The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

himself in excellent condition.

'I'm glad we can get together under more pleasant circumstances than when you were in here the last time. It's a real pleasure to meet you.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Marl. Anybody who has the patience to wade through my monographs can't be all bad.'

'I find your work intriguing. I feel like the pieces you've done on the so-called criminally insane speak directly to me.'

The man was smiling; since most of the research I'd done recently was on serial murderers, I hoped this was Marl Braxton's idea of a joke. I managed to smile back. 'Are you keeping my brother entertained, off the streets, and out of trouble?'

'On the contrary,' Braxton replied seriously. 'It's been Garth who's been keeping a lot of people around here out of trouble.'

'Hi, Garth,' I said to my brother as Braxton went to get a chair for me.

'Hello, Mongo,' Garth said easily, smiling. He was looking directly into my eyes, and he seemed perfectly at ease, but I noticed that-unlike Marl Braxton-I was once again competing with Richard Wagner; Garth had put his earphones back over his head and turned on the Walkman.

'How are you doing?'

'Garth feels fine, Mongo. Thank you. And you?'

'I'm fine. Uh, how was lunch?'

'Lunch was very good. Garth ate in the dining room here; Garth thinks the food in the secure unit is just slightly better.'

Feeling decidedly uncomfortable engaging in this vacuous chitchat with my brother, I was relieved when Marl Braxton returned. I sat down in the chair he had brought me, and he sat down across from me. Garth sat, then shifted his gaze toward the ceiling as he listened to his music.

'Frederickson,' Braxton said easily, 'I was an admirer of yours even before Garth told me some fascinating things I hadn't known.'

I looked at Garth, but couldn't tell whether or not he was listening to anything but Die Walkure; at the moment, he seemed to have opted out of the conversation. 'Garth's been talking about me?'

'He's told me all about the horrors the two of you went through with Siegmund Loge and the Valhalla Project,' Braxton said, his intelligent, expressive eyes suddenly flashing with excitement. 'I'd certainly love to see that knife you call Whisper. Damascus steel. Incredible. It must be some weapon.'

'Garth has taken to talking a lot since he got here,' I said, looking at my brother with what I hoped was a most eloquent expression of disapproval.

'He also told me how he shot Orville Madison a few weeks back; blew his head off. What a son-of-a-bitch that guy was.'

I said nothing, stared at the floor.

Braxton continued, 'What's funny is that Slycke and the other shrinks around here don't believe him.'

'But you do.'

'I do,' Braxton said with sudden intensity. 'I know it's true, Mongo. All of it.'

'Assuming it is true,' I said in a low voice, looking up to meet Marl Braxton's gaze, 'I think you'd agree those are stories he should keep to himself.'

'Don't worry, Mongo; the patients are the only people around here who believe him. And we're crazy, remember?'

'What the hell do you think you're doing, Garth?' I said to my brother in a low voice. 'Do you have any idea?'

'The world as we know it is coming to an end, Mongo,' Garth replied evenly, in a clear, strong voice. 'You and Garth know it, because Siegmund Loge taught us. Now others know it.'

'Loge could have been wrong, Garth; the Triage Parabola is no crystal ball. Besides, he never said it was going to end tomorrow. The human extinction he predicted could be hundreds of years away.'

'But it could end tomorrow, and the only way to change that outcome is to change ourselves-person by person, heart by heart. Lippitt, you, and Garth thought it was best to keep everything that had happened and that we had learned a secret, but we were wrong. We've already wasted years, and now there's no time left for anything but the truth-no matter what that truth might cost.'

The words struck me, perhaps because of his intense manner of delivery, as probably the most coherent, focused thing Garth had said to me at one time since he'd regained consciousness. I knew I should probably feel encouraged, but I didn't. 'Has it occurred to you what could happen to all of us if people did start believing you killed our late secretary of state? And remember that it was Lippitt who killed Siegmund-''

I abruptly stopped speaking when Marl Braxton quickly shifted in his chair in what I took to be a warning signal. I turned around just as Tommy Carling came up behind me.

'Time for therapy, Garth,' the male nurse said brightly. 'Dr. Slycke is waiting for you.'

Garth immediately rose, walked off with Tommy Carling.

I started to rise, intending to leave, but Marl Braxton put his hand on my arm.

'Relax, Mongo,' Braxton said in a curious tone of voice that sounded something like a plea. 'Garth won't be back for at least an hour-maybe two, if he's feeling talkative. We don't get that much intelligent company in here. If you've got nothing better to do, I'd like to buy you a beer.'

He hadn't been kidding about the beer. His room, radiating off the commons area just to the right of the entrance, was pleasant and spacious, decorated with prints of impressionist paintings. Bookcases, filled to overflowing with well-worn books and magazines, lined all four walls. In one corner was a small electric cooler, and from it he produced two frosted bottles of Coors. He opened one, handed it to me.

'We get a six-pack a week,' Braxton continued, reacting to my somewhat surprised look. 'That is, if we've behaved ourselves, and if alcohol isn't contraindicated by our medication. Since Garth has been coming around, the clinic has had to up its beer budget. There's just something about the things he says and does that's very soothing.'

'You find predictions of human extinction soothing?'

'It's soothing to know that there's a man alive today on the face of the planet who can prevent that extinction.'

'Garth?'

'Yes. Your brother has a great gift.'

'So I've been told.'

'He is a great gift.'

'I'd agree that he's become something else, and that's for sure.'

Braxton looked at me oddly for a few moments, and he looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he finally nodded toward the one chair in the room. I sat down in it, while he sat on the edge of his bed. He opened his bottle of beer, sipped at it.

'This bottle of beer I'm drinking represents a heavy percentage of your weekly allotment,' I continued. 'That makes it taste even better.'

'It's my pleasure to share it with you.'

'Thank you.'

Braxton drank some more of his beer as he studied me with his bright eyes. 'Garth really does have a very calming influence on the patients here, Mongo,' he said quietly. 'He certainly does on me.'

'You always seem pretty calm, Marl-at least to me. It's hard for me to imagine you losing control of yourself the way Mama Baker does. Why do you have to stay here in the secure unit? If you don't mind my asking.'

Braxton smiled thinly. 'I don't mind you asking-in fact I appreciate your candor in asking me about things which interest you, without worrying that I might be offended because I'm a patient in a funny farm. It makes me feel that you're comfortable with me, and I like that.'

In fact, I felt far more comfortable with Marl Braxton than I did with Garth. The realization made me sad. 'I guess I'm saying that you don't seem all that crazy to me.'