I watch myself react, watch my right-hand curl into a fist, watch the fist slam into Marshal’s left eye, watch Marshal jerk backward as I reach into the pocket of my sweats to grasp the handle of a paring knife. The knife has an ultrasharp ceramic blade shielded by a plastic sheath. Because I’ve practiced the move, I know that if I press the sheath against my thigh, the blade will slide free.
It doesn’t come to that. Marshal covers his eye with his hand, then sinks into his chair. “Fuck, dude, you couldn’t maybe say, ‘Keep your hands to yourself?’”
That’s exactly what the others would demand, all of them. But Victoria and the bunch? They’re women. I’m not.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I finally say. “Please.”
Marshal looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. Lesson learned, he’s not gonna fight. I offer my fist and say, “No hard feelin’s, man. It’s just … well, you caught me by surprise and I reacted.”
He taps my fist with his, relieved, I think, to find the dramatics over and done with. “So, what’s this guy….”
“Yeah, what’s Halberstam up to that you wanna take this risk?”
I have to think about it for a moment, to organize my thoughts. “Look, if you reviewed a transcript of one of Halberstam’s sessions, you wouldn’t find anything to complain about. It’d all seem normal. But the jerk reminds us at every session, and usually more than once, that he holds….” I’m about to say our, but catch myself at the last minute. “That he holds Carolyn Grand’s future in his hands. If he snaps his fingers, she’ll find herself confined to a crazy house for an indefinite period of time. So, maybe I’m completely wrong. Maybe Halberstam’s on the up and up. Maybe he sincerely wants to help me. But I’ve dealt with malignant therapists before and I’m not willing to take the chance.”
“I hear that, Kirk, and I can’t criticize you.” Marshal nods agreement. “But I can’t give you a price off the top of my head. Like what you want’s not somethin’ I do, so I gotta look around. Give me a day.”
Back in our dark apartment, I strip off my sweats and slide into bed, still nobody else awake. The bed feels empty tonight, empty and enormous, with me a tiny speck barely afloat in an empty ocean.
I’m still keyed up and I draw my legs toward my chest. For all the macho bullshit with Marshal, at heart I’m scared shitless. I’m scared and I’m tired of living under threat and I’m thinking maybe we weren’t meant to survive. I mean, not every baby lives to be an adult. Thousands and thousands of little kids die every year. And not just from disease or accident. Maybe we were meant to be one of them.
All in a rush, Hank Grand—I won’t call him our father—leaps into my consciousness. He’s been lingering, a shadow just out of sight, and now he’s come to say hello. Unlike the rest, I watched the movies, as much as I could stand. Hank appeared in many, his blurred face no more than a dancing gray balloon. I was also shown a mug shot taken when Hank was first arrested. His regular features were composed, his mud-brown eyes slick and shiny, his posture relaxed. Like he didn’t give a shit.
I picture those zombie eyes, compare them to Halberstam’s. The doctor’s blue eyes glittered with life, with …
The bed shrinks as a question forms. Halberstam’s eyes are first of all calculating. For him, it’s about making plans, devising strategies, putting them into play. It’s about watching other people dance to his tune. But there’s need there, too. Need and lust.
So, which of the two—Hank Grand or Laurence Halberstam—is more dangerous? Or are the threats merely different, neither one more or less deadly than the other?
Suddenly I feel Eleni’s presence, as real as if she were breathing in my ear. As if she were spooned into me, holding me in her arms. Victoria and Martha have been dominating the body for almost two weeks, leaving Eleni, Serena, and me to communicate in bits and pieces. Halberstam’s been the sole topic most of the time, specifically whether Eleni should let him into her pants. That’s not Eleni’s style, not at all, but the way we’re thinking, Halberstam won’t commit us as long as he gets laid every so often.
Lying here now, thinking about Halberstam’s cold stare, I’ve had a change of heart. Halberstam doesn’t need an incentive to keep us around. He’ll toy with us until he decides we’re no longer fun. And then—
I stir, suddenly restless, when Tina’s voice sounds in my ear. “Daddy,” she announces, her tiny voice surprisingly cool, “will come for me. Daddy always comes for me.”