Dead Voices (44 page)

“Well, then,” Graydon said. He let his words hang in the air as he picked up his glass and drained what remained. After carefully placing the empty glass on the table, he folded his hands in front of him and leaned toward her. “As I told you over the phone, we have a lot to talk about. There are some things I ... I can do to help you, and ways you can help me.”

Elizabeth was a bit taken aback by the directness of his approach, and she decided to respond in kind. Clenching her hands into fists under the table, so that Graydon couldn’t see, she said, “The first thing I want you to tell me is, how did you know about that name?”

Graydon blinked his eyes rapidly a few times, then smiled benignly. It wasn’t a warm or gentle smile by any means; it had the same stealthiness she saw in his eyes. In a sudden rush of fear, the dream she’d had about him, where his face had slowly’ transformed into that of a wolf as he ate her intestines, rose unbidden in her mind. She looked at him now, fearing that in the shadowed comer of the barroom, his face was going to start shifting and he would transform all the way into a wolf that would lunge across the table and rip out her throat before she could scream.

“All in due time,” Graydon said mildly. ‘‘I’ll tell you every thing —
every thing
— you want to know, in its proper time. As I said over the phone, if we are to proceed, we will do it
my
way. Do you understand?”

Elizabeth nodded, but her reply was cut short when the waitress appeared with their drinks. She put down two fresh napkins and placed the drinks on them, then took Graydon’s empty.

“Would you care to order anything to eat?” she asked pleasantly. Graydon looked questioningly at Elizabeth who, in spite of the rumbling emptiness in her stomach, shook her head. “I’m fine for now,” she said, and Graydon dismissed the waitress with a casual flick of his hand.

The waitress walked away, scowling and no doubt thinking she wasn’t going to get much of a tip from this table.

Elizabeth wanted to press Graydon further on how he had known “Button” would get to her, but Graydon beat her to it by taking control of the conversation.

“Because you skipped our session yesterday,” he said, “my most immediate concern is that you’re having second thoughts about seeing me as a therapist. Of course, I understand that this is entirely normal — necessary, even.” He paused to take a sip of his fresh drink. Elizabeth also raised her glass and drank. “A relationship with a therapist is as intense, I’d say sometimes it’s even
more
intense, than a marital relationship. And it certainly requires care and consideration before you make a total commitment.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, just to say something. The wine felt warm and cloying as it trickled down her throat.

“And one thing I wish to make clear here is that, whether you continue with me or choose to find someone else, I think it’s absolutely imperative that you continue to do therapy.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but snicker softly and say, “Why? Are you convinced that I’m crazy? That I need help?”

Graydon shook his head in the negative. “On, no — no, I don’t think you’re
crazy
, not by any strict definition of the term.”

Elizabeth let out a heavy sigh in mock relief and said, “Gee — thanks, doc.”

“But I do see you as a woman who is nearly buried under an immense load of grief and guilt. Someone who is —”

“Well, Jesus Christ! Wouldn’t you be?” Elizabeth said, fighting hard to control her outburst of anger. Professional or not, she didn’t think it was at all appropriate for Graydon to sit in such pompous judgment of her mental state — especially out in public. It irritated her and only made her think all the more that — no matter what else — she was going to start looking for a new therapist.

A comer of Graydon’s mouth twitched into a half-smile, and he replied, “Yes ... yes, I suppose I would —” His eyes flickered for a moment as he glanced upward. “But I would be more inclined to
do
something about it, certainly not wallow in it!”

Elizabeth cringed at the hard, judgmental edge in his voice. That only made her anger flare all the more.

“I don’t think I’m
wallowing
in it,” she said, glancing nervously over her shoulder to see if their conversation was disturbing anyone else in the bar. Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to Graydon. “When you consider what I’ve been through over the last year and a half, I think I’ve done pretty damned well, all in all.” She sipped her wine again, even though it did little to soothe her throat. “I’ve been through a lot of shit. I’ve experienced the death of a child — my
only
child, something no parent should ever have to deal with. And yeah — all right, I was out there in the Twilight Zone for a while there. But I did hang tough. I kind of went off the deep end, but I came back. And sure, I may have ... may have wanted to die, but I didn’t! I
didn’t
kill myself! I
didn’t
give up!”

