Jeffery Deaver - Speaking in Tongues

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

JEFFERY DEAVER

I

THE WHISPERING BEARS

Crazy Megan parks the car.

Doesnt get out, listens to the rain.

The engine ticked to silence as she looked down at her clothes. It was her usual outfit: JNCO jeans. A sleeveless white tee under a dark denim work shirt. Combat boots. Wore this all the time. But she felt uneasy today. Embarrassed. Wished shed worn a skirt at least. The pants were too baggy. The sleeves dangled to the tips of her black-polished fingernails and her socks were orange as tomato soup. Well, what did it matter? The hourd be over soon.

Maybe the man would concentrate on her good qualitiesher wailing blue eyes and blond hair. Oh, and her body too. He was a man.

Anyway, the clothes covered up the extra seven... well, all right, ten pounds that she carried on her tall frame.

Stalling. Crazy Megan doesnt want to be here one bit.

Rubbing her hand over her upper lip, she looked out the rain spattered window at the lush trees and bushes of suburbia. This April in northern Virginia had been hot as July and ghosts of mist rose from the asphalt. Nobody on the sidewalksit was deserted here. Shed never noticed how empty this neighborhood was.

Crazy Megan whispers, Just. Say. No. And leave.

But she couldnt do that. Megahassle.

She took off the wooden peace symbol dangling from her neck and flung it into the backseat. Megan brushed her blond hair with her fingers, pulled it away from her face. Her ruddy knuckles seemed big as golf halls. A glance at her face in the rearview mirror. She wiped off the black lipstick, pulled the blond strands into a ponytail, secured the hair with a green rubber band.

Okay, let's do it. Get it over with.

A jog through the rain, She hit the intercom and a moment later the door latch buzzed.

Megan McCall walked into the waiting room where shed spent every Saturday morning for the past seven weeks. Ever since the Incident, She kept waiting for the place to become familiar. It never did.

She hated this. The sessions were bad enough but the waiting really killed her. Dr. Hanson always kept her waiting. Even if she was on time, even if there were no other patients ahead of her, he always started the session five minutes or so late. It pissed her off but she never said anything about it.

Today, though, she found the new doctor standing in the doorway, smiling at her, lifting an eyebrow in greeting. Right on time.

Youre Megan? the man said, offering an easy smile. Im Bill Peters. He was about her fathers age, handsome. Full head of hair. Hanson was bald and looked like a shrink. This guy... Maybe a little George Cooney, Crazy Megan decides. Her wariness fades slightly.

And he doesnt call himself Doctor. Interesting.

Hi. Come on in. He gestured. She stepped into the office. Hows Dr. Hanson? she asked, sitting in the chair across from his desk. Somebody in his familys sick?

His mother. An accident. I hear shell be all right. But he had to go to Leesburg for the week.

So you re like a substitute teacher?

He laughed. Something like that.

"I didn't know shrtherapists took over other patients.

Some dont.

Dr. PetersBill Petershad called yesterday after school to tell her that Hanson had arranged for him to take over his appointments and, if she wanted, she could make her regular session after all. No way, Crazy Megan had whispered at first. But after Megan had talked with Peters for a while she decided shed give it a try. There was something comforting about his voice. Besides, baldy Hanson wasn't doing diddly for her. The sessions amounted to her lame bitching about school and about being lonely and about Amy and Josh and Brittany, and Hanson nodding and saying she had to be friends with herself. Whatever the hell that meant.

Thisll he repeating some things, Peters now said, but if you dont mind, could we go over some of the basics?

I guess.

He asked, Its Megan Collier?

No, Colliers my fathers name. I use my mothers. McCall. She rocked in the stiff-backed chair, crossing her legs. Her tomato socks showed. She uncrossed her legs and planted her feet squarely on the

floor,

You dont like therapy do you? he asked suddenly

This was interesting too. Hanson had never asked that. Wouldnt ask anything so blunt. And unlike this guy, Hanson didnt look into her eyes when he spoke. Staring right back, she said, No, I dont.

He seemed amused. You know why youre here? Silent as always, Crazy Megan answers first. Because Im fucked up. Im dysfunctional. I'm a nutcase. Im psycho. Im loony. And half the school knows and do you hare a fucking clue how hard it is to walk through those halls with everyone looking at you and thinking. Shrink bait. shrink bait? Crazy Megan also mentions what just plain Megan would never in a million years tell himabout the fake computerized picture of Megan in a straitjacket that made the rounds of Jefferson High two weeks ago.

But now Megan merely recited, Cause if I didnt come to see a therapist theyd send me to Juvenile Detention.

When shed been found, drunk, strolling along the catwalk of the municipal water tower two months ago shed been committing a crime.

The county police got involved and she maybe pushed, maybe slugged a cop. But finally everybody agreed that if she saw a counselor the commonwealths attorney wouldnt press charges.

Thats true. But its not the answer. She lifted an eyebrow

The answer is that youre here so that you can feel better.

Oh, please, Crazy Megan begins, rolling her crazy eyes. And, okay it was totally stupid, his words themselves. But.

but,.. there was something about the way Dr. Peters said them that, just for a second, less than a second, Megan believed that he really meant them. This guys in a different universe from Dr. Loser Elbow Patch Hanson. He opened his briefcase and took out a yellow pad. A brochure fell out onto the desk. She glanced at it. A picture of San Francisco was on the cover.

Oh, youre going there? she asked. A conference, he said, flipping through the brochure. He handed it to her.

Awesome. I love the city. he continued. Im a former hippie. Tie-dyed-in-the-wool Deadhead and Jefferson Airplane fan ... Whole nine yards. Course. that was before your time.

No way. I'm totally into Janis Joplin and Hendrix,

Yeah? You ever been to the Bay Area?

Not yet. But Im going someday. My mother doesnt know it. But I am.

He squinted. Hey, you know, there is a resemblancevon and Joplin. If you didnt have your hair up itd he the same as hers.

Megan now wished she hadnt done the pert n perky ponytail.

The doctor added, Youre prettier, of course. And thinner. Can you belt out the blues?

Like, I wish..."

But you dont remember hippies. He chuckled.

Time out! she said enthusiastically. Ive seen Woodstock, like, eight times.

She also wished shed kept the peace symbol.

So tell me, did you really try to kill yourself? Cross your heart.

And hope to die? she joked.

He smiled.

She said, No.

What happened?

Oh, I was just drinking a little Southern Comfort. All right, maybe more than a little.

Joplins drink, he said. Too fucking sweet for me.

Whoa, the F-word. Cool. She was almostalmostbeginning to like him.

He glanced again at her hairthe fringes on her face. Then back to her eyes. It was like one of Joshs caresses. Somewhere within her she felt a tiny pingof reassurance and pleasure.

Megan continued her story. And somebody I was with said no way theyd climb up to the top and I said I would and I did. Thats it. Like a dare is all.

All right, so you got nabbed by the cops on some bullshit charge.

Thats about it.

Not exactly the crime of the century.