Denial Read Online Free PDF Page B

ocean, vases of cut flowers — all of it selected and arranged by Kathy.  She seemed to be gone from the house and everywhere in the house at the same time, which reminded me of something painful I couldn't quite put my finger on.  My throat tightened, but I held back the tears and reminded myself that withdrawing from a woman is no different than kicking a drug; you feel shaky and you want it, but eventually the need passes, and you feel restored.
    Mine was run-of-the-mill loneliness anyhow.  A man like Westmoreland was truly cut off, hearing voices no other soul could hear and seeing visions no one else could see.  Some unspeakable horror had driven him into a fortress of terrifying private thoughts, and only an extraordinary therapist would stand a chance of helping him find the door.  Luckily, my only job was to say whether he knew what it meant to confess to murder.
    I walked into the master bedroom and lay down on the tall pine four-poster bed.  Kathy had ordered it from Ethan Allen, then outfitted it with white lace pillowcases and a duvet cover of white-on-white-striped, polished cotton she'd found at Pierre Deux on Newbury Street in Boston.  An undertow of despair pulled at me.  I felt utterly alone.
    I got up and paged my dealer, but he didn't call me back, probably down the road to the Surf Lounge, but couldn’t find anybody selling.  Then, lying to myself that I'd turn around before I got there, I drove all the way back to Union Street in Lynn and parked in front of the Emerson Hotel, a forty-five-dollar-a-night fleabag.  Hookers from fifteen to fifty paraded about.  Pimps and scam artists lurked around public phones.  Within a minute, a teenager wearing a purple velour sweatsuit and a half-dozen gold rope chains slunk up to my window.  He peered into the car.  "Serious coin for a rig like this," he nodded.
    "Fifty-two grand."  I reached between the front seats for the hunting knife I kept there.  the handle had been made from the foot of a deer, and the blade was six inches long.  I kept it out of sight on my lap.
    He shuffled around.  "Them's wheels."
    My heart raced.  "I'm not here to talk about cars," I said.  I ran my thumb back and forth along the blade.
    "I got me a sister in the hotel.  Thirteen years old.  She be just a tight little girl down there, but she be stacked .  Forty bucks for anything you want."
    "I don't care about your fucking relatives, either."
    "She'll go for thirty bucks."
    " Fucking relatives , get it?"
    "Huh?"
    "Never mind."
    "Twenty-five, but that's rock bottom."
    "For anything?"
    "Right on.  She do what you say, or I beat her ass myself."
    My breathing quickened.  I held the knife up so he could see it.  "I want to watch her while she cuts your throat."
    He danced back a couple steps and grinned nervously.  "Put that away, man, you scarin’ me."
    I lowered the knife.  "Do you have anything to sell me besides little girls?"
    He looked right and left as he ran through his other products.  "Joint, three bucks.  Junk, ten-a-bag.  Tootie, hundred-a-gram.  Needle, five bucks."
    "One-sixty for two grams."
    "I'm talkin’ good shit."
    I touched the pedal and shot forward.
    "Wait up!" he shouted.  He jogged over, but stayed a few feet back from the window.  He reached into his pocket and showed me two little cellophane packets of white powder.
    I took eight twenties from my pocket.  "One-sixty."
    "You said one-eighty."
    I threw open the door.  "You calling me a liar? " I yelled.
    He backed further away.  "I ain't callin’ you nothin’, man.  One-sixty, like you said."
    I held out the money, and he came just close enough for just long enough to make the exchange.
    I drove a hundred yards and pulled over.  My whole body felt energized.  I took slow, deep breaths.  When my heart stopped pounding, I snorted a big blast off the blade of my knife.  It was good stuff and it chased Kathy out of my head.
    I got back on the Lynnway and followed it away from