The Prodigy Part 31

"Because, Dr. Conyors-and I wish you'd let me call you Barrett-I sometimes struggle with what goes on between my ears. And after my sessions with Dr. Mayfield I found myself losing great big chunks of time, and then waking up with something horrible happening."

"You dissociate," she said.

"No s.h.i.+t."

"So you know?"

"Of course, I didn't always, just thought that I had blackouts. I'd be sitting having a conversation with somebody and the next thing you know I'd be getting raped in the laundry room and not remember how I got from point A to point B."

"Does that still happen?"

"The rapes?" he asked with a twisted grin.

"No, the memory lapses?"

"Not for a while, we all seem to be sticking together."

"We?"

"Yes, I know ... but I don't know how else to describe it. That's why everyone thought I was schizophrenic, because I do hear voices. But that doesn't make me schizophrenic, does it?"

"No."

"Let's go into the library," he said, without waiting for her reply.

Putting the cat down and carrying her mug, she followed him back toward their usual meeting place. As he turned to open the doors, Fred attacked his ankle, pus.h.i.+ng up his pant leg. She looked down and noticed something askew with his monitoring bracelet; it wasn't latched.

"So you have been out."

He froze, and then pushed open the doors. "You're mistaken," he commented.

"You've tampered with your bracelet."

He sank into a leather club chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. "Oh dear, I'm coming undone," he smiled and squeezed the sides of his electronic tether until they clicked firmly into place.

"So, where are you going, Jimmy?" she asked, taking the opposing chair.

"I think you've jumped a couple steps, Dr. Conyors. Perhaps if you'd play a little music with Jimmy, I might come up with some better answers; help connect the dots." His blue eyes focused on her face, his expression filled with longing, yet his voice carried something dark and threatening. "I'll make it worth your while."

"I don't want your money," she replied.

"That's not the offer." He blinked and his tongue flicked out and ran across the tip of an incisor. "Whom do you love, Barrett?" he asked.

"Where is she?"

"Patience ... I once knew a woman named Patience ... not a pilgrim at all, but a just and righteous woman. Shall we play?" he stood up and extended a hand across the s.p.a.ce between them. "It would mean so much to Jimbo."

"What have you done with her? Where is she?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he answered, "but music has a way of jogging the memory. One duet, Dr. Conyors, what could it hurt?"

Barrett stood, her thoughts swam. She'd been right, and that knowledge did little to comfort her. She should have pushed sooner, tried harder, found something to get Jimmy sent back, but now ... ."I'm leaving," she said, knowing that she had to get out of there, to find Hobbs.

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked. "Life is so fragile, so delicate, so fleeting. We have to be careful with the ones we love; there aren't all that many, are there?"

"If you do anything ..."

He put a finger to his lips, "Sshhh, this is not a time for hollow threats and paper tigers. All we ask is for a little music. Is that so much?"

She glared back at him.

"Well?" he glanced back at the Bosendorfer. "It's your move."

"Yes," she said.

He exhaled. "I thought we could play Brahms." His voice light and excited as he led her to the piano, where the score for the E Minor Sonata lay open on the lyre.

"That's a different cello," she remarked, noting the flame-varnished instrument that had replaced the darker one.

"I had an accident. This was my first cello," he answered, picking it up and settling down in his chair. He took his bow from the stand and tightened the nut, bringing the pale horsehair taut. He picked up a cake of well-used black resin and ran it across the bow. "It's still quite good, eighteenth-century French."

Barrett said nothing as she pulled back the intricately inlaid rosewood piano bench and settled behind the keyboard. She knew that this had been orchestrated, that since her first visit he'd been waiting for this moment. She stared up at the black notes covering the page.

"You start," he commented.

She nodded and, taking a quick look at the key signature, she raised her hands, letting her long fingers fall onto the ivory. The first chords filled the room with a lush sound. Barrett couldn't help but admire the piano's responsive action, making her own beloved Mason and Hamlin seem like a vapid imitation of what a piano could do.

And then Jimmy began. A haunting run of notes rose up from his cello, they hung in the air and mingled with the steady advances of her accompaniment.

