His arms rose again. Fear stabbed me and I stood up quickly, backed away.
He didn't seem to notice.
Stood, himself.
Unsteadily, but managing to remain upright. Stronger than he'd appeared out in the hallway, in Heidi's grasp.
Still staring. Hot stare. Hands curling slowly into fists.
Straightening his spine.
Stepping toward me.
Okay, you ve done it, Delaware. Success!
He moved another step closer. I braced myself, plotted my defense. How much damage could he do, unarmed, so thin, so feeble?
Another step. His arms reached out, inviting embrace.
I retreated toward the door.
His mouth opened, contorted-no tongue-thrusts, just the excruciating labor of the lipless orifice struggling to change form, fighting to talk or scream... working so hard, working working-
Suddenly, a shrill, dry sound escaped. Soft, wispy, echoing- soft, but it pounded my ears-
His arms began to climb again, very slowly. When they were parallel with his shoulders, they flapped. Birdlike. Not a bird of prey, something thin, deliberate, delicate-a crane.
Without warning, he turned his back on me and hobbled- still flapping, miming flight-to the far corner of the room.
Pressing his back to the wall, keeping the arms stretched. Head tilted to the right.
Above him, the metal restraint hooks embedded in the wall hovered like warnings.
Eyes still open-wide open-stretched open; I could see wet pink borders all around. Wet eyes. Tears welling, overflowing, streaming down sunken cheeks.
His left leg crossed over its mate so that he was standing on one leg.
More avian posturing-no, no, something else-
Posing.
Unmistakable pose.
His body had formed a cross.
Crucifixion on an unseen scaffold.
Tears flooded his face. Uncontrollable, silent sobs, brutally paroxysmic, each gush seizing ownership of his fragile body and shaking it like a wet kitten.
Weeping Jesus.
29.
HE STAYED THAT way, just stayed that way.
How long had I been in there? Surely Dollard, hostile and impatient, would be returning soon and ordering me out.
Five minutes later, it hadn't happened.
Peake remained against the wall. The tears had slowed, but they hadn't stopped.
The stink had returned. My skin itched. Senses returning, heightening. I wanted out.
Knocking on the brown steel door produced only a feeble thump. Could it be heard out in the hall? No sounds from the outside made their way inside the cell. I tried the hatch. Locked. Released only from the outside. The door hatch opened from the outside. Sensory deprivation. What did that do to already damaged minds?
Another knock, louder. Nothing.
Peake stayed frozen in the cruciform pose, pinioned by invisible spikes.
The names of his victims had loosened his tears. Remorse or self-pity?
Or something I could never hope to understand?
I thought of him entering the Ardullo kitchen, spotting his mother, the strength it had taken to saw through the cervical spine....Upstairs, swinging Scott Ardullo's baseball bat.
The children...
Their names had triggered the Jesus pose.
Martyr pose.
No remorse at all?
Seeing himself as a victim!
Suddenly, the absurdity and futility of what I was doing hit me-trying to pry information from a diseased mind that smoothly morphed sin and salvation. What use could this be to anyone?
Had Claire prodded Peake the same way? Died, somehow, because of her curiosity?
The narrow room started to close in on me. I was up against the door, couldn't get far enough away from the white, dangling creature.
Just a trickle of tears, now.
Crying for himself.
Monster.
Serene in his suffering.
His head rotated very slowly. Lifted a bit. Faced me. Something surfaced in his eyes that I hadn't seen before.
Sharpness. Clarity of purpose.
He nodded. Knowingly. As if the two of us shared something.
I pressed my back against the door.
The space opened behind me and I tumbled back.
Heidi said, "Sorry! I should've opened the hatch and warned you, first."
I regained my balance, took a breath, smiled, tried to look composed. Milo watched me, along with Dollard and the trio of doctors-Aldrich, Steenburg, and Swenson. All in sport shirts, as if they'd just gotten in from the golf course. Nothing playful on their faces.
Heidi started to close the door, looked into the room, went pale. "What's he doing?
What's going on?"
The others rushed over and stared. Peake had returned to the full Jesus pose, head cocked to the right. But no tears.
I said, "He got up a few minutes ago, positioned himself that way."
Aldrich said, "My, my... Has he done this before, Heidi?"
"No. Never. He never gets off the bed." She sounded scared. "Dr. Delaware, you're saying he actually moved on his own?"
"Yes."
Steenburg and Swenson looked at each other. Aldrich said, "Interesting." The gravity of his tone bordered on comical. Trying to assume authority on a case he knew nothing about.
Frank Dollard said, "What'd you say to him to get him that way?"
"Nothing," I said.
"You didn't talk to him?"
Milo said, "What's the big deal? He used to think he was a vegetable, now he's evolved into Jesus."
Dollard and doctors glared at him.
"Psychosis is a disease," said Aldrich. "It's unseemly to ridicule."
"Sorry," said Milo.
Swenson said, "Has he ever talked about religious themes, Heidi?"
"No. That's what I'm trying to tell you. He doesn't talk much, period."
Swenson turned contemplative, laced his hands over his belt buckle. "I see.... So it's something altogether new."
Dollard jutted his head in my direction. "You'd better tell us what you were talking to him about. We need to know, in case he starts acting out."
Aldrich said, "Is there some problem, Frank?"
