"Aye, I'll join you in a bit," McLeod added, on cue, as Peterson's eyes fluttered open and he heaved a heavy sigh. "Dr. Sinclair and I have one or two points yet to clear up, but it shouldn't take long. Just leave the sketch pad here for now. I'll bring it when I come down. And congratulations; you did a nice piece of work." "Thank you, sir."
Without demur, Peterson packed up his art satchel and took himself off, clearly relieved to be going. As the door closed behind him, Adam murmured with a wry smile, "I do believe we gave Mr. Peterson a fright."
McLeod allowed himself a dour chuckle. "Well, he isn't a Peregrine Lovat, but he did all right, didn't he? And we can hardly blame him for getting the wind up. I dare say this kind of thing would raise my hackles, too, if I'd never seen anything like it before - and it did, as I recall." "It did," Adam agreed with a smile. "In any case," McLeod went on, "I'll take Alec's sketch and get Donald to fax copies to all and sundry. It won't necessarily guarantee that our hit-and-run driver will be picked up, but it'll certainly help reactivate the search."
"It will that," Adam said. "In the meantime, there's still the question of Carnage Corridor. This should make the difference, break the dream cycle, but before I bring Claire fully out of trance, I'd like to find out if seeing that driver's face has made any difference in her outlook - and if it hasn't, see what can be done about it."
Claire Crawford was sitting as Adam had left her, eyes closed and head slightly bowed, her hands at rest in her lap. Lightly touching her left wrist, he said, "Claire, it's Dr. Sinclair again. I have one last task for you, before we bring today's session to a close. Now that you've given us a description of the man who ran you down, I'd like you to study his likeness and tell me what you make of him. I'd like you to try and imagine what you would say to him if you were to find yourself face to face with him in this room. Open your eyes and look at the picture of him. Use that as your focus, and tell me what you see."
He put the sketch pad in her hands as she opened her eyes. For long seconds she stared at the likeness in front of her with silent, penetrating intensity. Then all at once she uttered a small gasp and rocked back in her chair.
"Dear God, I think I - I touched him!" she breathed agitatedly. "It was just for an instant, but I - actually came into contact with him - the man who killed my husband! The man who crippled me!"
McLeod glanced at Adam, suppressing a startled exclamation, but Adam was already leaning forward, setting a hand on her wrist again.
"I understand," he said quietly, his voice betraying none of his own rising excitement. "Please go on."
Claire took a gulp of breath, her words tumbling over one another in her excitement, but still focused, still deep in trance.
"So very strange," she murmured. "What his name might be, I still don't know. All the same, for a second or two it was as if I was - inside his head! I could see what he was like - knew exactly what he was feeling - "
"Describe your impressions," Adam prompted, as she broke off with a shudder.
The sound of his voice seemed to steady her. "He's younger than he looks," she whispered. "And smart - so smart, he used to think there wasn't anything he couldn't do. He was ambitious… wanted to get ahead in the world…."
"Do you know what he was doing out on the road that night?" Adam asked.
She nodded. "He'd just lost his job. He was angry and humiliated. He wanted to get back at somebody - anybody. That's why he stole that car. And he'd been drinking to bolster his courage.
"He - knows now what a terrible mistake he made," she continued. "He lives under a cloud of guilt and failure. He knows he's done wrong, but he's terrified to own up. All he can do is sit around wishing that he could live that night over again and make it somehow turn out differently."
"Interesting," Adam said, well aware that all this could be a fantasy - though it might be true, too. "Tell me," he added neutrally, "even though the law has yet to catch up with him, are you in any way consoled, knowing that he is far from happy in his freedom?"
"I thought I would be," Claire said, "but I'm - not."
There was a note of perplexity in her voice. Adam merely waited, giving her time to analyze her own reactions. After a long moment, she began speaking again.
"I feel I ought to hate him, but I can't," she murmured. "We're too much alike, he and I. Whatever his thoughts and intentions on the night of the accident, he surely never meant for anyone to die - any more than I meant any of those other people to die. How can I demand that he be punished for what he's done, when I'm guilty of much the same crime?"
For her own sake, Adam had been hoping that Claire would find it in her heart to forego her thirst for revenge. Instead, she seemed to be compounding her own guilt - which did no one any good.
"No," he said, "to describe your own actions as criminal is inaccurate. A crime is a premeditated act of wrongdoing." He tapped the drawing with one well-manicured forefinger. "This young man knew full well that it was wrong to steal a car and go for a drunken joy ride, and that his actions were likely to put other lives at risk. At very least, he is guilty of willful negligence.
"You, by contrast, were acting unconsciously. And now that you're aware of your own actions, you're making an effort to control them. Don't be confused into identifying with the opposition on the basis of a faulty comparison. If you're going to put yourself in the same place as the man who injured you, let it be in a spirit of forgiveness that will benefit you both."
More than this he was reluctant to say, for fear of placing Claire under any constraint while so highly suggestible. But before she could voice any response, McLeod's voice interposed with sudden, soft urgency.
"Adam," he murmured, "this is awkward, I know, but there's another presence wants a word."
Glancing at him sharply, Adam immediately touched his hand to Claire's wrist.
"Hear nothing until I touch your wrist again, Claire," he commanded. "Close your eyes and go deep asleep."
She closed her eyes and breathed out with a sigh, and Adam returned his attention to his Second. McLeod's particular gifts as a Huntsman were those of a medium. More than once in their long-running relationship, Adam had seen the bluff inspector play host to spiritual entities seeking to communicate on the material plane. Usually they were summoned for a particular purpose; occasionally they volunteered their presence. When they did the latter, it was usually because they had something to contribute.
"Have you a name?" Adam asked.
"Aye," McLeod said in a tight voice. He had put on his Huntsman's ring as Adam dealt with Claire. "The name is Malcolm Grant."
The most recent crash victim from Carnage Corridor!
"Interesting," Adam said. "They don't usually come through so soon after passing over. Do you want me to guide you down?"
"I'm on the brink already," McLeod muttered in the same taut under-voice. "He's really strong. Just stay with me, Adam. I'm not entirely sure he knows what he's doing, but I get the feeling it's fairly urgent."
"All right," Adam said quietly, slipping his hand into his lab coat pocket for his own ring. "Close your eyes and relax, but don't open to him yet. I'll have a word with him, before I let him take you. That's good. Now, on my signal, go deep."
Reaching out with his ring hand, he touched his fingertips lightly to McLeod's forehead, watching the tension melt away as the inspector slid quickly and profoundly into trance. Maintaining that point of contact, unconsciously searching the air around them - though he knew his eyes would see nothing - Adam likewise became aware of another presence very near.