The music wasn't difficult for Barrett, and she found herself wanting to match Jimmy's virtuosity, and finding moments of exquisite beauty as they progressed through the movements written in a minor key. Time vanished and she struggled to not think about the powerful sadness and longing that infused his playing. And always in her thoughts was Justine, that she was doing this for her. That she'd play this music, and so what if she enjoyed it, or felt like she was rediscovering a limb that had been removed. The music soared, filling the cavernous s.p.a.ce, filling her, filling him.

Tears streamed down her face as she turned the last page-a part of her didn't want the music to end, but it did. The final chords resonated through the room. Neither she nor Jimmy spoke as they stayed perfectly still, letting the last harmonics melt into the dark wood and priceless carpets.

She looked at him.

He gazed back at her and nodded his head slowly, "Do you know how amazing you are?" he finally asked.

"You play beautifully," she replied, sincere in her response.

"Why did you stop playing?" He seemed on the verge of tears. "You could have gone and done anything."

"Maybe another time, we can talk about that. I kept my end of the bargain, Jimmy. You need to tell me whatever you know about my sister."

His eyes shut tightly, and then he opened them. He glared at her and abruptly stood, holding the cello roughly by its neck, almost as if he were strangling it.

"Why do you spoil things?" he walked across to the cello stand and clumsily replaced the instrument in its padded cradle. "Wasn't it beautiful enough for you?"

"It was," she replied, as the traces of the music coursing through her fingers and through her body were replaced by the sickening tingle of fear. "But we made a deal."

"Yes, it's time to play, Let's Make a Deal. Okay, so the lovely Dr. Conyors has played the lovely Brahms and now she'd like a bit of information about the lovely Justine. I can see by your outfit that you've come without your wire today. So, perhaps we can chat and do a little t.i.t for tat ... and what lovely t.i.ts she has."

Barrett shot up, sending the piano bench toppling behind her.

Jimmy laughed, "Careful, Dr. Conyors. I don't think that kind of physical display is necessary, although I can tell by the look in your eyes all the things you'd like to do. But let's face it; Jimbo is no stranger to a good thras.h.i.+ng. In fact," and he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think he likes it. Must have been all those afternoons watching Mommy and the gardener. Now my little Chicky, she was always more of a hitter than a catcher. Like father, like daughter, I guess. Though you'd think his years in the nuthouse might have changed him. Because you know what they say," he asked rhetorically. "Today's catcher is tomorrow's pitcher."

"Where is my sister? What have you done with her?"

"Me? I haven't touched her," he winked and walked across the room. He leaned over the mahogany secretary and flipped down the top. "Let's see. I know I've got a little something here for you." He picked up a thick manila envelope, carried it back to her and dangled it in front of her face. "I can see what you're thinking," he said. "At this very minute you're just itching to get to your Detective Hobbs and figure out how you can trap little Jimbo. Well, we're not heading down that road. Let's be clear on that. If you ever want to see your sister ... at least in a breathing state ... there will be no police. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good, and this," he said, releasing his hold on the envelope, "is a little present."

Barrett felt the thick packet in her hand.

"Open it. See what's inside."

She tore the top of the package open, revealing a stack of newspaper clippings and articles that had been downloaded from the Internet.

As she pulled them out she was met by a series of stories involving police corruption.

"Didn't you ever wonder," he began, "how it is that your detective Hobbs went from being a Deputy Chief to ... to little more than a babysitter. Somehow I have a hard time reconciling your forgiving and forgetting his past trespa.s.ses. Unless ... no, that couldn't be," he chuckled. "Unless he never told you. Or maybe he told you something that was a little less than the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help him G.o.d. Men can be such crafty little devils. Such dirty little pigs."

Barrett stared at the articles, flipping through them and feeling sickened as she read headline after headline that spoke of bribes and corruption. Yes, he'd told her about that, but there was more.

"But you already knew that, didn't you," Jimmy persisted. "You don't have the best track record with men. I think you're too trusting. At least with Jimbo, what you see is what you get ... Is something wrong, Dr. Conyors?"

"No," she lied, wondering how she would have reacted if Ed had told her everything. Would she have kissed him? Would she be hoping, even now, that she'd hear his knock at Jimmy's door?

