popcorn to the waiting chimpanzees.
"I'm not concerned about bogeymen or phantom footsteps." He looked straight into the cages, trusting his voice to hold her attention. "I am concerned about your fainting spell. The way you're constructing fantasies from the antics of a few old fools and a pair of perverts. The way you're beginning to fold under the pressure. I grant you, the last few months were tough, but still, Allison, you're no child. This worries me."
"I fainted because-"
"Because?"
She paused. "I don't know," she murmured.
"Fatigue." ,
"I feel fine."
"Nervous tension. Lack of sleep. Any number of other things. But mostly an overactive imagination."
Her lips tightened; she was annoyed at his simplistic conclusions. She knew that something was peculiar about that house. No matter what he said, he couldn't convince her otherwise.
"All right, Michael, I'm not going to argue any more. I can't seem to get through to you."
"That's where you're wrong. But I'm not hearing what you think I'm hearing."
"Then what?"
He pulled her away from the animal house and toward the pool that occupied the center of the Central Park Zoo. They walked to the railing and silently watched the seals.
He ran his hand through her hair. "I want you to go to the doctor and get a complete physical examination."
"The doctors examined me in the hospital."
"They were interns. I want you to go to a specialist or two, doctors who won't let you out until they know what's the matter or that there is definitely nothing wrong. And if you have to go away for a while, fine. You need a rest. You should have taken some time before you returned to work."
She shrugged.
"Maybe you should even go see a psychiatrist."
She glanced at him angrily. "You're a damn fool," she cried as she pulled away.
Michael leaned back against the cold metal railing and watched her climb the stairs to the zoo exit. Dejected, he clapped his frozen hands together, held his breath for several seconds, then let the air out of his lungs; a vapor trail extended for several feet. It was cold. Damn cold. And overcast. There were few spaces of blue in the sky, which was gradually becoming grayer. Winter was not far away. Soon the zoo would be empty, the trees completely bare, and the ground covered with snow.
He surveyed the area, decided that she'd had enough time to cool off, and walked slowly in the same direction. He found her seated under an aging maple, her back flush against the trunk, her feet extended before her. She was carefully counting the sections of a leaf as she pulled them out. Soon the last picking fell to the ground and she was left with the narrow twisted green stalk. She closed one eye and held the stem in front of the other, trying to block her vision. Then she laid her hand back on her lap.
Standing over her, he watched her fingers tremble. The last time he had seen her so tense and disturbed, aside from the period prior to her return home last July, was the week before her attempted suicide during the "Karen Farmer" investigation two and a half years ago. Could she be in a similar state? Might something cause her to reach for the barbiturates once again? He wouldn't be surprised. He had suspected her father's death might disturb her badly. And he had realized that he might have to face the consequences directly.
She looked up as he kneeled down, but her eyes avoided his.
"Mind if I keep you company?"
She shook her head.
"What are you doing?"
She held up the stalk; he grabbed it, rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger and laid it back in her palm. "She loves me, she loves me not," he declared. "Which one?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"You didn't keep count?"
"I wasn't playing the game." I see.
She lifted her legs and pulled her knees under her chin. "I was stripping away the beauty to see what it was really like underneath."
"Did you find out?" he asked as he sat back.
"Not yet."
He nodded, raked his fingers along the sod and said, "There was
"I'm not concerned about bogeymen or phantom footsteps." He looked straight into the cages, trusting his voice to hold her attention. "I am concerned about your fainting spell. The way you're constructing fantasies from the antics of a few old fools and a pair of perverts. The way you're beginning to fold under the pressure. I grant you, the last few months were tough, but still, Allison, you're no child. This worries me."
"I fainted because-"
"Because?"
She paused. "I don't know," she murmured.
"Fatigue." ,
"I feel fine."
"Nervous tension. Lack of sleep. Any number of other things. But mostly an overactive imagination."
Her lips tightened; she was annoyed at his simplistic conclusions. She knew that something was peculiar about that house. No matter what he said, he couldn't convince her otherwise.
"All right, Michael, I'm not going to argue any more. I can't seem to get through to you."
"That's where you're wrong. But I'm not hearing what you think I'm hearing."
"Then what?"
He pulled her away from the animal house and toward the pool that occupied the center of the Central Park Zoo. They walked to the railing and silently watched the seals.
He ran his hand through her hair. "I want you to go to the doctor and get a complete physical examination."
"The doctors examined me in the hospital."
"They were interns. I want you to go to a specialist or two, doctors who won't let you out until they know what's the matter or that there is definitely nothing wrong. And if you have to go away for a while, fine. You need a rest. You should have taken some time before you returned to work."
She shrugged.
"Maybe you should even go see a psychiatrist."
She glanced at him angrily. "You're a damn fool," she cried as she pulled away.
Michael leaned back against the cold metal railing and watched her climb the stairs to the zoo exit. Dejected, he clapped his frozen hands together, held his breath for several seconds, then let the air out of his lungs; a vapor trail extended for several feet. It was cold. Damn cold. And overcast. There were few spaces of blue in the sky, which was gradually becoming grayer. Winter was not far away. Soon the zoo would be empty, the trees completely bare, and the ground covered with snow.
He surveyed the area, decided that she'd had enough time to cool off, and walked slowly in the same direction. He found her seated under an aging maple, her back flush against the trunk, her feet extended before her. She was carefully counting the sections of a leaf as she pulled them out. Soon the last picking fell to the ground and she was left with the narrow twisted green stalk. She closed one eye and held the stem in front of the other, trying to block her vision. Then she laid her hand back on her lap.
Standing over her, he watched her fingers tremble. The last time he had seen her so tense and disturbed, aside from the period prior to her return home last July, was the week before her attempted suicide during the "Karen Farmer" investigation two and a half years ago. Could she be in a similar state? Might something cause her to reach for the barbiturates once again? He wouldn't be surprised. He had suspected her father's death might disturb her badly. And he had realized that he might have to face the consequences directly.
She looked up as he kneeled down, but her eyes avoided his.
"Mind if I keep you company?"
She shook her head.
"What are you doing?"
She held up the stalk; he grabbed it, rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger and laid it back in her palm. "She loves me, she loves me not," he declared. "Which one?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"You didn't keep count?"
"I wasn't playing the game." I see.
She lifted her legs and pulled her knees under her chin. "I was stripping away the beauty to see what it was really like underneath."
"Did you find out?" he asked as he sat back.
"Not yet."
He nodded, raked his fingers along the sod and said, "There was
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