she knew he was safe and that made everything all right again. Or did it?
There's something I want to tell you-
She shrugged, but body language couldn't push the worry aside. Maybe she'd only imagined it, the way his voice seemed to change there at the last.
Lori thought about it as she cleaned up in the kitchen, undressed, removed makeup, got ready for bed. But bed wasn't ready for her.
Tossing, turning, punching the pillow, she tried to assure herself there was nothing wrong. Probably that final phrase was only a figure of speech-all he wanted to tell her was to be careful, take it easy, stop worrying. Why couldn't she do just that, instead of trying to read some other meaning into a commonplace sentence?
The questions gnawed her through the night. And then, just before sinking into restless sleep, another question came. Was she flipping out?
There would be only one way to find an answer.
Tomorrow, at Dr. Leverett's office.
She really didn't want to go there, but she must. Something-or was it someone?-told her she had no other choice.
Because you're a good girl.
Doctor's orders.
Trust me.
THIRTEEN
Lori turned her car over to valet parking in the lot on Bedford. The fees were outrageous but this was Beverly Hills, and nothing was wrageous here. She'd already had a taste of local customs while trying to cross that six-way intersection a block south of the Beverly Hills Hotel. There were no traffic lights and cars kept pulling out from a half dozen different directions, some waiting their turn, others making only a token slowdown or tailgating the vehicle ahead of them without even the pretense of a halt. All one could do was hope that the drivers weren't substance abusers, hotshot young attorneys, or both. The acne cases with amped-up stereo decks in their convertibles were bad news too, and so were the young third-wife types behind the wheels of Mercedes or Porsches. When Lori had halted in obedience to the stop sign, one of these young ladies-probably hastening homeward after a long liquid luncheon at the Polo Lounge- zipped up behind her, then peeled past in the left lane, shouting, "Why don't you learn how to drive?" As she sped by, Lori realized what was expected and gave her the traditional finger. So much for the courtesies of the road.
The courtesies of the sidewalk weren't any better. Apart from a few joggers pounding along the north border of Santa Monica Boulevard, pedestrian activity was confined to the commercial area beyond. Here on Bedford there was a recognizable preponderance of patients en route to or from their doctors' appointments. The younger ones walked the way they drove, hurrying in because they were late, hurrying out for the same reasons. Only the elderly moved to a different drummer in the march of Medicare.
Lori noted that in both instances the females outnumbered the males by a ratio of five to one. How many of them were seeing psychiatrists? Were women more apt to go bonkers than men? Perhaps they were all going bonkers.
And what about herself? Why this negative attitude, this business of passing judgment on harmless passersby?
It was time to look on the bright side for a change. Here in the afternoon sunlight her night-fears seemed farfetched. If her guess was correct and Dr. Justin had told Russ about the dreams, that was scarcely proof of a paranoid conspiracy theory. Naturally they were both concerned with her welfare, and under the circumstances it made sense.
Entering the lobby of the office building and taking the otherwise empty elevator to the third floor, Lori fished a compact from her bag and flipped the lid up for a last-minute makeup check. What she saw reassured her. Looking good. Looking good and feeling good, good enough to realize Dr. Justin was probably right to suggest she come here. It may not help but it certainly can't hurt.
The only thing that hurt was the need. Once the sun went down, her mood would darken again, and that's when the need was greatest; the need not to be alone. But her folks were gone, Nadia Hope was gone, and Russ was away.
Alone, Lori emerged from the elevator into a deserted hallway and found the door she was seeking at the left end of the corridor. Entering the tiny dark-paneled waiting room, she confronted a row of unoccupied chairs ranked against the left wall, and there was no sign of a receptionist behind the glassed-in cubicle to her right. She was still alone, standing in shadow and silence, but only for a moment. Then the door on the far wall swung open and the grey man appeared.
"Miss Holmes? I'm Dr. Leverett. Please come in."
He turned and she followed him into the spacious sunlit room beyond the doorway. Lori took a quick inventory- deep green carpeting, two walls of well-filled bookshelves, a display of framed diplomas on the third wall behind his desk, bordered by floral prints in vivid colors. There was a single chair facing the desk, its padding and cushioned back patterned in a near match of the wall prints.
It was Dr. Leverett who didn't match. His suit was grey, his hair was grey, his eyes were grey too. And his voice was a grey monotone.
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable."
Lori nodded and moved to the chair before the desk. Its padded back was inviting, but she found herself leaning forward, both hands gripping her purse. Grey eyes watched and the grey voice murmured.
"Sorry I said that: figure of speech. If people could find comfort just by sitting in chairs, I'd be out of business."
Then Dr. Leverett smiled, and he wasn't grey now.
For the first time Lori noticed the faint pinstripe pattern of his suit, the darker strands of hair above his temples, glints of color in his pupils. Perhaps the grey exterior was protective coloration, like the drab neutrality of the outer office.
But since when had she become a shrink? That was his job, not hers. Whether or not Dr. Leverett belonged in this room didn't matter; what mattered was what she was doing here.
He nodded as if in agreement with her thought. "Kind of an awkward situation, isn't it? Just be thankful you lucked out."
"How?"
"My nurse had to leave for a dental appointment, so you're not stuck with filling out the usual forms. And you won't need a physical checkup or a preliminary EEG. I've got all that information in copies of the records Dr. Justin sent over."
Leverett reached for a file folder on the right side of the desk, flipping it open as he spoke. "Between what I have here and what your father told me, I think I already know something about your background."
Lori leaned forward, hugging her purse. "Why was my father seeing you?"
"Because your mother wouldn't."
"That's no answer."
"You're right. It's an evasion." Leverett took a deep breath. "No reason why you shouldn't know the truth. They're both gone now, so it's not a question of violating confidentiality. From what your father told me it was obvious almost from the beginning that your mother was the source of his basic problem. By refusing to acknowledge the reality of her situation she put everything on his shoulders, all the worry, all the responsibility. In plain English, a guilt trip.
"Sooner or later he knew he'd have to face some very hard decisions about giving up the house, placing her where she could get nursing care. He wasn't in the best of health himself but he was trying to hang in there, at least until you came home. I know he intended to tell you, and that would have helped."
