Speaking in Tongues

go to that school of hers?”
    “I’m not saying it’s a good lead, Konnie—”
    “And just how many parents in gray cars pick ’em up?”
    “—but it is a lead.”
    “Tag number? Make, model, year?”
    Tate sighed. “Nothing.”
    “Look, Counselor, get me at least one of the above and we’ll talk . . . So, what’re you thinking, somebody snatched her? The Amtrak schedule is bogus?”
    “I don’t know. It’s just fishy.”
    “It’s not a case, Tate. That’s the watchword for today. Look, I gotta go.”
    “One last question, Konnie. Does she have cancer? Hanson’s mother?”
    The detective hesitated. “No. At least it’s not what they’re treating her for.”
    “So somebody talked her into believing she’s dying. Talked her into trying to kill herself.”
    “Yeah. And that somebody was her son. He could have a hundred motives. Gotta go, Counselor.”
    Click.
    He relayed to Bett the rest of his conversation with Konnie.
    “Megan was seeing a therapist who tried to kill his mother? God.”
    “I don’t know, Bett,” he said. “You saw his face. Did he look guilty?”
    “He looked caught,” she said.
    Tate glanced at his watch. It was two-thirty. “Let’s get back to Fairfax and find that teacher. Eckhard.”
    •   •   •
    Crazy Megan finally gets a chance to talk.
    Listen up, girl. Listen here, kiddo. Biz-nitch, you listening? Good. You need me. This is serious . . . You’re not sneaking cigarettes in the Fair Oaks mall parking lot. You’re not flirting with a George Mason junior to get him to buy you a pint of Comfort or Turkey. You’re not sitting in Amy’s room, snarfing wine, hating it and saying it’s great, while you’re like, “Sure, I come every time Josh and I fuck . . .”
    Leave me alone, Megan thought.
    But C.M. won’t have any of her attitude. She snaps, You hate the world. Okay. What you want—
    A family is what I want, Megan responded. That’s all I wanted.
    Oh. Well, that’s precious, her crazy side offers, nice and sarcastic. Who the fuck doesn’t? You want Mommy and Daddy to wave their magic wand and get you out of here? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Well, ain’t going to happen, girl. So get off your fat ass and get out.
    I can’t move, Megan thought. I’m scared, I’m tired.
    Up, girl. Up. Look, he—
    And who is he?
    Crazy Megan is in good form today. What difference does it make? He’s the bogeyman, he’s Jason, he’s Leatherface, he’s Freddy Krueger, he’s your father—
    All right, stop it. You’re like so . . . tedious.
    But C.M.’s wound up now. He’s everything bad, he’s your mother giving Brad a blow job, he’s the barn at your father’s farm, he’s an inconvenient child, he’s a whispering bear—
    “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Megan screamed out loud.
    But nothing stops Crazy Megan when she gets going. It doesn’t matter who he is. Don’t you get it? He thinks you’re locked up tight in your little padded cell. But you’re not. You’re out. And you may not have much time. So get your shit together and get the hell out of here.
    I don’t have any clothes, Megan pointed out.
    That’s the girl I love. Oooo. The sarcasm is thick as Noxema. Sit back and find excuses. Let’s see: You’re pissed ’cause Mom’s off to Baltimore to fuck Mr. Rogers and do you say anything about it? No. It rags you that Dad fits you in around his dates with girls who’ve got inflatable boobs but do you bitch about it? Do you call him on it? No. You go off and get drunk. You have another cigarette. What other distractions can we come up with? Nail polish, CDs, Victoria’s Secret Taco Bell the mall the multiplex a boy’s fat dick gossip . . .
    I hate you, Megan thought. I really, really hate you. Go away, go back where you came from.
    I am where I came from, Crazy Megan responds. You may have some time to fuck around like this, whining, and you may not. Now, you’re buck naked and you don’t like it. Well, if that’s an issue, go find some clothes. And, no, there’s no Contempo Casual around here. Of course, I personally would say, Fuck the clothes, find a door and run like hell. But that’s up to you.
    Megan rolled to her feet.
    She stepped into the corridor.
    Cold, painful. Her feet stung from kicking the wall. She started walking. Looking around, she saw it was a rambling place, one story, and built of concrete blocks. All the windows had thick bars on them. With the padded cell, she figured it was a mental hospital but