She reversed time, running it backward like a filmstrip. "Label the CD amp;"
"Right."
The light of the pen in her hand. Thenno light. "Dark. All dark."
"So you can't remember?"
"Can't amp;" This wasn't quite true. "Won't," she said slowly.
"Won't?"
This was odd. She needed to remember. But amp; "Don't want to."
"So you do remember. You just don't want to? Is that it?"
She didn't answer. She was trying to understand. Obviously some psychological defense mechanism was trying to protect her from reexperiencing the trauma. This was a good thing. It meant that the memory was there, retrievable, if she could overcome the mental barrier.
"Robin? Is that it?"
"Yes."
"Part of you remembers?"
"Yes."
"It's remembering right now?"
That sounded correct. "Right now," she whispered.
"Can you get in touch with that part of you?"
It was a good question, the proper question to ask, but she didn't know the answer. "Maybe."
"Will you try?"
"Don't want amp;"
"Will you?"
Her reluctance was irrational, but irrationalities could have as strong a hold as any rational conviction. Stronger, sometimes. She had to fight it, push past it.
"Robin? Will you?"
"Yes."
"What are you seeing now?"
The room wheeled around her. "I'm turning amp; turning in my chair."
"Why are you turning?"
"His voice. I hear it in his voice."
"Hear what?"
"Danger. A threat. So I'm turning amp;"
"Yes? You turn, and what do you see?"
"Dark."
Wolper sighed. "Everything's gone dark again? This isn't going to work, Robin. I'm sorry. It's a dead end."
He hadn't understood. She plunged forward in a rush of words. "The room is dark. I turned off the lights for the session. When I turn, I see the dark. Shadows. Movement amp;" She felt herself flinch and let out a soft cry.
"He hit me. I'm falling. I'm on the floor. He got loose, Justin got loose."
It was all happening again, happening at this moment, but in dreamy slow motion.
"You see him?" Wolper asked.
"Can't see. Too dark. Need to scream. Deputy's in the next room. If I scream amp; But his hand is on my mouth. He's leaning over me. There's light."
"What light?"
"The penlight. In my hand. It comes on. I see him. Right before he hits me again, I see him; I see his face."
"Is it Gray?"
"No."
"Is it Brand?"
"No."
"Who is it, Robin?"
"You. I see you."
She opened her eyes, and in the glow of the computer console Wolper smiled.
"That's right, Doctor," he said softly. "You saw me."
Chapter Forty-nine
After leaving Hollywood, Brand had driven into Newton Area, checking his rearview mirror to be sure he wasn't followed. He'd parked at the station house and gone inside, heading straight to his locker, ignoring the startled hellos from officers working the night watch.
There had been nothing in his locker except his uniform and his other gear. He'd gone over it twice, searching everywhere, until he was satisfied.
His house, then. It had to be in his house.
Back in his car, guiding the Crown Vic onto the freeway to make the crosstown run, he asked himself what the hell he was going to do. He didn't know.
This thing he'd gotten himself mixed up in was too big. Or maybe the real problem was that he was too small. The small fish always ended up as bait, snack food for the marlins and the sharks. He didn't have the clout andhe might as well face itdidn't have the smarts, either, to deal with his present circumstances. He was cornered, treed, sweating through his shirt, scared shitless, out of luck and out of moves.
God damn it, he hated his life.
The gate to his driveway was locked, as always. He got out of his car and opened it, then motored into the carport.
The gate was one gap in the bungalow's security. Would have been better to have an automatic gate that closed behind him as soon as he entered. Leaving it open until he closed it manually could allow an intrusion.
But he guessed he didn't have to worry about that now. When they came for him, they wouldn't be sneaking onto the property. They would come with a warrant, and he would let them in, because he would have no choice. And they would find what they were looking for.
Unless he found it first.
He turned off the engine, opened the car doorand was thrown back across both seats by the weight of a man's body atop his own.
In the glow of the Vic's ceiling light, he looked up into the face of Justin Gray.
"Hey, Sarge." Gray smiled. "You and me need to have a conversation."
Brand thought about the gun under his windbreaker, but Gray had thought of it first. He patted Brand down, unholstered the gun, and tossed it into the backseat, out of reach. "No tricks," Gray said.
"What the fuck do you want?"
"Like I said, I'm in a talkative mood. Hope you are, too."
"I've got nothing to say to you."
"We'll see."
As Brand watched, Gray depressed the cigarette lighter.
"Hey," Gray said. "I know you, motherfucker. You're the dude from the video place."
Brand was silent.
"You was chasing meyou and your friend. All official, with your guns out and shit. Two big men hunting the bad guy. Funny thing. You don't seem so big now."
"Neither do you."
"Oh, I'm big enough, Sarge. Why'd you set me up?"
"What?"
"You framed me for conking Doc Robin, snuffing the Deputy Dawg. Why?"
"I don't know anything about that."
"Right, right." The cigarette lighter popped out. Gray extracted it from the socket. "You're one tough mother, right, Sergeant Brand?"
Brand tried not to stare at the lighter.
"Brand," Gray said. "Now that's an interesting name. One of those names that means something, you know. Like, there's brands of cereal. And something that's never been used is brand-new. And then, of course, there's this kind of brand."
He pressed the burning end of the lighter into Brand's cheek.
Brand screamed, but no one heard it. Gray's hand covered his mouth.
The pain went on forever. Brand had never known there could be this kind of pain.
Finally Gray withdrew the lighter and pushed it back into the socketall the way.
"That hurt, I bet," Gray said. "I know about shit like that. My daddy used to burn me with the radiator."
Brand couldn't answer. His eyes were wet. He was crying, maybe for the first time in his adult life.
"Used to brand me, I guess you'd say." Gray chuckled. "I don't got all night, Sarge. You wanna tell me what kind of game you crooked-ass cops are runnin' on me?"
He tried one more time to resist, not out of bravery but self-preservation. He was sure Gray would kill him if he heard the truth. "Nobody's playing any games."
"Pissing me off, Sarge." The lighter popped out again, recharged, and Gray grabbed it. It found Brand's ear, drilling partway into the ear canal, sending hot wires of agony straight into his brain.
Brand wanted to tell this man everything, but he couldn't stop screaming long enough to get the words out.
The lighter withdrew. The left side of Brand's head throbbed with pain. He thought his eardrum had been ruptured. Something oozed out of his ear and down his cheek.
He was crying againbig, racking sobs interspersed with shallow wheezing.
"Gonna talk?" Gray asked. His voice seemed far away. Brand figured he'd gone deaf in one ear.