Falling by Pike Christopher

Author:Pike, Christopher [Pike, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

TEN

The Acid Man had a sailor for a nurse. The guy looked like Popeye: tattooed arms, muscles as large as cantaloupes, sloppy white uniform, twisted grin. He reeked of cigarettes and cheap pot. Kelly Fienman had not called to say she was stopping by. But with a flash of her badge, the guy let her in to see Professor Gene Banks. The latter raised his head from a book as she stepped into the living room. He told Popeye to go work out in the next room. Kelly remembered the ton of exercise equipment. Good to know it was not being wasted. Popeye closed the door as he left. She was alone with her assailant in the same apartment where he had attacked her.

“You look well, Kelly,” Banks said.

“Thank you. How are you feeling?”

He moved his head. Not much else to move. “I’m fine. It’s good to see you again. But I suppose you cannot say the same for me. What can I do for you?”

“I need your help,” Kelly replied, and she shivered. The apartment windows were wide open and it was a chilly Midwestern day. Outside the nearby stream gurgled. She remembered how she had initially been taken by the serenity of the view. Green meadows gliding into silent woods. As before, the apartment was neat and tasteful. The only major addition was a large white hospital bed tucked in the corner of the living room. So Banks no longer slept in the place where he had poured the acid onto her abdomen. Did the room give him nightmares? She wanted to ask but would not.

Banks had shrunk. Propped straight in his motorized wheelchair, he looked like a mannequin in need of a new suit. Gone was his long hair and closely cropped beard. He was shaved clean—perhaps to facilitate his care. He had lost weight; his spotted skin hung on his face like dried bark on a dead tree. A spork was attached to his right hand with Velcro. His left arm looked worse than useless. Ironically, he smelled nice—he wore the same cologne Tony favored, Bvlgari pour Homme. Coincidence—or had Banks done research? It begged another question.

Had he known she would appear at his doorstep?

The biggest change was in his eyes. Whereas before they had sparkled—even if with insanity—now they were soaked marbles. He was pleased to see her but seemed unable to summon the energy to focus his penetrating mind on her. She wondered if the decline in his physical appearance was deceptive. He was never who he appeared to be. Even the pajamas he wore—elves playing in the snow with reindeer—mocked his murderous nature. When she had first met him, she had thought of him as a department store Santa Claus. Now she knew the type of toys he carried in his bag.

There was a dark stain on the tan carpet near the phone. Standing in that exact spot, her intestines in hand, she had dialed 911, and then fainted into a nightmare. Banks might have read her mind; the dullness in his blue eyes momentarily lifted.

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