Graydon’s half-smile didn’t flinch as he cocked his eyebrows and nodded his agreement. “True ... true,” he muttered; then, after a slight pause, he added, “but you can’t tell me it isn’t crippling you emotionally.”

Elizabeth took hold of her glass of wine, not entirely sure if she intended to take another sip or toss the contents into Graydon’s face. She knew damned well she was being manipulated, and she wanted to rise to the occasion, to fight back at him if only to show just how Goddamned tough everything had made her.

“And for the record, I don’t care
what
you say,” she said, her voice lowering with contempt, “I’m not entirely sure I
do
need counseling. Whether you think I’ve ‘made it’ or not — I’m not sure it even
matters
what you think. What’s important is what I think, and
I
think I’m doing pretty fucking good. I’m going to make it because I’m a survivor.”

Leaning an elbow on the table, Graydon began massaging his forehead above his left eye. In the dim light of the bar, with noisy conversations going on all around them, Elizabeth thought he looked, not diminished and certainly not insecure, but — definitely — out of place ... as though he needed to be in his office, on his own turf, in order to maintain complete control of the situation.

“Elizabeth ... Elizabeth,” Graydon said, shaking his head sadly. It surprised her when he reached across the table and grasped her hand tightly. His grip was warm, and the palm of his hand was clammy, slick with sweat. “Don’t you understand that I can help you? More than you realize!” The tips of his fingernails were digging into her skin, and for a flickering instant, she imagined, not human fingernails, but claws — wolf’s claws carving red furrows in her flesh. Unable to speak, and wanting to pull her hand away from him but not daring to, Elizabeth simply nodded, her face rigid with fear.

“I can prove to you just how much you need me,” Graydon said in a low, menacing tone. “Not just anybody, but me! Just as much as
I
need
you
!”

“No ... no, I ... “ Elizabeth stammered, shaking her head jerkily from side to side.

So this was it all along
, she thought.
He’s making a play. Everything until now has been nothing more than maneuvering to get me into the sack!

“I can prove how much you need me by asking you one simple question,” Graydon said, as his grip on her hand tightened even more, restricting the circulation in her hand so that pins and needles tingled through her fingers. “By asking one simple question and by answering one, I can convince you like
that
!” He snapped his fingers in front of her face like a hypnotist breaking the trance.

“Go ahead,” Elizabeth said. Her voice was twisted and seemed to be coming from deep inside her chest.

Is that all I am to him
, she wondered
— a puppet?

“Okay,” Graydon said, his eyes darkening as he frowned and, still holding onto her hand, leaned closer to her over the table. The pressure made Elizabeth’s pulse slam in her ears. “Tell me this — have you spoken with your daughter?”

Elizabeth couldn’t have been more stunned if a thousand volts of electricity had jolted her body. Her shoulders jerked backward, and every muscle in her body seemed to contract simultaneously. Cold, numbing fingers squeezed her brain as her mind filled with the deafening roar of ...

White noise!

In the darkened recesses of her brain, she heard a high-pitched voice whisper —

“
I saw you there ... “

“
Here I ... Here I ... “

“
Help! ... Mommy! ... Help!”

“Well ... have you?” Graydon asked. His eyes flashed with terrifying intensity.

Elizabeth’s mouth gaped open, and her eyes felt as though they were bulging right out of her face as she stared at him. His lips moved, and she heard his words; but they seemed oddly disjointed, as though she were watching a movie whose soundtrack was a few seconds off.

“I ... I tried,” she stammered. Each word, each thought was a burning coal in the center of her brain. “I ... really tried.”

“How?” Graydon asked, as his grip painfully wrung her wrist. “
How
did you try?”

Wave after wave of confusion swept up over her, threatening to carry her away. The entire bar — the whole world — telescoped down into a tightly focused beam that was directed squarely at her. Her throat felt powder dry, and no matter how much she licked her lips, she knew she wouldn’t be able to form words that wouldn’t blow away to dust before she could say them.

“I have to know
how
you tried to talk to her,” Graydon said. His dark eyes were wide and staring, twin pulsating pools of darkness that looked ...

