A black Pontiac GTO.
Preacher’s car.
“Is that the car we left behind on Whidbey Island?”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward to get a better look. Preacher must be pissed.
I half expected whoever was driving to pull the emergency brake, yank the wheel, and slide the car to a stop from a high speed drift. That’s probably what I would have done if given the chance behind the wheel of a car like that. But rather than accelerating as the GTO drew close, the black Pontiac slowed and came to a stop about twenty feet from the main building, the high beams slicing through the night.
The engine let out one final growl as the driver tapped the gas before killing the motor.
The driver leaned over and opened the passenger door, then opened his own.
“Shooters, steady,”Dunk said over the radio.
I could see the driver in the car. A middle-aged man with short brown hair, wearing a white shirt and what looked like a white coat. I picked up the radio and pressed the transmit button. “That’s not Pickford. Repeat, that is not David Pickford.”
“Copy,”Dunk replied.
The driver leaned over. It looked like he was messing with the radio. From the car came a loud click followed by the low hum of a recording at high volume. This was followed by a voice I recognized immediately.
Kaylie from Penn State, four and a half years earlier in her dorm room.
“Go ahead and put these on.”
A loud metronome came from the GTO’s amplified speakers with a heavy electronic hum behind it.
Tick…tock.
Tick…tock.
Tick…tock.
“Okay, Jack, I want you to listen to the rhythm of that sound, like a comforting heartbeat. Breathe in through your mouth, out through your nose, let your breathing fall in time with the sound. It’s all about the sound, that comforting sound. A heartbeat. Visualize a heartbeat, that sound. The rush of your blood, the life flowing through every inch of your body. Warm and comforting. My voice, brings you deeper, faster and deeper, faster and deeper in a warm, calm, peaceful state of relaxation. Like sinking deep down into a warm bath.”
Tick…tock.
Tick…tock.
“Sinking down and shutting down. Sinking down and shutting down. Sinking down and shutting down completely in the enveloping warmth,” she said from so far away. Repeating. “Warm and calm, a blanket, snug and tight. The blanket holds your arms at your sides, your legs still. You’ve never been so comfortable, your mind never so free.”
Tick…tock.
Tick…tock.
“Where are you, Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you see?”
“Doctor.”
“You’re at the doctor’s?”
“Doctor.”
My voice, high pitched. Mine but not mine.
