"How long can that go on?"
"I don't know. Until we're sure the sleeping pills Dr. Gates gave me will keep Janine asleep, too. Then I'll feel safe being in the same house with Jill."
Rob shook his head. This sounded almost like one of those corny old Psycho-type movies. All that was needed now was a walk-on by Betty Davis or Joan Crawford.
But this was no movie.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
Rob surprised himself. Where did that come from? He could feel the small hairs at the back of his neck rise at the thought of meeting the Janine side of Kara.
Kara looked at him, a slight, skeptical smile playing on her lips.
"Thanks, Rob. That's kind of you, but it won't be necessary."
"You can't always do everything on your own, Kara," he said, hiding his hurt at being rejected, and annoyed at his big mouth for setting himself up for it. "Sometimes you have to admit that you need help."
"I know that." Her smiled broadened. "And when I do, you'll be the first one I call."
They said little during the rest of the drive back to her Aunt Ellen's. Rob hoped all along the way that Kara would ask him in for dinner. She didn't.
▼
9:30 P.M.
After dinner, after tucking Jill in and repeating for what seemed like the hundredth time the not-quite-true explanation of why her mother had to sleep at Aunt Kelly's for a few nights, Kara returned to the apartment house on East Sixty-third. Her stomach twisted slowly into a knot as she climbed the front steps. What would tonight bring?
In the vestibule, a business card protruding from the slot in the 2-C mailbox—Kelly's—caught her eye. It was from Ed Bannion.
Kara Wade—
Call me re: Kelly's estate.
E.B.
He'd written his home number on the front.
Kelly's estate? Kelly didn't have an estate. Kara decided to call him tomorrow.
In the apartment, she tried to shed the dread and apprehension that clung to her as she wandered through the empty rooms.
This was where Kelly had tried to fight the same problem. And Kelly had lost.
But Kelly hadn't been taking her sleeping pills—at least that was what Dr. Gates had said. Kara would. She'd take one every night if it proved helpful.
But that wasn't all she'd do.
She marched into Kelly's bedroom and pulled all the sleazy underwear, blouses, sweaters, skirts, and other paraphernalia from under the night tables and dresser and stuffed them into two of the Dagostino bags Kelly had stored between the fridge and the wall. When everything was packed, she took the bags out to the corner of Sixty-third and First and left them under the street light. She was reasonably sure they'd be gone by the time she made it back to the front door of the apartment house. Absolutely sure they'd be gone within the hour.
When she got back to the apartment, she locked the dead bolt and hunted around for a place to hide the key. Dr. Gates had told her that in cases of multiple personalities the quiescent personality was unaware of the other personality's activities during its active phase. Kara didn't know of any other key in Kelly's apartment, so she figured that if Janine should take control during the night, she would not be able to leave the apartment if Kara hid this one well enough.
She finally decided on the right rear corner of the top rack in the oven. Who in their right mind would look there for a key?
Don't ask.
After that she showered. As she lathered up, Rob's words from the afternoon came back to her:
You can't always do everything on your own, Kara.
How many times in her life had she heard that? From her mother and father, from Kelly, from friends. Nobody seemed to understand her. She didn't want to do everything on her own. She wasn't looking to cut herself off. She just wanted to be able to stand free and clear. She'd take help when she couldn't provide it herself—like seeing Dr. Gates for therapy—but what she could do on her own, she would do on her own.
Maybe she'd picked it up from her Amish neighbors, who were "beholding to no one," as they put it. But Kara sensed it went deeper than that. The need for autonomy, to control her own life, seemed to be engraved on her soul. Which made the possibility of another personality taking over at any time—even if it was just for a few seconds—especially loathsome.
She got ready for bed. She wished she could do a little writing but she was exhausted. She didn't think she'd need a sleeping pill, but she was going to follow doctor's orders strictly. At least for now. She took one of Kelly's leftover Halcions, settled in Kelly's bed with one of Kelly's back issues of Rolling Stone, and tried not to think about Kelly. Or Janine. Or how alone and afraid she was. And how comforting it would be to have someone to talk to right now. And how stupid she'd been for refusing Rob's offer to stay the night.
Somewhere between comforting and stupid, Kara fell asleep.
Poor little fool. She came back.
He's absolutely elated. How he gloats and struts! So taken with how clever he is. The Napoleon of Plotters, the Machiavelli of Manipulators.
Makes me ill!
How I'd love to teach the swine a lesson. Thinks I'm helpless, harmless, not the slightest possible threat to his great intellect. I hate that most of all… even if he's right. He knows I'm totally without resources.
No. Perhaps not totally. Have my own intellect. Don't see why I can't manage to be as deceitful and crafty as he. Not beyond my capability to get a message of warning to this new one.
Wouldn't that be wonderful! What a coup! With no resources other than what I can steal and hide, to warn her away from him. Wouldn't that take the wind out of his sails! Oh, he'll punish me, I know, punish me severely, but it would be worth it. Just to show him, to let him know he hasn't beaten me into complete submission. I'm still here. I can still act.
He'll not take me for granted any more after I do this.
If I can indeed do it. Have to try.
First thing I'll need is her address.
February 17
8:06 A.M.
Kara awoke feeling groggy and not particularly well rested. She shook herself to full alertness and slipped from the bed. She saw that she was still in the same flannel nightshirt she had put on last night. The bedroom looked the same. No words carved in the walls. She ran her hands over her body. No new bruises or cuts of scrapes. She ran to the bathroom. No writing on the mirror. She checked the living room and the kitchen. No knives on the counter, and the key was still in the oven, exactly where she'd left it.
She slumped against the counter, weak with relief.
"Okay," she said to no one in particular. She thumped her fist on the countertop. "Okay!"
▼
10:00 A.M.
"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Doc," Rob said as he dropped into the chair opposite the desk. Doc Winters peered at him over his reading glasses.
He tapped his desk top with a ballpoint; Navane was inscribed on the barrel.
"You said it was urgent."
"It is, kind of. It's about Dr. Lawrence Gates—"
"What is it with you and Gates? You got something personal against him, Harris?"
Rob was startled by Doc Winters' vehemence.
"Not at all. I've only met him twice. I don't particularly like the man, but it's not personal."
"A lot of people don't like Larry Gates, but that's not a cause for police harassment."
"I'm not harassing anybody! Did he tell you that?"
"No. I haven't had cause to speak to him for a couple of years now, but let me tell you something about Larry Gates. I know he presents this cold surface to the world—"
" 'Cold' is an understatement."