"These people are a problem, Dr. Aldrich. They keep coming in here, disrupting, going at Peake. Mr. Swig authorized only fifteen minutes with the SDL group, no time with Peake." He pointed through the door. "Look at that. Guy like that, who knows what could happen? And for what? He couldn'ta had anything to do with Dr. Argent. I told 'em that, you told 'em that, Mr. Swig told 'em that-"
Aldrich turned to Milo. "What is your purpose here, Officer?"
"Investigating Dr. Argent's murder."
Aldrich shook his head. "That's not an answer. Why are you questioning PeakeT'
"He said something that might have predicted Dr. Argent's murder, Doctor."
"Predicted? What in the world are you talking about?"
Milo told him.
" 'In a box,' " said Aldrich. He faced Heidi. Steenburg and Swenson did the same.
"When did he say this to you?"
"The day before it happened."
"An oracle?" said Steenburg. "Oh, please. And now he's Jesus-am I the only one who sees a trend toward irrelevance?"
Swenson said, "At least it's original. Relatively, that is. We don't get a lot of
Jesuses anymore." He smiled. "Plenty of Elvises but not that many Jesuses. Maybe it's the godless state of our culture."
No one else seemed amused.
Swenson wouldn't give up. "We can always do what Milton Erickson did with his
Jesuses-give him carpenter's tools and have him fix something."
Aldrich scowled and Swenson looked the other way.
"Officer," said Aldrich, "let me get this clear: on the basis of this supposed... utterance, you're back here?"
"It's an unsolved homicide, Dr. Aldrich."
"Even so..." Aldrich moved closer to the doorway and peered inside. Peake hadn't budged. He closed the door.
Dollard said, "They caused a ruckus in SDL, too. Herman Randall's all worked up, shouting Nazi stuff in his room. We might think of upping his meds."
"Might we?" said Aldrich. He turned to Heidi. "How about you and I meeting after lunch to review Mr. Peake's file. Make sure what we're seeing in there isn't some kind of regression."
"I'd think just the opposite," I said. "He's showing more mobility and affective response."
"Affective response?"
"He was crying, Dr. Aldrich."
Aldrich took another look inside. "Well, he's not crying now. Just hanging there looking pretty regressed. Looks like catalepsy to me."
I said, "Is there any chance of reducing his meds?"
Aldrich's eyes bugged. "Why in the world would we do that!"
"It might loosen him up verbally."
"Loosen him up," said Swenson. "Just what we need, a loose Jesus."
A couple of figures in khaki had drifted out of the TV room. The inmates stared at us, began heading our way. Swenson and Steenburg stepped forward. The men turned, reversed direction, collected near the door to the TV room, returned inside.
Aldrich said, "Thank you for your opinion, Doctor. However, you and Officer Sturgis must leave immediately. No further contact with Mr. Peake or any other patients until cleared by myself or Mr. Swig." To Steenburg and Swenson: "We'd better get moving. The reservation's at one."
Crossing the yard, Dollard walked even farther ahead. Big Chet was on the yard and he started to come over, gesticulating and laughing, rugging at his hair like a toddler.
Dollard's palm shot out. "Stay back!"
The giant halted, pouted, yanked a clump of hair out of his head. The yellow filaments floated to the ground like dandelion petals.
His expression said, Look what you made me do.
"Idiot," Dollard growled.
Chet's eyes slitted.
Dollard waved and two techs jogged over from across the yard. Chet saw them, froze, finally skulked away. Four steps later, he stopped, looked at us over his shoulder.
"Mark my words," he bellowed. "Cherchez la femme Champs Elysees!"
Dollard threw the gate open, slammed it after us, left without a word.
As we waited to get Milo's gun and my knife, I said, "Something sure yanked his shorts."
"Makes you wonder, doesn't it?" he said. The moment we got in the Seville, he was on
the cell phone, asking for the number of the Hemet police department. I let the car idle as he talked. The car seat was a griddle and I cranked the air-conditioning to an arctic blast. Milo got transferred half a dozen times, maintained collegia! cheer through every step, but he looked as if he'd swallowed something slimy. The air inside the car cooled, hit my face, turned my sweat icy. Milo was drenched.
He hung up. "Finally got a supervisor who'd talk. Heidi was right. Dollard was a major-league goldbrick: ignored calls in his zone, took unauthorized leaves, put in for unjustified overtime. They couldn't prove anything serious enough to prosecute him-probably didn't want to. Easier just to ask him to leave."
"How long ago was this?"
"Four years ago. He went straight to Starkweather. Supervisor made a crack about nutcases being perfect for Frank, no one to complain when he slacked off."
"Swig likes him," I said. "Tells you something about Swig."
"High standards, all around."
I drove out of the parking lot. Convection waves rose from the asphalt.
"What did you do to get Peake to play Jesus in the school play?"
"Mentioned the Ardullos' names. After I got a response to Claire's name-eye tics, tensing up. When I whispered Brittany's and Justin's names into his ear he jumped up, ran to the wall, assumed the pose. I'd been thinking of him as lethargic, stuporous, but he can move fast when he wants to. If he'd jumped me, I'd have been unprepared."
"So he's not a total veg. Maybe he's a sneaky bastard, playing all of us. Makes sense when you think about how he walked in on his mother. She's sitting there coring apples, he gets behind her, she has no idea what he's going to do."
