Parce Que J'ai Péché

Chapter 13

My back is toward the door; nevertheless, there is no mistaking M. Croft's accent. I am getting too old for this.

I must remember that he is afraid of me. "Unless you have a silencer," I say quietly, "and if you wish to continue living in this beautiful apartment, I would not recommend it." And if the beating of my heart does not slow very soon, mon ami, I shall die of a heart attack and save you the trouble.

I stand very still. He is not an impetuous man but I have humiliated him deeply by being here; I have violated this sacred space and I will pay for that. I must be very, very careful… "And I do not think that you will want the police to see this."

"You arrogant bastard! I shall have done with you once and for all."

His voice is tremulous with fury and sets my nerves on fire. I dare not move; I hardly dare to breathe. He is very close to the edge; a wrong word from me and he will do it. It is best to say nothing.

"I remember you used to carry a gun at your back. Get it."

"May I turn around?"

"I'll tell you when you can turn around! The gun."

I raise my left hand slowly and put the right under my jacket. He will watch every little motion. I slide the gun out of its holster and take the butt with my fingers. "I remove it now," I say.

"Slowly." The word is sharp.

I hold my hand at arm's length, with the gun still between my fingers.

"Lay it on the floor and move away." His voice is lower now, in control. I am unsure what that might mean and that alarms me even further.

I bend down slowly and lay the gun on the floor. Then I stand again, just as slowly, and move to my left. I begin to turn around.

"Don't turn around, I said!"

I freeze where I am. I must let him take the lead - and wait. He is physically timid; my size alone intimidates him. If he feels some control…

"And now…" he hisses at me, "… now you can put that diary back where you found it."

It is as I feared. He saw me read it. I take the book out of my pocket and put it back in the drawer. I will most certainly pay for this, God help me.

"How dare you come here, you murdering son of a bitch! This is aimed at your head. You do one thing wrong and you are dead. Do you understand me? Your kind disgust me!"

And now perhaps he is wondering what the hell to do with me. He cannot kill me here yet he cannot trust me. And there is nothing I can say that would set him at ease. And why should he trust me? He knows that I can be a violent man when I am pushed; after all, he has proof enough of that. For all he knows, I came here to kill him. I must wait. Just wait. My heart still pounds and my breathing is deep and fast. If he falters… or if I do…

"You have become a very nasty problem for me, Doctor, a real liability. I had hoped to be rid of you easily but you've forced my hand. I'm sorry to make that lovely little girl of yours an orphan but she deserves much better than you, poor child."

And now he makes me angry! Calme-toi, René! Oh, mon Dieu… if he gives me the chance…

"And that slut of a mistress of yours… You have the habits of a pig." He spits out the words. I make no secret of Martine but she is no concern of his; he tries to make me even angrier - and he is succeeding. "You must think me a fool," he says. "I do know what you were looking for; do you really think I would keep such a piece of shit here?"

He moves behind me toward the gun. I catch sight of him in the glass of a photograph and it disturbs me. There is a determined hatred on his face. It is not what I had expected…

"Put your hands behind your head and move to the door. Now!" I do as I am told, clasping my fingers together behind my head. I would not have thought that he would have the presence of mind… Have I misjudged you, mon ami? If I have…

Behind me, he picks up the gun. "I think it would be fitting if you were shot with your own weapon, don't you? Go to the front door. I'm right behind you."

The beating of my heart is like a thunder in my ears and I am nauseous. I was quite wrong about M. Croft, it would seem. He appears to know precisely what he will do with me. And he is remarkably confident; has he done this before?

At the front door, I stop. Perhaps he will make a mistake. But no… "Put your hands down and open the door. Then walk ahead of me to the stairs. Slowly."

Again, I do as I am told. I am unable to get a look at him. As I walk toward the stairs, I hear the door close. I begin to descend the stairs; he is close behind me now.

"Keep your eyes straight ahead, Doctor. The gun is in my pocket and I do know how to use it."

He is very close behind me as I go down, floor after floor. And I notice that his voice is deeper, no longer nasal. Was that part of his mask, part of the rôle he has played for so long? For it was surely that, the rôle of the timid homosexual, so put upon by everyone, so pathetic…

"The concierge was good enough to tell me that someone from Interpol was in my apartment waiting for me." He has controlled his anger, I see. He seems even to be enjoying my predicament. I concentrate on biding my time… "You pissed her off. And yes, I know all about her absinthe. She buries the bottles in that little garden plot. It gives her an income; I have never seen any reason to begrudge her that. I've even found her the occasional customer… and she's been kind enough to keep me informed of anything she thinks might be of interest to me. And I'm not so stupid as to think she likes me but it's a business arrangement. If we dealt only with the people we liked, nothing would ever be accomplished, And it seems that she likes you even less." He chuckles but it is genuine amusement, not nervousness. Indeed, I have misjudged him - most seriously. "There was a time when you would never have made such a mistake, Doctor. Break and enter, impersonation of an Interpol detective… A little rash, don't you think?"

His voice is cold, measured. He is in control and I know this only too well. At the very least, he could have me arrested; the concierge would be only too happy to testify against me.

"When we're at the bottom of the stairs, just go through the front door, would you? There's a good lad."

Surely Gabrieli has not set me up; it is not in his interests at all. No, no. I am certain of this. But what has happened? He would have warned me… Oh, mon Dieu! I have forgotten to charge my cell phone! Idiot, René! But he will be attempting to aid me, non? I must hope this. Yes. He would do this. Behind me, M. Croft still talks to me. I have not heard what he has been saying, too absorbed in my own nervousness. I must listen; there might be something…

"You were in my office on Sunday, Doctor. I know what you found and I want it back - all of it. What have you done with it?"

"I do not know what you are talking about."

"You used to be a much better liar, too."

At the bottom of the stairs, I see the concierge peering at us around the window of her little booth. The door to the garden is closed, of course. When I look toward her, she pulls her head back. Yes, René, that was an error. You might not have the chance to make very many more. He is directly behind me; any closer, and I would feel the gun in my back.

"Go straight through the door."

Outside, there are few people on the street. I look for the blue Citroën or the black Honda but I see nothing. If they are there, they are well hidden. I never thought that I should be anxious to see those two. Croft stays behind me.

"Go to the left. My car is that grey Renault. Get into the driver's seat."

I see the car. It is only a little way down the street. When I get there, I go straight to the driver's side and get in. He stays behind me all the way and lets himself into the back seat. When the doors are closed, he throws the keys onto the seat beside me.

"Start the engine and pull away," he tells me. "At least you have the sense to keep your mouth shut."

As I pull into the street, I look in the mirror. Another car, about fifty metres behind, pulls out with me but it turns a corner at the next light and my disappointment is like a knife in my belly. I shall continue to hope. I cannot think that Gabrieli has abandoned me…

"Where shall I go?" I ask.

"Take the A4 toward Coulommiers. And don't speed. We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

He has seated himself so that I cannot see him in the mirror. He does not wish me to see his face, read his emotions, perhaps? Yet I think it is deeper than that - he cherishes his anonymity. Or, it can be even simpler - I am filth in his eyes, c'est tout. The man behind me, the man with the loaded gun aimed at my back, the little man with the ordinary face and the shy manner is not what he appears to be, not what everyone, including myself, thought him to be. I believed I knew him, but I have never really given him a second thought. Nor, it would seem, has anyone else. It is the perfect disguise. He is right there, yet no-one sees him. And those who do see behind the mask? I wonder how many are still with us. And if I cannot think of something, I could be joining them very soon. I watch the traffic in the mirror…

"You should be in a cell awaiting your execution. That coward Gabrieli has let you slip through his fingers. But you won't slip through mine."

