Dr. Mansfield held up his hands and sighed. “I’m sorry. Really. Look, I understand you’re upset. I get attached to my patients too. In fact, I was just on the phone with one of them. It’s hard when they don’t respond well to treatment.” He got up from his desk and walked over to her. “We’re both a little spent here. Let’s just chalk this up to stress, all right? No hard feelings?” He opened his arms for a hug.
Lauren shook her head. She suddenly felt ten years old. She wanted the embrace, wanted to cry on his shoulder, but she wouldn’t let herself. Smiling weakly, she said, “Thanks. I’m fine. I don’t usually get so emotional.”
“You’re human. Emotional is OK.”
Lauren smiled. “Yeah, I guess.” She recognized his tone. It was what she called his grandfather mode, his voice full of comfort, his eyes sympathetic, the smile just enough to show he cared. It was the Dr. Mansfield she was used to but his flash of anger only seconds before left her unnerved. No amount of country charm could shake her surprise at the dark cloud that had covered his face. It made the old gentleman doctor routine seem just that, a routine. Then again, he had said that the phone call he was on when she walked into the room was a patient who wasn’t doing well. Maybe it was the stress.
Still, she suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the room alone with him. She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Besides, she was anxious to call Felicia’s parents.
“I’m going to try again with the family to get them to authorize an autopsy. I have good rapport with the father. I think I’ll be able to convince him.” She turned to leave, but was stopped by Dr. Mansfield’s low baritone voice.
“You’re too late. The body was taken directly to Westlawn. Felicia Rodriguez was cremated earlier today. I’m afraid this particular matter is closed.”
THIRTY-NINE
Jack fingered the white piece of paper as he waited for the red light to change. The prescription was scrawled out in the indecipherable handwriting that seemed to be universal among doctors. With a little imagination he could see the word ‘lithium’ buried within the loops and squiggles from Dr. Moran’s pen.
There was a pharmacy a couple of blocks down the street. Leaving the psychiatrist’s office he decided to get the prescription filled and head home. Maybe read a book for a while. Go for a hike. Catch up on the consulting work that was due at the end of the month. Anything to get his mind off things.
He glanced at the prescription.
The turn for the pharmacy came up. He removed his foot from the gas and it hovered over the brake. The car slowed as it coasted but Jack’s foot remained suspended over the brake. The shopping center with the pharmacy slid by.
A voice in his head chastised him for being stubborn. That much he knew about himself. But there was something nagging him from his meeting with the psychiatrist. The whole meeting seemed contrived. Moran was too plastic, too ready to suggest answers to everything. Didn’t psychiatrists try to get their patients to make their own breakthroughs? Establish their own conclusions?
The rational part of his brain laughed at the thought. What did he know about therapy, anyway? He had not gone after the accident in California. He had just dealt with it. That was who he was, the guy who could deal with anything.
“You’re doing a hell of a job with that, aren’t you?” he muttered to himself.
It was ridiculous for him to second-guess Moran. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling.
He usually had a good feel for people, his success in business had depended on it, and he got a strange read from Moran. But given the circumstances, he decided he didn’t have the luxury of playing hunches or letting his feelings get in the way. The psychiatrist had given him an explanation he could live with, and a prescription to help him cope. He needed to follow the advice and get on the medication. He owed it to Lauren and the kids to do it.
He glanced over his shoulder to merge left and make a U-turn back to the pharmacy. There was a black Ford Bronco positioned just off his rear left bumper that blocked his way. Jack turned on his signal and sped up. When he looked back he saw that the Bronco also accelerated, staying on his bumper.
Jack groaned. Probably some high school kid, he thought. He didn’t have the patience to play around. He slowed down to allow the Bronco to pass. But it matched his speed again, staying right behind him.
“What the—” Jack twisted in his seat to get a look at the driver. He felt his heart thump hard in his chest when he recognized the man behind the wheel. Joseph Lonetree. He felt as if the air in his lungs had turned to cement. Clenching the wheel with his left hand, he grabbed the phone to call the police.
But as he dialed, the initial shock wore off. His adrenaline rush transformed his panic into something else. Anger. Not only because the man following him, but that he had allowed himself to feel intimidated. This man was a threat to his family. He wasn’t going to run away from him. And he wasn’t going to wait for Sheriff Janney to ride in and save him either.
Jack cancelled the call and threw the phone on the passenger seat. He pressed a button on his door and the automatic window slid down. Jack extended his arm out of the window and waved the man forward. Once the Bronco pulled up even, Jack motioned for Lonetree to follow him. The Bronco fell back and followed Jack’s lead off the main road and into an EZ Mart parking lot.
He parked at the far end of the lot away from any other vehicles and threw the car into park. Jack climbed out of the car as the Bronco pulled into the space next to him. He walked up to the SUV and squinted through the tinted side window, trying to see what the man was doing. When the automatic window rolled down, Jack had his answer.
The handgun was positioned by Lonetree’s waist so that it wasn’t visible through the front windshield. But Jack had a perfect view down the gun’s dark barrel. A view, he realized, only made possible because the gun was pointed directly between his eyes.
Jack couldn’t believe it. He was being held up in the middle of the day in a grocery store parking lot. This sort of thing happened in Columbia, or even in South Central L.A., but in Prescott City?
Jack looked up from the gun into the face of its owner. Lonetree was expressionless, his mouth a straight line, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses that reflected Jack’s alarmed face back to him.
“What is this? What do you want with me?”
The barrel of the gun wagged in the air. “Get in. I want to show you something. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then why do you need the gun?”
Lonetree shrugged. “You seem like the kind of guy who needs to be persuaded.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack said with more confidence than he felt.
There was a metallic click as Lonetree slid his thumb over the top of the gun. Jack didn’t know much about firearms but he was pretty sure the click was the sound of the hammer being cocked. Lonetree’s voice came soft but unmistakably firm. “Just so you know, I have no problem shooting you if you refuse to come with me.”
“What’s this all about? Money? What?”
Lonetree waved the gun. “Last call. Get in the car.”
Jack wondered whether Lonetree could get a shot off if he dropped to the asphalt. Maybe if he stayed low next to the car he could escape.
It only took a few seconds for him to throw out the option as too risky. As crazy as it was to get in the car, Jack decided it was an even worse idea to resist. Something about the man’s voice told Jack he wasn’t lying. He was willing to shoot, and doing so wouldn’t bother him one bit.
Besides, Jack was curious. Lonetree had predicted Huckley would try to contact him again and it had happened. It occurred to Jack that perhaps the prediction was the seed that caused his hallucination in the first place.