Elena was caught off guard by the sharp turn-around. A sudden glimmer of light back again. ‘Yes… uh, of course. This is all about Lorena’s welfare, nothing else.’
Nadine, regaining her feet from her put-down, was slower to respond. ‘Yes, absolutely.’ She proffered with one hand. ‘As I put in my report.’
‘So this has absolutely nothing to do with trying to dig up something on Mr Ryall purely because of your failure to uncover anything through conventional methods?’
Edelston was looking between the two of them keenly, and Elena felt faint alarm bells. Obviously she’d had contact with Ryall, and he’d aired his concerns. But if they simply stood their ground, surely they’d still win the day? ‘No. We’re interested only in Lorena turning her back once and for all on her bad dreams.’ Elena’s tone was firm, resolute. ‘Which is a psychiatrist’s territory, not ours. And hopefully any worries she has about Mr Ryall will evaporate at the same time.’
Nadine was more hesitant, sensing that her supervisor had the scent of blood on something specific, and gave only a mildly concurrent nod.
Edelston continued looking at them pointedly, and a thin, smug smile appeared, as if she’d just corralled two errant children after a long chase. ‘I’m glad you’re both so sure about the worthiness of your intentions.’ Edelston reached to a side-drawer and took out a small cassette tape recorder. ‘Because after hearing this, I’m afraid I’m far from convinced.’ With a momentary hover of her finger for emphasis, she pressed play.
‘…Elena is right in that we can’t do much with what we have. But at least if all of this is only in your mind, we have the comfort that nothing is really happening. You’re not at risk.’
Elena felt her stomach dip as if a trap door had opened. Ryall had taped their last session! Her legs weakened and she felt dizzy, a misty cloud at the back of her eyes threatening blackout.
‘At this point you both appear to have given up the ghost,’ Edelston prompted. ‘And then comes the fight back.’ Her eyes settled steadfastly on Elena.
‘If something’s happening, you’ve got to tell us. Has Mr Ryall been talking to you, telling you not to say anything?’
‘You don’t have to answer that.’
‘I’m sorry. She just seems so confused, and I suppose I’m scrambling for reasons why.’
Marked pause and then a tired inhalation from Nadine. ‘Before we go — is there anything else you’d like to discuss with us, Lorena? Anything which you think might help us…’
Barely audible, ‘No… it’s okay,’ from Lorena, and Edelston talked over the rest of Nadine’s winding down: ‘Noble early attempt, but no severe rule lines broken so far… and at this stage we’re back on track… until we get to…’ Edelston held one hand up like a conductor.
Even without the elaborate cue, Elena knew what was coming. She closed her eyes, surrendering the last faint light of the chine as the cloud washed deeper, making her temples ache. And Lorena was no longer with her, but back at her bedroom window looking out over a grey, misty sea: lost, forlorn. Elena’s legs were suddenly unsteady, and she felt herself sway slightly in the self-imposed darkness, nausea rising.
‘…If this is all only in Lorena’s mind, perhaps as Mr Ryall suggests even linked to her continuing problem with nightmares — surely at least we should request psychiatric assessment.’
‘That’s true. But we just don’t have enough for such an order on what we have now. We could only make the request — it would be left up to the Ryalls to decide.’
‘I understand. But if we sold the psychiatric assessment to the Ryalls on the grounds of it being linked to Lorena’s continuing problem with bad dreams, he’d have little reason to object. After all, it’s the dreams that he keeps complaining are dragging him to her room late at night. If he does object, it’s going to look highly suspicious…’
Elena felt the last vestiges of hope fall away. She wanted to reach out to Lorena, explain: ‘We tried to help you… but in the end our own eagerness let you down. I’m sorry.’ But there wouldn’t even be that chance; after this, they’d be barred from all contact with Lorena.
Edelston’s expression was challenging, one eyebrow sharply arched. ‘So… no ulterior motive, you claim?’
Elena didn’t respond; she just looked down, embarrassed, as on tape Nadine pushed the idea of assessment to Lorena. Their position was untenable, no possible footholds from which they could bounce back. Ryall had won the day. There was nothing more they could say that would save Lorena from his grip. And from now she’d never even get close to knowing what went on beyond his high gates: she’d be lucky if she ever got to see Lorena again.
Roman slotted in the cassette tape.
He hadn’t got a chance to play the tape earlier with all the panic with Venegas, and only remembered now as he hit the freeway fourteen miles south of Lac Shawinigan. He’d planned originally to dump Venegas’s kit bag in a rubbish tip in Lavalle, but then became anxious about carrying it all the way back to the city: what if the RCs had worked out the car switch and he was stopped on the way? In the end he ran back from the shore and threw the kit bag through the ice hole.
His nerves were still racing now with it all, his hand shaking as he fed in the cassette. The voices were indistinct at first, could barely be heard above the engine and the thrum of the wheels. He turned it up a bit, then realized it was just the rustling of the bedsheets and Donatiens mumbling. He picked out only ‘No… it’s okay… I’m with you…’ and the rest was lost. Then Simone’s voice came crashing in loudly: ‘Georges… Georges. Are you okay?’ Roman turned it back down a fraction.
‘No, no… I promise, I…’
‘… You okay?… You were shaking the bed a lot, calling out.’
‘I know, I know. I’m sorry…’
Funicelli had told him that the worrying part came just after Donatiens broke out of his dream. Nothing significant so far. He started to get impatient listening through their banter about Terri Hatcher and Roseanne and Simone’s comments about her father, and he was about to wind the tape further on when the words hit: ‘…Look. There was something that happened that night with Roman and Leduc. Something that I never…’
Roman’s hand pulled back again, his shake now more pronounced. He realized that he’d swayed slightly from his lane as an overtaking truck blasted its air-horn from behind. He straightened up.
‘… I never obviously have come to terms with. So maybe that’s why I keep re-playing it in my dreams. The gun firing, Leduc’s body tossed back like a rag dummy. His blood was everywhere… everywhere. I can still feel it sticky against my skin sometimes at night.’
‘You poor thing… there only one thing you should feel sticky against your skin at night…’
With the sound of rustling sheets and kissing, Roman stopped the tape and hastily re-wound. Funicelli was right to have alerted him, but it wasn’t Donatiens talking about that night with Leduc that was most worrying — it was what wasn’t said. Roman found the section again and hit play:
‘… that happened with Roman and Leduc. Something that I never…’
It was all there in the silence between the words: Donatiens was about to tell Simone, then suddenly had a change of heart.
‘…I never obviously have come to terms…’
Roman stopped, re-wound, played it again, honing in keener on the silence in between: a siren wailed its way through the city in the background, a faint rustle of sheets… but Roman was tuned in solely to what Donatiens thoughts might have been in those few seconds.