Mortal Fear

betrayal of all.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re married, right?”

“I have a wife and a son. But you don’t want to extrapolate from my marital relationship.”

“You’ll know what I mean, though. You know how when you first get married, even though you’re totally in love, there’s still this tacit sense that if you both decided it was a horrible mistake, you could just shake hands and walk away? I know that sounds shallow, but my wife is as old-fashioned as they come, and I know she feels this too. Having that first child is the final step, you know? That’s the true marriage. It’s irrevocable. The two of you can never be truly separate again. You’re joined in the flesh.”

“To wit, Erin and yourself.”

“Jesus, don’t even talk about it like that.”

“But this is why Drewe so passionately wants to have your child. She’s an intelligent woman. She senses a formless but disturbing threat. She knows a child will bind the two of you against that.”

“I don’t think she senses the threat. Well, maybe, but not from Erin. No way. I’m sure of that.”

“I think you would be making a mistake to underestimate your wife in any way.”

“Hey, I know that better than anybody.”

Lenz looks lost in thought.

“Any great insights, Doctor?”

“Well… unlike many psychiatric patients, you have a real problem. In the physical sense, I mean. That child is a living symbol of a secret relationship. You love the child, I’m sure. And the mother must- must-sometimes look at you and wish that you were the man raising her. In my opinion, the truth will eventually come out, regardless of what you do. You can choose the time, that’s all.”

Lenz states his opinion with the conviction of an oracle, and the catharsis I’d begun to feel with the act of confession dissipates like smoke in a wind.

“Let me change the subject for a moment,” he says. “Would you answer one question about Miles Turner?”

“It sounds like he answered enough about me.”

“When I asked him the worst thing he had ever done, he refused to answer. But he did say he would tell me the worst thing that ever happened to him. He said he once spent sixty seconds face-to-face with a pit viper.”

I feel the skin on the back of my neck prickle.

“That’s all he would say,” Lenz adds. “Can you supply any details?”

“That old drug charge wasn’t enough to make him tell you?”

Lenz looks genuinely surprised. “Is that what he told you?”

“That you coerced him? Yeah. You didn’t?”

“I did. But not with a drug charge. It was assault and battery.”

I feel the nausea of a sudden descent. “Assault?”

“Yes. I’ve reviewed the case file, but the details are sketchy. It happened outside a gay bar in Manhattan. Two men verbally abused a friend of Mr. Turner’s-a homosexual friend-and Turner abused back. The sequence of events is unclear after that, but the upshot is that both men were beaten severely by Mr. Turner. He apparently has some martial arts training.”

My anger at Miles for talking about me is vanquished by a question that has badgered me for a long time. “Doctor, do you think Miles is gay?”

Lenz smiles with bright irony. “Doctor-patient privilege, Cole. However, there’s no legal stricture keeping you from telling me what you know.”

I start to refuse, but if Miles didn’t want me to talk about it, why did he mention it to Lenz at all?

“We were kids,” I say. “Eleven or twelve. Best friends. Miles didn’t have many. He was hard to like. Some of the older guys actually hated him. He was twice as smart as they were, and he didn’t mind making them look like idiots in school. It was summer. The two of us were hunting for arrowheads on a little Indian mound out in a cotton field. Some kids had built a fort in a stand of trees on the mound. It was just a hole in the ground, with a foot-high wall of logs around it and a scrap-tin roof laid over. The hole stayed full of water most of the time. We were looking at the fort when four older kids came screaming up to us on their bikes. They started teasing us, especially Miles. Miles made a smartass remark, and that was it. They hit him a few times. Then the ringleader said he was going to teach Miles a lesson. He said there were water moccasins nesting in the fort, and unless Miles swore by his no- good daddy that he loved sucking nigger dicks, he was going into that hole. Miles was scared to death, but he wouldn’t say what they wanted. I think it was the part about his father that got him, not sucking dicks. Finally, they forced him kicking and screaming through the little entrance to the fort. I heard a splash, then nothing. The guy said if Miles came out before dark they’d break his arm.

“It was bad, Doctor. I wanted to help him, but I knew if I tried they’d just throw me in there with him. I was hoping they’d get bored and go away when I heard a sound that froze my blood. There was a snake in that pit, but it wasn’t any moccasin. Moccasins don’t make noise; they just bite you. This was a rattlesnake. Two seconds after it rattled, those assholes jumped on their bikes and hauled tail.

“I screamed at Miles to get out of there, but he didn’t come up. Then I heard a tiny little voice whimper, ‘I can’t.’ I jumped down beside the entrance hole and started whispering at him to back slowly toward my voice, but he just kept whimpering. I couldn’t see a goddamn thing. After about a minute, I got up my nerve and reached my hand into that hole. I mean slow. My whole arm was tingling. Even at eleven years old, I knew a rattlesnake was a pit viper, and they see heat, not objects. And I knew my hand was a lot warmer than the wall of that wet hole. I edged my hand along the dirt for what seemed like an hour. Then my fingers felt cotton. I grabbed Miles’s arm and yanked him up out of there. His face was covered with tears and his jeans were soaked with piss. He was shaking like an epileptic.”

I wipe stinging sweat out of my eyes. “After he calmed down, he told me very quietly that one day those bastards would regret what they’d done to him.”

“Are you all right, Cole?”

Orderly rows of soft yellow lights passing my window finally break through, telling me we’re in a residential area. “Sure.”

“Is there more to the story?”

I consider holding back, but for whatever reason, I don’t. “Several years later, the ringleader of that little gang had a strange accident. He was bitten four times by a cottonmouth water moccasin. Or twice each by two cottonmouths. Anyway, he ended up losing a foot.”

Lenz catches his breath. “How did that happen?”

“The guy was going to college at Delta State, about a hundred miles north of Rain. He got into his car late one afternoon and these snakes just started hitting him around the ankles. Somehow they’d got into his car. They were lying under the driver’s seat, baking in the hot shade. The guy had left his window open. I guess they just dropped in from a tree limb. They do that, you know.”

Lenz stops the Mercedes at a turn and looks at me. “Are you saying Turner put those snakes in that man’s car?”

I choose my words carefully. “I’m telling you that if cops could trace snakes, they would have traced them right back to that little fort on the Indian mound.”

“My God. How many years after the initial incident was this?”

“Six or seven, at least. That’s one thing about Miles. He follows through. I’m not saying he’s a killer. After all, those guys had terrorized him. He was just giving back some of what they’d given him. Sort of a Southern tradition.”

I crush my Tab can flat and drop it on the floor. “Look, are we there or what? I want to get this over with in time to make that SWAT plane.”

Lenz turns onto still another residential street. The houses here are large, not as large as Bob Anderson’s, but undoubtedly more expensive. At last he swings the Mercedes into a bricked drive and parks.

“Cole,” he says in the sudden silence. “You reported the missing women because you knew something was terribly wrong. Are you ready to help me make it right?”

“Isn’t that clear by now?”