"Then it was you…"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! I would have been there and I would have enjoyed seeing Gabrieli pull that trigger and you getting what you deserve after all these years."

I feel quite nauseous. The traffic is bad, which gives me the excuse to drive slowly. At the next light, I watch the cars behind me - a red Renault, something blue and another grey car. A fourth pulls in behind them. I recognize none of them. When the light changes, I do not notice until the car behind me sounds his horn and I drive forward…

My hands are sweating. "I wish to smoke."

"All right. Why not? A condemned man has that much right." I take the packet out of my shirt pocket and light one. Perhaps it will calm my nerves. "You have some very filthy habits, Doctor. Very filthy indeed." He makes a noise of disgust. "God knows what Adam sees in you. Oh, I know you're not screwing him. I've watched you for enough years to know that men don't appeal to you at all. Adam must love you deeply to be rejected constantly and still see you. I will give him the love and comfort he deserves. You corrupted him with your whoring and your boozing. It's you who made him unhappy."

I am barely listening. I have just noticed that the fourth car is still with me - staying back a little, but there. A little hope stirs in my brain…

"I have waited so patiently. He's Immortal. But I expect you know that. He is magnificent! He faced James down - that's when I knew for sure. This… 'therapy'! He needs love, not therapy. Once you're out of the way, he'll be free…"

It is as I thought. He may despise me for what I am but he hates me even more for my friendship with Adam. And he is about to remedy that.

"And Dawson. I thought he was a decent man until he shot James that night. He's no friend to Adam."

It is ridiculous, of course, but I must say nothing. He believes his own lies; to challenge him would be quite foolish. I glance in the mirror - the fourth car, a pale blue one, is still there, although it has dropped back a little. There is a long way to go, howevever, an hour at least if we are going to Coulommiers in heavy traffic. I try to think what is there. It is countryside, woods, a small lake. I do not know it well.

He has noticed what I am doing. "I wouldn't bother hoping you'll see that blue Citroën Gabrieli's man drives, Doctor. He's not there. I told Internal Affairs I'd heard that Eddie Brill was at the Gare de l'Est. He's still in Reims, of course, but they'll be checking on that. Gabrieli has very little manpower; I must suggest a few names to him, men who would be most… loyal. That's how it's done, you see. You never tell them how it should be, you merely… suggest. And eventually, it's all yours. And they never even notice."

When he mentions Reims, I listen more closely. I like this not at all.

"Hiding Eddie in the Abbey was brilliant but I knew you'd come up with something. You're very resourceful, but then you wouldn't still be alive if you weren't. Eddie was trying to squeeze me, demanding hush money. I showed him what he can do with his fucking threats. He came straight to you; I knew he would. I bet he told you he had that tape. A careful hint here, a suggestion there… Eddie is very suggestible, a sign of a weak mind." He laughs to himself. "You're much harder to manipulate, Doctor. You have kept your mouth shut, played a clean game for years now. I've been watching. I would have left you alone if not for Adam. This way, I am rid of both of you."

The traffic is easing but I do not speed up. I need time.

"I thought of sending Eddie to kill you but that idiot has already failed me on that. He was always very good at what he did, took orders without question. He even enjoyed his work but lately he's become sloppy, a considerable liability. And he'd still be a problem. Yes, he served me well over the years. He's only a legend in his own mind, of course, and I'm happy to let him believe it. They all become liabilities in the end, even James. He outlived his usefulness when he concocted that ridiculous charade to trap Duncan MacLeod. Do you have any idea how expensive facial reconstructive surgery is? And done illegally? It was outrageous! He did that by himself; if I'd known what he wanted all that money for, I would never have allowed it to happen. MacLeod took care of him for me, though, as I suspected he would. James was obsessed with killing him for some reason, almost as obsessed as he was with his hatred of Immortals. Obsession clouds the judgement, don't you find? MacLeod is completely predictable - and quite vicious. I just waited for the inevitable." He chuckles again.

"Yet you do not hate Immortals, I think," I say. He can only tell me to keep quiet, after all.

"I really don't give a damn one way or the other. They can all go to hell. There's no real difference under the skin; you all hate and you all disgust me. Do you play chess, Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Fine game. Doesn't matter whether you choose black or white; it's all the same. The object is not even to win. It's all about strategy, about cutting down your enemy one by one and being the last one standing."

"And you have enemies."

"Keep your psychiatric opinions to yourself, Doctor. If I want them I'll ask for them."

I light another cigarette; my hand is shaking a little. The driving is helping me to concentrate on something other than my shrieking nerves. The blue car is still there, only a little farther back now. But then, we have not gone very far, not even to the eastern outskirts of Paris.

"But yes, I have enemies. Every gay man has enemies. It's one more excuse to hate." And you hate everyone, I think, mon ami, especially me. "I could be running the European Region by now; I should be. They always passed me over. Do you have any fucking idea how that feels, being passed over again and again, watching them screw up, seeing them make a hell of a mess of it, knowing you could have done it better? There was never any reason given; why should they give reasons? And then I found that there were other ways to run things, other ways of making things happen. And they are so sure that they are in control! They can't see the whole board; you can't win unless you see the whole board." He pauses abruptly. "What are you looking at?"

I feel the muzzle of the gun at the back of my neck and my heart almost stops. He turns in his seat, pressing the gun against my neck. "Don't try anything!" In the mirror, I see him glance through the rear window. The blue car is still there; as Croft looks out, it changes lanes and slows. Perhaps I was wrong about it. I must think of something. And soon. My heart is pounding and I am very nearly sick. He turns back in the seat and takes the gun away from my neck. I had not realized that I was holding my breath.

"Pull over to the curb and stop."

I do it. It is a relief to sit and breathe for a moment. My heart is loud in my ears. The blue car is no longer in sight. Has it turned a corner? Is it waiting to see what I will do? Or perhaps only it was my imagination and the car is gone. Mon Dieu, I hope not!

"We'll wait here for a few minutes. Keep your hands where I can see them."

I pick up my cigarette from the ash tray and smoke while I try to think.

"You're remarkably controlled, Doctor. They're usually shitting themselves by now. But you're not a coward, are you? I've always known that about you. James could never understand that but then James was a very shallow man and you have never been that. Perhaps that's what Adam sees in you. He would never associate with a coward. Do you know who he is? Do you? Has he told you yet?" He giggles with pleasure. Why should he not tell me? It is quite possible I will not live out the day; he intends, in fact, that I should not.

I shake my head, "No."

He leans toward my head so that I can hear him clearly and he whispers, "He is Methos!" Then he sits back and chuckles. "It's a shock, no? I've known it for quite some time." He is excited by this little revelation; we are at the core of his fantasy here. God forbid he should that think I am ridiculing him.

"Methos is a legend," I say. "They say he does not exist."

"That's what he wants them to think! He tells no-one, but I know. He is different from all the rest; if you're looking for it, you can see it. He pretends to be Adam Pierson, timid, self-effacing. That's where I learned it, you see, by studying Methos, the Master himself! If you're self-effacing, they pay no attention to you. That's how he stays safe. And I protect him. Shapiro wanted to launch an investigation into his background after the Kalas affair. He wanted to bring Adam before a tribunal for interference when he had Kalas arrested and testified against him. The fool! It was plain for anyone who wanted to see. Kalas sought him out but even he dared not face Methos himself. That's when I knew. Oh, yes. When Adam faced down James, I knew he was Immortal. You could see it in his bearing, his control. He was fearless. And I suspected that he was an Old One; only the Old Ones have that aura about them, that mystique. Oh, yes. You must feel it, Doctor; you spend a lot of time with him. Did you never wonder?"