"Are you sure? Are you quite sure that you're not standing there feeling the sweet birdie of love up and fly away? Because somehow I don't think he told you everything. That it wasn't just gambling and prost.i.tution; it was mountains and mountains of kiddy p.o.r.n, and little bitty children being used in unspeakable ways." Jimmy moved closer to Barrett, leaving barely a foot between them. "And at the top of it all, there's your boyfriend ... There's a couple things I don't quite understand, and from the rather sour look on your face, I imagine you're having similar thoughts."

"Where's my sister?"

"That's not where I was going," he replied, a look of mock disappointment on his lips. "The thing, actually two things, I don't understand are, how did he get to keep his job? And, of course, the thing that has Jimbo's panties all twisted up is what the h.e.l.l do you see in him?" Jimmy shut his eyes and when he opened them his shoulders sagged and he stepped back slightly. "He doesn't love you," his voice soft. "He's not good enough for you," he looked down at his feet and then back at her, "but I am."

Barrett's stomach lurched.

"It's true," he persisted, "there's a way out for both of us. It's the only answer." He awkwardly dropped to one knee and grabbed her hand, "Marry me, Barrett; everything will work out. Marry me."

She dropped back, easily twisting her hand from his grip, while clamping the other to her mouth.

He gasped at the force of her rejection and stared slack-jawed up at her.

Neither one spoke.

Jimmy blinked, and sprang to his feet. "Get out!"

"s.h.i.+t," she'd misplayed her hand, why hadn't she seen this coming? "You surprised me, that's all," she tried to hide her revulsion.

"I'm sure he did."

"Look," she said, standing her ground, "the deal was I play music in exchange for my sister."

"No," he snarled, "That wasn't the deal. I'm not certain I know anything about a Justine."

"Please, don't hurt her. Just tell me what it is that you want."

"There you go, I thought we'd finally make our way to t.i.t for tat. It all comes down to family, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"In the end, it's family that matters. They can f.u.c.k you in the a.s.s, and beat you till there's blood coming out of your eyes. They can chop you up and stick you in the furnace, but when push comes to shoving down the stairs, it's family that's there for you. Don't ya find?"

"I just want my sister. Tell me what you want."

"Always looking for the simple answer, aren't you? What do they call that ... Occam's razor? That cheap disposable doesn't work in this house. I would have thought you'd have figured that out by now. Don't let's start playing stupid; it's not attractive. It's not you."

"Was he ... you're serious. Is that what it is? You want to marry me?"

"You sound surprised. Jimbo's getting to be that certain age. He's certainly eligible. I can think of a couple dozen society c.u.n.ts that would love to wrap their creamy thighs around Jimbo's money. I don't think they'd care too much about his ... dubious past. After all, with our kind of money, a little touch of eccentricity is expected; it's the norm. No telling how many nannies have gone into the fire."

"So let me get this straight. I marry you and Justine goes free, nothing's done to her. No games ... she's free."

Jimmy stepped in close to Barrett, a sliver of air separated them.

She held her ground.

"There's so much more," he whispered. "Think of the music, you have to admit that was wonderful."

"It was."

"Relations.h.i.+ps have grown from lesser things. You and Jimbo can make something of extraordinary beauty. How many couples can say that? So, he's got a few quirks, a little extra baggage. At heart, he's a good boy."

"If I marry you ... him, you'll let her go?" she repeated, feeling his breath on her face, wondering if he was going to try and kiss her, and would she be able to stand her ground?

"t.i.t for tat," he whispered, bringing a finger up to the side of her face, and coming a hair's breadth away from touching her. "Shall he try again ... last chance ... last dance ... last stab for a little romance."

"Yes," she said.

He blinked. Tears welled in his eyes. "Marry me," he gasped, reaching out his hand and then pulling it back, as though fearing a second rejection.

"Yes," she said. "But you can't let anything happen to her. You have to keep my sister safe. Do you understand, Jimmy? If you want me, you have to keep her safe. Now I need you to take me to her."

His eyes shut tightly and stayed that way for several seconds. His expression twisted and his teeth ground noisily.

Barrett watched, tensed and prepared for anything.

When he opened his eyes he said nothing as he stared at her. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "We have a problem," he said.