“You are so in the tank for Sensory,” I said. “They must have paid you a queen’s ransom.”
“I won’t deny the paycheck, and I’ll leave it to you whether I sold out. But I’ve spent a lot of years learning about this agency, and I have to say, I believe in what you’re doing.”
“What I used to do.”
“What you were born to do.”
Dr. Nadine Crouch had been trying to reprogram me for days. Today she wore an ebony jacket and matching skirt over a white crepe blouse.
“You’re wearing long sleeves again,” I said. “Is it winter?”
She pursed her lips. “I must try to keep in mind how difficult this is for you. No, it’s Spring,” she said, “and I always wear long sleeves. When you’re my age, the arms have a tendency to sag.”
“You’ve got bingo arms?” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
I laughed, thinking about it. “Like when the old ladies at the bingo parlor hold their cards over their heads and yell ‘Bingo!’”
“That’s a harsh observation.”
“Oh, please.”
“You’ll be old someday. See how funny it is then,” she snapped.
“Hey, I was just kidding around. There’s nothing wrong with your arms.” I grinned. “Or your legs, for that matter.”
“Let’s just get back to the topic at hand,” she said, trying not to smile.
She’d been showing me dozens of news articles depicting senseless, tragic deaths, in an attempt to convince me that innocent people die every day, and they’re going to die whether I kill them or not.
“I’m done with this,” I said.
“This is who you are,” she said. “You’re a tragic hero.”
“Me? A hero? You mean, like Superman?”
“Like Joan of Arc.”
“I remind you of a chick? Must be my sissy new name.”
“Fine, forget Joan. A tragic hero is an inherently noble, extraordinary person. He has a greatness about him that makes him seem almost super-human to others, and a purpose that serves mankind. He sacrifices his life for a great cause or principle.”
“I sense a however coming.”
“However, he has a fatal flaw that ultimately brings about his destruction.”
“And mine is?”
“Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost your ability to remain detached.”
“Have you met Callie?”
“I have, many times. She visits you regularly.”
“And Quinn?”
“Not so regularly.”
I nodded. “Quinn is very detached,” I said.
“I know you consider him a friend, so I’ll refrain from criticism.”
“I can’t believe Darwin hired you to reprogram me. Wait—yes I can. But how does that sit with you? I mean, you treated me as a patient. Do you really feel it’s ethical to brainwash me into killing people?”
“I’ll say it’s appropriate. As for your use of the word ‘brainwashing,’ I’m not going to split hairs over terminology.”
I’d used the term on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her. But she didn’t bite. I said, “Nadine, you’re the most honest professional person I’ve ever met.”
“It helps to believe in the cause.”
“You know about Monica Childers?”
“I do. She was the catalyst, the one that put the wedge of doubt in your mind.”
“You’re very good at what you do, Nadine.”
“Not as good as you,” she said.
I kept my eyes fixed on hers until she blinked. “You’re a psychiatrist,” I said. You’re supposed to stand for something. You seriously expect me to believe you want me to keep killing innocent people?”
“Your issues with innocence started with Victor, and they’ll end the moment you stop working for him.”
“It’s good money,” I said, though I had already made the decision to stop.
“You took the work for one reason. And I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is.”
I already knew. “There was too much hang time,” I said, “between the killings.”
Nadine’s eyes misted briefly. She patted my hand. “This is one of the three reasons it’s worth giving up my practice to work with people like you.”
“What are the other two?”
“Money and Joan.”
“Joan of Arc again?”
“You remember the first time we met, the pictures on my desk?”
“The two Japanese-American boys your sister adopted?”
“You have a prodigious memory,” she said.
“For me it was a month ago.”
“Joan was my sister. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she worked on the top floor of the World Trade Center.”
I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“She called her husband that morning, but he was busy with a client. She called me, terrified, but I was busy with a patient. She tried to leave me a message, but her phone went dead.”
“You feel somehow responsible?”
“Of course not. But it shouldn’t have happened. And when it did, I should have been there for her.”
“And now you want revenge.”
She shook her head. “Revenge is a waste of emotion.”
“But you want me to prevent it from happening again, even though innocent people will die. Sounds to me like you have a fatal fl aw. You can’t remain detached from what happened to your sister.”
“Let’s keep this about you,” she said. “You’re a soldier, a man of action. You can’t survive in captivity.”
“By captivity you mean settling down, raising a family?”
“You tried it before, with Janet and Kimberly. Didn’t you learn anything? Your domestication only served to torment the people you love.”
“You think you know me—”