"Yes. I wondered."

"Of course you did! Even you felt it. And you have been around Immortals many years. Yet you were fooled! But when Kalas came after him and then left him alone, I knew. Oh, yes, I knew. It was a revelation but it was so plain. And then I heard what Shapiro was planning. It was absurd! I couldn't have that. I called him in and laid it out for him. He was to call it off, let it be known that Adam was not under suspicion. He told me that he thought Adam had been stalked by Kalas, that Kalas had threatened him and that Adam had revealed information on the Watchers - the actions of a coward! He told me that Adam had been seen walking with MacLeod that day. Perhaps he was; when you know he's an Immortal, these things make sense. But Adam is no coward! Shapiro wanted to put Adam on trial and put a bullet in his head for it. And if that happened, they would all know what he was - and they would take his head! No, no. I could never allow that. Shapiro hates Adam, always has. I had to do a little convincing. And let's just say he owed me a favour or two."

His voice becomes quiet; he relives a memory, yes? As for me, I am desperate for some sign that I am being followed, something to tell me that I am not alone… And yet I am fascinated by what he tells me. He believes sincerely that I shall not live out the day or he would not tell me these things; I wish that I could see beyond the next five minutes myself.

"Nothing was said after the Galati affair. Shapiro was helpless but there were murmurs - oh, yes. There were those who wanted to know why a Watcher would break ranks and defend an Immortal, defend another Watcher accused of interference. It was brilliant and he played it magnificently. They dismissed him as a fool after that and left him alone. Yes, I took my cue from the Master. And when they wanted to launch an investigation, I told them that Adam was just an idealistic scholar who had made an error in judgement, he was young and foolish and had learned his lesson. There were certain members of the Council who… owed me. They saw it my way, of course. Oh, yes, he's quite magnificent."

The tirade stops as Croft puts the gun back to my neck and I shiver. His little speech has made him bold, I think. "Don't think I'm distracted, Doctor. It's been long enough; I think we can go now, if you don't mind."

I stub out the cigarette, put the car in gear and pull back into the traffic. The blue car is nowhere in sight. An emptiness settles into my chest. There is not much time.

"Shapiro would never have been Regional Director without my help. He was unsuited for the position; it is no job for a coward. But they deserved him. And long before that, he wanted to be taken off Darius and put on the Kurgan because he thought the Gathering was coming and he wanted to be there, the man in the front row, the man everyone would remember as the Watcher who was there at the end. And I arranged it. Me! I pulled in markers, made recommendations, suggestions… And this was my thanks? That he would go after Adam? I made sure he understood who he owed his career to and who could pull him down. Ungrateful bastard!"

As his anger rises, my nerves go into high gear. He is very volatile; it would take so little, so very little… I light another cigarette, my hand very unsteady, and pray to God that Gabrieli did not forget me. If I survive this, I am going to get very drunk.

"He saw it my way. The matter was never brought up again." He laughs and I breathe again.

His talkativeness is not nerves. He tells no-one of the things which are most important to him, his love for Adam, his belief that Adam is Methos - I must remember that he does not know, only that he believes - his delusion that he is in control… Or perhaps it is not a delusion. I cannot think clearly. Certainly he brags to me. But I have been so wrong about him. I must not fall into my own habit of believing him to be harmless or merely a frustrated lover.

The traffic is thin as we are leaving Paris. The highway will be much more open. If anyone is trying to follow me, it will be very difficult there.

"Take the exit to Coulommiers. You know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Good. And don't forget that I have a gun." He puts it back to my neck briefly as a reminder. "Don't ever forget that."

A cold shiver goes down my spine at his tone, cold and hard. Just as Adam's tone was cold and hard the day I told him that Horton had held a gun to my head. M. Croft knows of that day… Perhaps if I keep him talking…

"I saw the tape of Eddie's attempt to kill me in Horton's office," I say.

"Yes, I showed him that tape. He thought it was funny - until I told him I could take both of you down with it and that was what I intended to do." He laughs again. "And I would have. But that tape of your last kill… That was what gave me the whole idea, you know. It was so… convenient. I didn't need to be afraid of you ever again although you were clearly on the edge and might have turned on us all in a heartbeat. James gave it to me for safekeeping since it was my idea to send you after that Viking. He said he needed rid of you but couldn't see how to do it without an investigation which might unearth the Hunters. And then that idiot didn't use it! He liked the idea of controlling you, the damned fool! You should have been dead a long time ago, Doctor, you really should. I was very angry. I told him he worked for me, not the other way around. If he wanted to keep funding his Hunters, he'd best not forget it. I was going to turn it over to the Council myself - anonymously, of course. No-one could prove I had anything to do with the Hunters; I was merely an innocent party who had been used… I would have been very convincing and I was quite willing to sacrifice them all at that point. But Adam came to see me. He had a favour to ask, he said. And how could I deny him anything?"

His voice softens. It is most strange - when he speaks of Adam, it is always with tenderness. His love for Adam appears to be quite genuine.

"He asked me if I could arrange for James to… 'disappear' is not quite the word, no, not that… to be transferred, shall we say. He knew I could pull the right strings. He was afraid for you, you see, said you were not quite right in your mind. I was very touched. I knew then that he was in love with you. And that he didn't know what you were. He told me all about Eddie trying to kill you, said he was afraid for you, although of course I knew. I told him I would do what I could. James was becoming a liability, far too rash; it would be good to have him cooling off in some far corner. And so I arranged it. Adam brought me a bottle of my favourite liqueur as thanks. He has always treated me with every consideration."

He explains so much of what has always puzzled me. I cannot dismiss him as a madman; what he is telling me cannot be delusion. He has fooled us all, it would seem. And Adam? Surely he is aware of something… We must discuss this… Ah, but then, it is I who will not be there for his next session…

"I know why he hasn't told you that he is Methos, you know - he doesn't really trust you. Have you told him what you were? No, I don't suppose you'd breathe a word about that. Not exactly conducive to his therapy, is it? He would kill you in a heartbeat if he ever found out. I considered telling him more than once. But it would have hurt him and I couldn't do that to him. He's been hurt enough; I can't imagine the pain he must bear, poor soul. This is much the best way. No, no. You will simply disappear; later it will come out and I shall be there for him."

"What proof did you show Gabrieli when you told him about Eddie?"

"That doesn't concern you. The exit is coming up. Don't miss it."

"Your attention to detail is quite remarkable."

"Is that flattery, Doctor? I'm really going to enjoy blowing your brains out."

I curse silently. He rambles yet he is not distracted. He merely thinks aloud, non? His mind is much more organized than it appears. And he is most certainly not insane. It would be easy to dismiss him as quite mad, and yet he is not. And perhaps that is what frightens me the most.

"How does it feel to dance with Death, Doctor? How does it feel to sit in the same room with that magificent creature and hear his thoughts? Does it frighten you to know he'd slit your throat as easily as look at you if he thought you were a Hunter?" He laughs. "I've wondered about that, wondered if it kept you awake at night. It should. Do you sleep well? Or do you keep a gun under your pillow and a sword under your bed?"

"Sometimes I have nightmares."

