Speaking in Tongues

dog eyes to the waitress. “Yeah. And bring my friend here another beer.”
    A fraction of a pause. Their eyes met. Matthews said, “Make it two.”
    “Sure thing, gentlemen. Put it on your tab?”
    “Oh, no,” Matthews insisted. “This’s on me.”
    •   •   •
    Matthews, wearing his surgical gloves, drove Konnie’s car out of the parking lot of the strip mall and toward the interstate. The cop was in the passenger seat, clutching a bottle of scotch between his legs like it was the joystick in a biplane. His head rocked against the Taurus’s window. Spit and liquor ran down his chin.
    Matthews parked on a side road, not far from Ernie’s, lifted the bottle away from Konnie and splashed some on the dashboard and seat of the car, handed it back. Konnie didn’t notice. “How you doing?” Matthews asked him.
    The big man gazed morosely at the open mouth of the bottle and said nothing.
    At the strip mall where they’d bought the scotch Matthews had pitched out a trash bag containing the tire receipts and all the rest of the notes on the Megan McCall investigation. The doctor now climbed out of the car, pulled Konnie into the driver’s seat.
    Konnie gulped down two large slugs of liquor. He wiped his sweating, pasty face. “Where’m I going?”
    “You’re going home, Konnie.”
    “Okay.”
    “You go on home now.”
    “Okay. I’m going home. Is Carol there?”
    “Your wife? Yeah, she’s there, Konnie. She’s waiting for you to come home. You better hurry.”
    “I really miss her.”
    “You know where to go, don’t you?” Matthews asked.
    “I think . . .” His bleary eyes looked around. “I don’t know.”
    “That road right there. See it?”
    “Sure. There?”
    “Right there,” Matthews said. “Just drive down there. That’ll get you home. That’ll get you home to Carol.”
    “Okay.”
    “Good-bye, Konnie.”
    “Good-bye. That road there?”
    “That’s right. Hey, Konnie?”
    Matthews looked at the rheumy eyes, wet lips.
    “You say hi to Carol for me, won’t you?”
    The cop nodded.
    Matthews flicked the gearshift into drive and stepped back as Konnie accelerated. He was driving more or less down the middle of the road.
    Matthews was walking back to Ernie’s to pick up the Mercedes when he heard the sudden squealing of brakes and the blares of a dozen horns, signaling to Konnie that he’d turned his dark blue Taurus onto the exit, not entrance, ramp of I-66 and was driving the wrong way down the interstate. It was no more than thirty seconds later that he heard the pounding crash of what was probably a head-on collision and—though perhaps only in his imagination—a faint scream.

Chapter Twenty-three
    Night now.
    The corridors of the asylum were murky, illuminated only by the light from two outdoor security lamps bleeding in through the greasy windows.
    Megan McCall, gripping her glass sword, moved silently through the main wing. She couldn’t get the comic books out of her mind, the tentacles gripping screaming women, the monsters raping them.
    Moving toward the boy’s room. Closer, closer.
    She stepped into the large lobby. In the dim light, shadows filled the space. She believed he was back in his room but he could have been anywhere.
    Megan felt a breath on her neck and spun around, practically feeling the metal rod he carried swinging toward her head. Gasping.
    Nothing but a faint breeze.
    Was he asleep in there? Reading? Jerking off?
    Fantasizing about her?
    About what he was going to do to her?
    The hospital corridors were like a maze. She lost her way and was no longer sure where his rooms were. Made several false turns and found herself back where she’d started. Feeling desperate now. Megan was afraidthat he’d find the trap—her only advantage against the boy. She walked more quickly, listening carefully. But she heard no obscene breathing, no lewd whispering of her name. In a way the silence was more frightening than his mutterings, not having the least indication where he was.
    Then she turned a corner and found his room. She saw light spilling into the corridor from the open door. It flickered and darkened for a moment.
    He was inside.
    Megan, sweating. Megan, scared.
    Scared of dying, scared of the monster who lives up the hall, scared of the whispering bears.
    Well, you wanted him, Crazy Megan whispers. What’re you waiting for? Go get him.
    Megan started to tell C.M. to be quiet. But suddenly she stopped—because a thought hit her