Like wolfs eyes!
Elizabeth thought with panic, as her nightmare images rose more clearly in her mind.
And if he smiles now, will his mouth and teeth start gushing blood ...

My blood?

Her free hand shook uncontrollably as she reached for her glass of wine and raised it to her lips. The sound of her swallowing was as loud as horses’ hoofbeats in her ears. The liquid ran down her throat in a single, hot surge that threatened to gag her.

“I was ... given the name of someone,” she said, her voice no more than a gasp. “Someone who said he could communicate with the spirit world.”

“Who?” Graydon demanded. “Tell me his name.”

Against her will, feeling as if Graydon had hypnotized her and put her completely under his control, Elizabeth heard herself say, “His name’s Eldon Cody. He lives up in Standish — a place called Black Hill Farm.”

Graydon nodded, but Elizabeth didn’t know if it was because he recognized the name or for some other reason.

“And what happened when you went to see this ... this Mr. Cody?” Graydon asked.

Completely helpless, lost in the intensity of his gaze and the steady pressure of his grip on her hand, Elizabeth said, “We did something he said was ... I think he called it E.V.P.”

Graydon nodded his understanding. “Electronic voice phenomenon.”

Elizabeth looked at him sharply, wondering how in the hell Graydon had known something like that.

“He used a blank tape and set his radio to what he called white noise,” she continued. “I asked some questions aloud to Caroline, and she — or someone in the spirit world — was supposed to answer.”

“And
did
she?” Graydon asked with sudden ferocity. “Did you hear any voices when you played the tape back?”

Biting her lower lip, Elizabeth nodded, but, suddenly mistrustful of Graydon, she said, “We heard something, but ... “

“
I saw you there! Here I ... Here I ... “

“ ... But it was nothing we could make out very clearly.”

“
Help! ... Mommy! ... “

“You’re sure of that?” Graydon asked, as he continued to apply pressure to Elizabeth’s hand. His eyes swelled, seeming to pulsate with energy as he gazed at her.

Trembling, Elizabeth was unable to look away from his steady stare. Her voice sounded raw when she blurted out, “It sounded like Caroline!” Tears sprang from her eyes, but still she couldn’t break the hold of his gaze. “I don’t know for sure. I mean, I was just about scared out of my mind, but I could have sworn I heard Caroline say, ‘I saw you there!’”

“And do you still have this tape?” Graydon asked.

“No,” Elizabeth said, sighing deeply and shaking her head. “While we were rewinding it, it got tangled in the machine and ruined.”

“Pity,” Graydon said. He released her hand, shifted his gaze from her, and leaned back in the booth. “I would have been very interested to hear that tape.”

Sobbing, Elizabeth mumbled, “I don’t think I could listen to it again —
ever
!”

“And now that it’s been a while,” Graydon said, his voice rumbling deeply, “and you’ve had time to think things over — what do you think about it all?”

“I ... I don’t know ... what you mean,” Elizabeth stammered. Her eyes drifted over to her wine glass, and she picked it up and raised it to her mouth. This time, when she swallowed, the wine was soothing and cooling, as it should be. She emptied the glass in two quick gulps.

“I mean, quite simply, do you believe you did, in fact, hear your daughter’s voice on that tape?”

Elizabeth could do nothing· except sit there and stare at him, wondering exactly what this man was up to. Certainly the last few minutes went way beyond the normal bounds of therapy. And such a seemingly intense interest in the occult was way beyond the bounds of normal science. So what was his point? What was he getting at?

“I had asked you once before, during our last session, if you thought, in a general sense, that it was possible to communicate with the dead, “ Graydon said. The matter-of fact tone of his voice completely belied what he was saying. “So now I’ll stop beating around the bush and ask you directly: Would you like to talk with your dead daughter?”

Elizabeth’s vision pulsated as she sat in stunned silence for several seconds. Then, slowly, her pulse slamming like a pile driver in her head, she nodded and said, “If it’s at all possible — yes ... I’d like to very much.”

Graydon smiled solemnly. “And would you believe me if I told you I could arrange for you to do just that? Talk with Caroline?”