"And so you should. You should have gone down with Darius. I don't know if it was courage or just the blind luck of fools and idiots, but there you were, still breathing. I was going to send Eddie back to get it right, of course, something quick and easy. I wasn't concerned with causing you any pain; I see no reason to make a man suffer. I have never made them suffer. And it will be quick now, I promise you; you may rest easy on that. I am not a vindictive man, Doctor, merely a practical one."

"And why did you not simply climb to a rooftop with a high-powered rifle? It is something which has been puzzling me."

"No doubt it has. Sometimes I have wondered about it myself. Eddie wanted to. He really does have a thing for seeing you dead, you know. He's going to be disappointed. In case you're wondering, that night that Darius was killed and you disappeared, I assumed Adam was hiding you. It's what he would do for the man he loved, after all. It wasn't hard to figure that out. I took pity on him and sent him a note to say that I could assure him that you were safe. And I called off the dogs. Did you know you owed Adam your life?"

"No. I did not know this."

"And that lovely child of yours. Do you think I took no thought for her? An innocent." He sighs in disgust. "You're a good father, for all you're scum as a human being. But it has gone too far, I'm afraid. Eddie talked about me, didn't he? Of course he did. He wouldn't have told you very much, but you have a suspicious nature; you'd get around to investigating me eventually. Then I saw the surveillance tape from my office. You didn't waste a minute. I knew you'd go to my home. I gave you time to get there and then I told them at the office that I was ill. When the concierge told me that a tall, bearded man with glasses had said he was from Interpol and was in my apartment, I was quite prepared. But you have made me very angry, Doctor. Very angry. You're a very intelligent man; I know you can see why I can't let you live. And your daughter will be taken care of. Adam will very likely want to raise her and there's your pension and very generous death benefits for those who die on Company time. I can arrange that for you. It's my job."

"Am I to find this comforting?"

He laughs. "Just reminding you that you don't have much time left. The exit is coming up on your right. It's only justice, Doctor. I haven't heard you deny that you deserve it." But not from your hand, mon ami; you are as guilty as I.

I make the turn. My hopes are getting thinner as we get closer. This is not the way I had thought to leave this world… and I have not left it yet. I am, as you say, a resourceful man…

He has fallen silent. Perhaps he considers how he will do this.

"You are in a difficult position, Monsieur," I say. "I can simply pull to the side of the road and refuse to go farther."

"You could. But you're unarmed. I'd leave you here and let you make your own way back. And the police would be at your door by the time you got home - break and enter, impersonating an officer from Interpol, theft, perhaps even blackmail… I'm sure I can think of a few other things between now and then. You really shouldn't have upset the concierge and you shouldn't have burgled my office. That would keep you quiet while they checked you out and who knows what else they'd find? They still have a file on you and I believe they still want to talk to you about a little matter of a murder in 1993. Meanwhile, I have no qualms about showing that tape to anyone who might be interested in doing me a favour. And I think it's time Adam knew what you were. How long do you suppose you would have then, Doctor? You see, the guilty are in no position to bargain, are they? There would be no pension then, only disgrace. And you would be just as dead."

He leaves me no choice, it would seem. I light a cigarette. Am I so well trapped?

"Take the turn-off to Bois-La-Ville, the other side of the airport. I'm sure you know it."

Ah, yes, I know it. There is nothing there, a small village, c'est tout. No-one wishes to live beside an airport. Fields, woods. It is ideal for what he will do.

It is not far. I see the sign ahead and my stomach tightens. I slow to make the turn, watching always in the mirror for any sign of help. There is nothing. I make the turn with my heart pounding. The village is perhaps a kilometre ahead, no more.

"There's a lane up ahead to the right. Take it. And after that, I shan't hesitate to shoot you where you sit, so don't get cute."

I see the lane and make the turn. It leads between fields toward a wood. At the edge of the wood, he tells me to pull to the edge of the lane and stop. There are no tire marks here. This lane is used by farmers to take their tractors to the fields and there are no farmers on their tractors during the last week of November. It would seem that I have no more time.

"Give me the keys," he says when I have stopped the engine. I hand them over the seat and he takes them from me.

He opens his door and gets out. I open mine. He has my own gun aimed still at my head. He has screwed a silencer into the barrel. I get out and close the door. He gestures toward a footpath which leads into the trees.

"After you, Doctor. Just think of it this way: your demise is inevitable; this way, your daughter is looked after and she needn't know that her father is a murderer."

I say nothing. I am surprised at my own resignation but I am not dead yet. There is a wind and I am quite cold. I pull my jacket about me and walk ahead of him.

"You can smoke if you like," he says over my shoulder.

I shrug and shake my head. I may need my hands free. And just this once, I find I do not want to smoke.

"Just follow the footpath," he says. He sounds most cheerful. And why should he not? He is about to rid himself of one of his oldest problems. I am sure he has something equally amusing planned for Eddie. We may be lying beside each other for eternity - and I do not find that at all amusing.

Once into the trees, there is not so much wind. There are some pines mixed with the bare oaks and the footpath leads through them. Once past them, no-one will see us from the road. There is a little early snow on the ground here and no footprints have broken it. I doubt that these woods are much disturbed during the winter. There are worse places to die, I suppose. Part of my mind tries to compose itself and the other part screams at me. I look about me, trying to see what I might do to save myself. He stays well behind me, out of my reach. I could run, I am sure, but he would make good his threat to have me arrested and that would be the end of it. How did it come to this?

"Just through those trees up ahead, Doctor."

I walk toward the trees. The quietness of the place calms me, draws me even as my conscious mind tries desperately to think of a way out. I hear him behind me, his feet crushing the twigs and patches of ice on the ground. I pass the trees and turn to face my executioner. He gestures to me to walk ahead still but I shake my head.

"No. I am not afraid of you and I will go no farther." And I find that it is the truth. Indeed, I am not afraid of him.

He shrugs and comes to within a metre or so of me, still just a little out of my reach. "Have it your way. On your knees."

I shake my head again. "No. I go to my knees only before God. You may kill me but you will not humiliate me." Somewhere I hear a raven and look up. The sky is quite clear.

He smiles. "Then I guess it's time. Turn around, unless you want it in the face."

"No. Not that." And I turn my back to him.

"I understand you have religious sensibilities, Doctor. I'll give you time to say your prayers if you feel inclined. I wish I could say I hold no enmity toward you but we both know it would be a lie. Still, I'll make sure your child wants for nothing. The sins of the father shouldn't be visited upon the children."

Mathilde. Forgive me.

"Any last requests?"

"Where is the tape?"

He laughs. "Sorry, Doctor. I still can't quite bring myself to tell you that. It's safe. It's with that chronicle I'm sure Eddie told you about. One day, Adam will be told where to find his chronicle, a gift from me. And when he does... he won't forgive you, you know. But he won't grieve for you either. And while we're at it, where are the things you stole from me?"

I smile to myself. "I think not, Monsieur."

"Let me guess. You gave them to Mr. Dawson's pretty daughter. No matter. Good-bye, Doctor."

I hear the slide chamber the round and my heart races. No! I am not ready…!

****

Chapter 14

The shot cracks the silence.

I scream involuntarily and throw myself to the side. I am still alive!

He is looking behind him. I lunge for his legs and bring him down. The gun falls to the snow but his hand finds a stone. He slams it down hard on my head. The pain shoots through my skull and I cry out. He strikes me again before I can roll away. Another shot strikes the ground beside us…

I am enraged! I grab for his legs again, cursing…

"Fucking bastard!"

He screams in terror but it only enrages me further. I smash a fist into his belly and he shrieks. He still clutches the stone but I seize his wrist and twist it. A bone snaps and he screams again, struggling beneath me. I clutch his hair and bang his head into the ground. He struggles but I ram my knee into his chest. The gun is beside me on a patch of snow where it fell. I snatch it up, put the muzzle against his temple…

"Go to hell!"

…and pull the trigger.

"Doctor!"

He does not move beneath me. All is silent now. What have I done?

My breathing is shallow and rapid and my heart is a hammer in my chest. I look at the gun in my hand - I have killed a man. Again. I hear the raven and look up. It sits in the trees above me, shrieking its laughter…

Pardonnez-moi, mon Dieu…

"Doctor?"

"Quoi…?"

I sit on the gound, the body beside me. She touches my shoulder.

"Je l'ai tué… le bon Dieu me pardonne. Je n'ai pas eu la choix, tu sais."

"Doctor?"

I turn my head. I cannot see. My glasses…

"Pardonnez-moi, Mademoiselle. J'ai perdu mes lunettes…"

She takes the gun from me. Her touch is gentle and I am ashamed.

"Doctor? Are you all right? Let me have a look at that head. God, there's a lot of blood!"

She kneels beside me and presses something into my hand. My glasses. They are not broken but I do not put them on. The pain in my head is terrible and I touch my temple. When I take my hand away it is covered in blood.

"Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé…?"

"You're speaking French, Doctor. Come on; let me look at this."

"Miss Thomas… No. No, I am not all right. "

"Here. Let me look at that." She touches my head and I wince. "There's too much blood to see for sure; it looks quite bad. Just a moment…"

She picks up some snow and washes the side of my face and head with it. The coldness eases the pain but I am dizzy.

"Oh, Lord… Still bleeding quite a lot. You need a doctor to look at it."

"The head always bleeds very much. And I do not want stitches."

She puts fresh snow to my head and continues to clean it. My mind is confused…

"I couldn't get close enough any sooner. I'm sorry."

He lies beside me, still warm…so short a time ago living, breathing - and now he lies there, dead by my hand. I do not understand why I am still alive. He could not have missed. Does it never end? And this too, now, is on my conscience. So much… And when my daughter asks me what I have done with my life, what do I tell her? Perhaps I should have let him kill me…

Her hand shakes my shoulder. "Doctor… stay with me here."

"I think I shall get very drunk, Mademoiselle."

"Just don't pass out on me. You're too big for me to drag back to the car."

"Adam once told me, 'You are becoming a royal pain in my arse, René.'" It sounds very funny with my accent and I laugh. "Do you know that I fainted when Mathilde was born? They said it was very funny, like a mountain crashing to the floor."

"I think we should get you into the car while we decide what to do. It's a little cold out here. Can you stand?"

I put my glasses on and try to get up. I can stand but I am not very steady. It is shock, no? I look down at him, so peaceful, a small hole in his temple, nothing more. I look up to the trees; the raven is gone. There is a tribe somewhere which believes that the raven takes the souls of the dead to the next world…

"Come on, Doctor. We can't stay out here."

I let her take my arm and guide me back down the path. One knee tries to collapse but I do not fall. And I am very dizzy.

"They are so small when they are born, you know? So helpless…"

"Yes, Doctor. Try to concentrate."

We go back to the lane. I see only Croft's car.

"How did you find me?"

"I followed you. I lost you a couple of times but you stayed on the same road. I got ahead of you and picked you up again."

"Then it was you in that blue car? But it turned off. How did you find me again?"

"What blue car? I have a white one."

I laugh. It is all so absurd…

She guides me past Croft's car and then I see hers, parked where the lane curves a little. When we reach it, she opens the back door and I get in. It is a relief and I lean my head back and close my eyes. A great weariness comes over me.

I see his face screaming in terror. It becomes Rødrig's face - then it is Adam. My hands are covered with blood… Somewhere I hear the raven screeching his laughter.

****

When I open my eyes, I am lying in a bed. I do not have my glasses. Someone sits beside me, a man, I think.

"That's better. You're getting a little old for the rough stuff, René."

Pierre Lamartine?

"You're in your room at the clinic. Feeling any better?"

The pain in my head is very bad and I am going to be sick.

"Mademoiselle Thomas brought you here. She didn't give me the details but said you'd had a severe emotional shock and someone seems to have tried to bash your brains in. I've stitched you up and there's a lot of swelling. And I still remember those broken ribs back in '93. I wrote that into your file myself. I don't wish to pry into your private affairs, old friend, but you appear to keep some very strange company."

I feel the bandage on my head; I want to sleep. I close my eyes and drift. He is speaking to me but I cannot understand what he is telling me. The raven comes to me. The snow is very deep; all is white. I stand beneath the tree and he laughs. He has come to take my soul to the next world but I do not wish to go. Croft shrieks at me - rage and hate and jealousy. Blood drips onto the snow and I am very cold. I sink to my knees and weep.

I wake in a cold sweat. It is dark and I need to be sick. There is an IV needle in my left hand. They have left a basin beside the bed and I use it and press the buzzer for the nurse. She comes, takes my pulse and removes the basin. Pierre comes in as she leaves. He sits in the chair beside the bed and leans forward, his forearms on his thighs.

"You worry me, René. Do you know how many times you have thrown up?"

"No." My voice is barely a whisper.

"We took an X-ray. You woke up but I doubt you remember; you weren't very lucid. The X-ray shows no skull fracture, which is remarkable since you were hit very hard, I would think. I won't ask you how it happened. But there is still the possibility of bleeding into the brain, of course. We shall have to watch you closely. You're going nowhere until I approve it. All right?"

It is not all right but it would seem that I have no choice.

He does not wait for a reply. "What do you remember?" No, Pierre. Do not ask me this. I do not wish to remember.

"May I have a cigarette?"

"You know very well how I feel about that."

"I wish to go home."

"Absolutely not. And if I have to lock you in, I will. We've been colleagues for a long time, René, but we are also friends, non? You are in luck. I am the resident physician in charge this week and I have appointed myself your physician here. All right? Can you live with that?"

It is difficult to concentrate; I am drifting again. "Yes. Thank you."

"It means I've looked into your medical history. You don't react well to emotional trauma; there's a history of attempted suicide and a very serious breakdown, although that was a long time ago now. Still, I have to take it into account. You've been sleeping but it's been very disturbed. I can't give you a sedative because it would mask any brain damage and the trauma appears to be more than just a very bad bump on the head, although Mademoiselle Thomas declined to tell me what you had been hit with. Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No, I cannot. I am sorry, Pierre. Please do not ask me."

"Then I suggest you start seeing your therapist again. You've been avoiding her for some time, cancelling appointments. She'll be in to see you tomorrow and you can work something out between you. Are you feeling dizzy now?"

"Yes."

"Nauseous?"

"A little."

"I've given you Gravol in that IV. That should improve soon. They will look in on you every two hours." He stands and pats my shoulder. "And now, mon ami, I am going to bed. They have orders to fetch me if anything goes wrong."

****

I passed a very bad night and I am very tired. They have awakened me every two hours to be sure that I am all right. I am no longer so dizzy - so long as I am lying down. It would seem that I shall be confined to this bed for a little while. My mind… that is another matter. The nurse came to check me. She has taken out the IV and changed the dressing. The male aide has been in to help me to the bathroom and to wash and shave me; I did not want breakfast. What I really want, of course, is a cigarette but Pierre is adamant. Pierre came to say that he wishes to keep me here for at least two or three days but I cannot stay. There is still Eddie to think of. Yet it seems that I have no choice today, at least, and I am grateful to rest. He will make good his threat to lock the door and in any case, I can barely raise my head.

Pierre thinks that I may have a concussion but he worries more about my state of mind. I have asked that he arrange a medical leave for me and he has agreed. He will see my patients; I shall return the favour some day. And I have promised to see Leah Kwan regularly again; I have missed those lovely legs! She will come to see me this afternoon, he said.

Miss Thomas is waiting to see me. I do not wish to be seen in a hospital gown and since Pierre will not allow me to leave my bed, he has lent me a fresh shirt. It would seem that mine is soaked in blood. And that old black pull will likely have to be burned at last. The aide has helped me into the shirt and I feel more comfortable. When I am ready, comfortably propped on the pillows and my glasses on, he leaves to fetch Miss Thomas.

She comes in looking very worried. She brings the chair to the bed and sits down. "How are you this morning, Doctor?"

"I am alive, I think. I have you to thank for that, perhaps. I have a very bad headache." That is an understatement. I do not feel at all well, in fact, but I will not stay here longer than I have to.

"I'm not surprised at the headache. Did they feed you breakfast?"

"I was not hungry."

She smiles. "Hospital food has never done it for me, either. Your doctor warned me not to let you have cigarettes." I smile. That is Pierre, damn him! "Doctor, there's something I should say. I apologize for my bad manners on Sunday. I've had a little time to think about it. I can't say I understand what happened yesterday but I'm willing to hear your side of it."

A twinge of pain makes me wince. "May I tell you later, Miss Thomas? I am not feeling up to it just now."

"Of course. Your doctor has asked me not to tire you. I heard what was said to Croft, you know… thank you for not telling him about the photographs. I know it doesn't matter now that he's dead, but it could have gone the other way. It was very brave."

"I could have done nothing else and it would not have stopped him from putting that bullet in my head. If you do not mind, I prefer not to talk of it for the moment."

She says nothing. I have no idea what she must be feeling. She saw me kill someone, yet she knows that he would have killed me and I do not think she faults me for saving my own life. But I did not need to do it. The killing rage… it is a terrible thing.

"You're very quiet, Doctor. You're not all right, are you? You only did what you had to do, you know."

I smile. "It changes nothing, Mademoiselle. I have still killed a man. That is what I shall live with."

"You had me very worried. When you passed out and I couldn't wake you, I was in a bit of a panic. You know who sent me to look for you, don't you?"

I sigh. "I can guess."

"Gabrieli himself." I nod and it hurts - I shall have to remember not to do that. Gabrieli. It is as I suspected. "I couldn't believe it. He demanded that I get to Croft's apartment immediately. Seems you couldn't be reached. I was supposed to get there before Croft did but I was a little late."

"I forgot to charge my cell phone. I really cannot get used to those things."

"How much does Gabrieli know?"

"About what?"

"About you."

I shrug. "I do not know."

She sighs. "Why don't I believe you? He seems to know an awful lot about everything."

"It is his job."

"He had a little chat with me first, made sure I understood that none of this is to get back to my father or Ben. He was very insistent, reminded me that my first loyalty was to him where Watcher business was concerned. He frightened me a little."

"But you followed orders."

"I saw no reason not to."

"And if you had seen a reason…?"

She snorts. "I'll wait until that happens."

And does she think it will not?

"He pumped me about you. What had you told me? Did I know why you had gone to Croft's apartment in the first place? I wasn't about to tell him what we talked about on Sunday. I just said that I really didn't know you very well."

A pain shoots through my head and I draw in a sharp breath. I put a hand to my head.

She looks at me, a frown on her forehead. "Are you all right? Shall I call someone?"

I wave a hand at her. "No. Please go on, Miss Thomas. I need to know."

She says nothing for a moment. "It'll wait if you need to rest. Can I get you anything?"

"A cigarette."

She laughs. "Besides that. How about some coffee, juice…"

"Some coffee, if they will permit me."

While she goes to find the coffee, it gives me time to think about what she has told me. Gabrieli was indeed watching out for me. And I am grateful. And yet I am not very happy that he has asked Miss Thomas about me. I am not yet certain how she feels about me and it shows that he does not trust me, although that does not surprise me.

When she returns, she has a tray with juice, a croissant and a carafe of coffee with two cups. She places the tray on the table and pours the coffee.

"Milk stirred in slowly, no sugar, I believe," she says. She has a good memory. She gives me the cup and sits down.

"M. Gabrieli told you that I was at Croft's apartment? Did he tell you how he knew this?"

She frowns. "No. And you didn't bother to tell me why you wanted to go there. But you told me there was proof of your activities with the Hunters - Croft liked to take photographs… I put two and two together. Was it a photograph you were looking for?"

I see no reason to hide it now that Gabrieli knows. And a little trust needs to be established, non? "A tape - a very damning tape, one which I should like no-one to see, especially not Adam."

"I don't doubt that for a moment. I think Ben would find it very hard to forgive you. Mostly for lying to him"

"Ah, que vous avez raison, Mademoiselle. You are very right. It is not the deed but the trust."

"And just how did he know you were there?"

"He asked me to go. He telephoned me and asked me to find certain information."

She stares at me. "I'm a little confused. Surely you were looking for that tape. What information would he ask you to find?"

I shrug and sip my coffee. "Croft denounced Eddie to him and implied that there was evidence. I was looking for that evidence. C'est tout."

"Are you lying to me, Doctor?

"Have you been to the apartment, Mademoiselle?"

"Don't change the subject."

"It is the same subject. There is no information on anyone at the apartment, although there are other… interesting items."

"You searched the whole place?"

I shrug. "I did not have the time."

"No, I'm sure you didn't. And why you? You told me yourself that Gabrieli has Internal Affairs agents working for him. Why not one of those? Croft could say nothing to them."

I say nothing. I am unsure how much to tell her. My meeting with M. Gabrieli is not something I wish to discuss. And he did, after all, order me to be quiet about it. Not that I have ever given that much consideration.

She toys with her coffee cup. "He was most insistent that I report only to him, you know, not to my supervisor, and that I tell absolutely no-one of anything that happened yesterday."

I nod. "Indeed."

"This doesn't surprise you?"

"No, it does not. It concerns Adam most closely."

"Oh?"

"Miss Thomas, do you know what a shrine is?"

"A religious shrine? Of course."

I shake my head. "No, I speak of the activities of a stalker. He collects photographs of his idol, usually young women, pictures of them at home, at work, driving, shopping, doing everyday things. He collects objects from these women, things which prove to him that there is a relationship. Do you understand?"

She nods. "Yes, they use that idea on television sometimes."

"Bon. Then you know what I mean. M. Croft has one of these shrines in his apartment. He has been stalking Adam for a very long time."

She stares at me. "Oh, my God! What are you saying?"

"Precisely that. There is no gentle way to say this to you. M. Croft was in love with Adam - quite genuinely, I believe, although obsessively - and has been for many years. It was his fantasy that Adam was in love with him but was not free to declare that love. He believed Adam to be a homosexual who had not accepted it. It put in danger anyone with whom Adam had a friendship, a love affair, even a casual sexual liaison - if you will pardon me, Mademoiselle, but Adam has not been a monk, as I am sure you know - anyone. Women, Don Salzer, possibly, your father, myself. You. Do you understand?"

The look of horror on her face tears at me but it must be said - and better to hear it from myself than M. Gabrieli, non?

"He was insane?"

"No." I take off my glasses and close my eyes for a moment. It is difficult to concentrate. She waits patiently for me. When I open them again, she nods at me to tell her what she needs to know. I do not think she will be pleased. "It is not very easy to believe perhaps, but he was not insane, certainly not in a legal sense, although I would class him perhaps as a sociopath, someone who does not behave in ways which meet the social good, you understand? He merely has this fantasy, but it is all-consuming; in most other ways, he was… functioning." And functioning very well, if the things he told me were at all true, and I suspect that they were. He knew too much and it was too accurate for him to be lying. And I am going to be spending a great deal of time in M. Gabrieli's company very soon, I believe, answering a great many questions. I cannot say that I look forward to it.

"And yet he was quite willing to kill you." Her voice is hard, angry. "Execution style. That hardly sounds sane to me, Doctor. It doesn't get more deliberate than that. I heard the hatred in his voice." She hesitates. She wants to ask me something; have I said something I should not? "Why me, Doctor?" she asks. "Why would I be in danger from Croft? I'm just a minor Watcher. Croft didn't know me at all."

Ah. René, you have tripped over your own toes. What is obvious to me has not yet made itself known to her. To me, her love for Adam is quite plain, yet to her… "No reason, Mademoiselle. I am sure you were quite safe."

"You have a way of making me think that you're not telling me everything, Doctor. But I'll accept that for now. Are you going to tell me that he held that same hatred for all of us?"

I drink some of the coffee. I wish desperately for a cigarette. "I think he hated me a little more than others. And he had reason; I was a serious threat to him in other ways, although I never knew it until a few days ago. M. Croft was very much more than he seemed. Please understand that everything I say to you about this is highly confidential. I tell you because it concerns Adam - and that concerns you. And Joseph - and Stephen. Gabrieli will not be pleased that I have told you without his express permission. May I trust you to be discreet?"

She nods slightly. She is deeply shocked, yet no more than was I. And she is certainly angry, whether with Croft or with me I cannot tell. "And this was why he wanted to kill you? Because he saw you as a rival?"

I sigh. It is becoming difficult to concentrate. "Yes… but more than this. It is not easy to explain. I do not know all of it myself. Indeed, perhaps I never will. And I do not concentrate well. Forgive me if I do not explain this clearly."

"Oh, you're explaining it very well. You're saying that we were all in danger from this man, me, my father… How could this happen?"

"Because he was invisible. No-one really saw him; they saw only a timid man who hid in his office behind his account books. He was not a pleasant man and they left him alone. It was what he wished. It served him very well."

"That's not all you know, is it?"

I begin to drift again. I concentrate only with difficulty and I do not wish to pursue this. I know things now that no-one else knows - save perhaps Adam. I smile at the thought. Adam. How much do you know about us, mon ami? You know more about us than we know about ourselves, I think. I must close my eyes for just a moment. Pierre is right to keep me here, although I cannot say if it is my injured head or my injured mind that worries him more. Every time I close my eyes, I see it again, see him with my own gun pointed at my head, the silencer screwed into the barrel, looking somehow the more deadly for that. Always the images are the same - the snow, the raven, the blood - stark images of black, white… and red…

"Doctor?"

She is standing, my coffee cup in her hand. "You faded on me there. I can understand why Dr. Lamartine wants to keep you here. I should go."

"Yes… I am sorry…"

****

"René?" Quiet voice, images of falling water, silver rain… someone laughing. Martine? I have missed you… je t'aime, chérie…

"René." A hand shakes me and I open my eyes. Leah Kwan's gentle face smiles at me. "Hello, old friend. I'll go away if you wish."

I blink. The light bothers my eyes. "No, it's all right."

I am glad she is here. There is no-one I can speak to the same way I speak with her, not even Père Jean.

"Good. Don't let me wear you out."

Leah is a remarkable lady and I am very lucky to have her as my therapist. It was a difficult decision since we would need to speak of very strange things. But Leah has seen many strange things in her life. I fumble for my glasses. She hands them to me and I put them on. "I am pleased to see you."

"But you would rather see a package of cigarettes right now, I think."

I laugh a little. It is the truth.

She lifts the bandage and inspects the wound, then sits beside me. "That's very bad. You're very lucky, René. There appears to be no brain damage but you know that it sometimes shows up later. I hope you're not planning to leave before you're ready?"

I smile. She knows me very well. "I have things to take care of. Some very serious things."

"Can others not do this for you?" she asks. She leans her chin on her hand and looks at me most earnestly. She tells me, I think, that I should do this but she will not demand it. She never demands anything of me and yet I seem always to do it her way. I wish I had the same effect on Adam.

"I think not, Leah. I would not ask it of them."

She says nothing. She knows my history all too well; she has been my therapist for a long time. She knows what I have done and what I will do if I must.

"What happened yesterday?" she asks.

"I killed a man," I say without hesitation. It is like a knife to my belly and my voice is harsh; the pain screams inside me.

She does not reply right away. She is watching me, judging how I really feel. She is a master. "And do you feel that you should be punished for this?"

It is like an arrow that finds its target. I can say nothing and turn my head away.

"Look at me, René."

She waits and I turn back to her. There is great compassion in her face. Her own life was one of sorrow and struggle before coming to France. When the Red Guard interned her and her family in a 're-education' labour camp, life became… fragile. She spoke to me of it years ago when I was asked to take her as my therapist. I had refused all others after Sean died. I would trust no-one else. When they told me that a Chinese woman, a refugee who had escaped from China and stowed away on a fish boat out of Shanghai, had come to work at the clinic, I did not know what to think. What could she possibly know that could be of use to us? How little I understood. I needed a therapist, they said; she was willing to take me on. I was scornful and arrogant. She asked to speak to me. Imagine how I felt, all six feet two and eighty-one kilos of me sitting before this tiny, delicate woman with the perfect cheekbones and the kindest eyes I ever saw. And she spoke to me of such dreadful things, of how they beat her father to death because he was too ill to work, merely because he was an intellectual, an expert on French art. It had been declared 'decadent'. M. Kwan had loved all things French and had studied painting in Paris as a young man. For this error, he died. They had been beaten and starved, forced to work long hours. They were… expendable.

And did I think that she had been unwilling to kill to escape? She had killed a guard with a garden hoe and taken her terrified mother and young brother across flooded rice paddies in the dead of night. Her mother had been too weak to go on and begged to be left at the side of the road to give her daughter a better chance. She never saw her mother or her brother again. She still does not know what became of them. And as I listened to this gentle soul speaking to me of these things, I saw that it was possible to see such things and do such things and still be a decent human being. If it was possible for this tiny creature… I still do not know if she saw my file before speaking to me and I have never asked.

And when she had told me these things she asked me if I thought she should be punished for killing a man. I told her that I did not. "He was evil,"I protested. "He deserved it."

"Don't be so naïve! He had a wife and family; I know because he spoke to us of them, showed us pictures. Do you think he didn't love them?"

"Then I don't understand."

"You try to make everything black and white. It isn't. And it never will be. You do what you must do. And you live with it. Do you know what I am saying to you?"

And perhaps for the first time, I saw that it was not a matter of right or wrong, good or evil, but of humanity, my own, that of others. She did not know what I had done but she saw something in me and gave me what I needed. It did not take the pain away; it never does this. But she told me how to live in spite of it. I told them I would accept her as my therapist and I have never regretted this.

And now she asks me the same question.

She regards me with sadness. "Why have you cancelled your appointments with me? It's been nearly four months."

I do not insult her by claiming that I have been busy. Why have I not seen her? Did I think all was going well? I wanted to think so. Our own therapy is a requirement and it is a sensible one. It is not a matter of a life that is going well; it is a matter of attention to duty, something I do as much for my patients as for myself. And why have I not done this?

"Tell me if you see a pattern, René - you cancel appointments, you work too hard, you smoke too much, you drink more than you should, you have promiscuous sexual habits…" I listen to these words, in perfect French, come out of that exquisite mouth and I would laugh if it were not so serious. "Do you see a pattern?"

"I had not realized…"

She smiles. "I know. And now there is a crisis, I think, no? It's time to consider these things. Pierre tells me that you were a little delirious when Miss Thomas brought you in. Do you think you're having a relapse?"

"Stress Disorder?"

She nods. "Of course. It has been fifteen years. The time frame is right."

I had not considered it. And I do not wish to think about that, either. "Perhaps."

"Tell me about yesterday."

No, please. I do not wish to go back there. Not even with Leah holding my hand…

"What is it? You were quick enough to tell me that you killed a man. Obviously, this is not what eats at you the most. There is something more, something even deeper."

And I see him again, the gun aimed at my head, the raven, the snow, the blood… I close my eyes. I do not wish to look at her.

Her voice comes to me as through fog, soft, distant. "René." The raven shrieks and flaps his wings for flight. So much blood on the snow… I am afraid.

"René." It fades but the fear remains. "What do you see? Tell me the images in your mind."

I open my eyes, yet still I cannot face her. "Snow, blood… a raven."

"What do these things represent to you? Just let your mind associate."

"Snow… purity… cleanliness… cold… unforgiving…"

She leans closer. "I can barely hear you, René. And the blood?"

"The blood… guilt. There is so much guilt. The raven… not sure. He takes my soul…perhaps to hell."

"And I ask you again. Do you believe that you should be punished for what you did?'

I smile at this. It is quite plain, non? Yes, even to me. "Yes."

"Then perhaps you should be punished. Settle your affairs, make provision for Mathilde, say your good-byes and turn yourself in to the Council. You are guilty, after all. A quick bullet to the brain and it is over."

It is like cold water down my spine. It is several moments before I can reply. "I have not told you what happened."

She shrugs. "I don't need the details. Your pain is obvious. Don't tell me unless you wish to."

I look at her. She sits there, elegant even at fifty-something, serene in that exquisitely Oriental way. She was very beautiful once, I think. Her beauty is still there, transformed by a wisdom I can perhaps never reach. And she still has wonderful legs…

"René, what are you thinking about?"

I smile. "About you."

"Try to concentrate. I know it's difficult but I also know that you can do it. You're a decent man but there has been a shock, a severe one, and I am not going to be easy on you. This involves your life, René, your continued existence. We will get nowhere until you make a decision as to how that life will go. Don't deny what you did, yet don't let guilt cloud your judgement. And if they come for you, accept it with dignity. Now, what do you wish to tell me?"

'Accept it with dignity?' Is there dignity in being arrested for murder and shot? "I should like a cigarette. Perhaps you could ask Pierre…"

"I'll speak to Pierre. You have more than enough stress to deal with without that."

I avoid the inevitable. My own patients do this with me. Get hold of yourself, René; she does not judge you. "It was supposed to be my execution," I say. I can barely hear myself. "It has all come up again. I thought it put to rest. He denounced me to David Gabrieli, the Regional Director. M. Gabrieli had a little talk with me… now he knows."

"And this troubles you greatly." It is a statement. And it makes me think.

"Yes. It troubles me. He holds my life in his hands and I do not know that I can trust him. Perhaps so long as no-one knew, I thought it not real, without consequence. It has been so long; I thought I was safe."

"And this man?"

Where do I begin? "This man… he was not what we thought. A very dangerous man, hiding behind a mask. He told me things…" Ah, the things he told me. "When M. Gabrieli did not arrest me, Croft took matters into his own hands. He forced me to drive to the place of my own execution."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Feel? Terrified, angry… I wanted to kill him, reach across the seat and ram the gun down his throat. How did I feel? "I would rather not remember."

She nods. "It's all right. Tell me what you can."

And I find that I do not remember very clearly after that. I cannot remember what was said, only the coldness of his voice… and that I ceased to be afraid of him. And something else…

"What are you thinking, René?"

"I am thinking that part of me wanted to die, God help me. Part of my mind tried to compose itself, wanted him to pull that trigger, accepted it."

"Because you wanted really to die? Are you telling me that you were suicidal? Your mother was a suicide and you, yourself, made a very serious attempt. Are you afraid that that urge is still there?"

"Perhaps. I had not considered it." Had I wanted to die? When Leah asks me these questions, it is not because she wishes to know the answer but because she wishes me to know it. And do I? For the moment, I wish only to sleep. "No, I do not believe that I did want to die."

"Good. Then perhaps your mind saw it as acceptance of just punishment, not as a means to die. It is not the same thing. I ask you for the last time. Do you think you should be punished for what you have done?"

"Do I deserve it? Yes. Oh, yes."

"That is not what I asked. Do you wish it?"

"I don't know."

"And this, I think, is the truth. You must decide. It is the indecision that tears you apart. If you want to die, then get on with it; if you wish to live… You have much to live for. And you must decide once and for all so that you can live your life… or lay it down as you see fit. The sin will never erase itself. It will always be there. Do you sacrifice yourself to it or do you set it aside and live? For you the matter is quite simple; the crime is obvious. A man put a gun to your head; you killed him. Was it necessary?"

"No. It was not necessary. I was in a rage."

"And you are surprised at this? He wanted you dead, and he was willing to do it coldly and deliberately. I would be more concerned for you if you had not felt rage. You ask too much of yourself, René. How did you receive your injury?"

"He struck me with a stone, more than once."

"And now you condemn yourself for feeling rage? Is this sensible? Your new Director now has the power to have you executed as he sees fit; a man holds you at gunpoint, forces you to drive to your own death, smashes your skull with a stone… It would seem that you have difficulty forgiving yourself for being human, René."

I can say nothing. She offers me a way out; I need only decide to take it. Why am I so reluctant?

She stands up. "I have put you through enough for today. I want you on indefinite leave - I will certify that it is for nervous exhaustion. And I will help Pierre with your patients. I'm putting you on Zoloft. It will take about three weeks to take full effect. If Pierre agrees, I will prescribe a sedative in the meantime to help you sleep. You must rest. Whatever else it is you have to do, please don't try to do it all by yourself. You could very well suffer a complete collapse."

"And you do not wish to pick up the pieces."

She pats my hand. "No, old friend, I do not. I am quite serious. If you decide to live, you must put the idea of punishment to rest. But don't do it for others, not even for that lovely daughter of yours. Do it because you want to live. Do you understand?" I will speak to Pierre about the cigarettes but I already know what he will say." She chuckles. "I will have him start you on the Zoloft and something to keep your mind quiet to allow you some rest now. All right? And, René… white is also innocence, black is the quiet night that heals the mind and red is passion, the spice of life. It is all a matter of perspective. When Pierre releases you, go to see your lady friend. She loves you. It's what you need."

When she is gone, the weariness settles over me again. Yet the weariness is not in my body. Adam sometimes speaks of a weariness of the soul. It would seem that my soul is weary indeed.

****

END OF PART 6

You are visitor number

æView Page Stats See who's visiting this page.