Mind to Mind: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective Read Online Free PDF Page A

her, "Don't
know how you handle the daily tragedy."
    She said, "It's not
exactly daily. And we don't lose them all, you know. Actually the
mortality rate here is very low. We cure a lot more than we
kill."
    I observed glumly, "Well,
that's a comfort. I guess. But how do you handle a Jane Doe—the
loss of a highly personal patient?"
    She told me, almost
lightly, "It hurts, if that's what you mean. Just have to learn to
take it in stride. And, after all, we did not kill her."
    I had no response to that. We walked the
rest of the way in silence. My car was in the visitor's lot, which
meant a pretty good walk and therefore a long period of silence. I
suppose she sensed my mood and was trying to respect it. But I was
wondering about her and the anesthesia of feeling that was evident
in the reaction to her patient's death.
    I steered her to the car and opened the door
for her. She started to enter but then checked herself, pulled back
for an exterior view, exclaimed, "Wow! What is this? Porsche?"
    I hoped the car had not heard. "Maserati," I
corrected her, probably in a very offended tone. The Maserati is my
chief indulgence. I do not take kindly to slights against her.
    "Oh. I always wanted a Porsche." She slid in
and buckled up while I went around, muttering under my breath and
reminding myself that there is no accounting for tastes.
    But already this lady,
this clinical psychologist with a Ph.D. and a teenager's face and
tastes, was becoming less attractive to me. I did not like the
anesthesia and I did not like the valley-girl mentality that could
not discern a diamond among rhinestones.
    I buckled in and asked
her, almost belligerently, “Where to?”
    "Why don't you show me your place?" she
replied with a teasing smile.
    "That's at Malibu," I informed her, hoping
she would think it too far removed.
    "Perfect," she purred. "I always wanted a
place at Malibu."
    "With a Porsche in the garage, eh?" I
growled under my breath.
    But she heard it. "I suppose I would settle
for a Maserati," she said playfully.
    I supposed she would, at that.
    But I was not so sure that the Maserati
would settle for an Alison Saunders. That, of course, was before I
displaced her anesthesia.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Five: States of
Mind
     
    It was the wildest, the loudest, the longest,
and the most violent orgasm I'd ever encountered. She ended up
crying as though her heart would break, and that brought a bit of
dismay until I tumbled to what was happening with her. The stiff
professionalism—the anesthesia—was melting, that was all, and
sometimes that can be a painful process. So I held her and
comforted her with gentle caresses and soft words while she worked
her way through it.
    Presently she moved onto her side and began
stroking me back. For quite a while, then, we just stroked and
talked.
    "Slimebags."
    "Is that for me—or just us guys in
general?"
    "No—I was thinking about—he slashed her
throat, too, Ash."
    "Jane? Jane's throat?"
    "Yes. When the nurse—guess
he was afraid he hadn't finished her. He knocked the nurse down and
slashed Jane's throat before he ran away. But I was just thinking
... I see an awful lot of this stuff. Why do men do this to women?
Why do they feel the need to totally degrade us in every
way?"
    "You're the clinical psychologist. You tell
me. But make it a bit less general, please. I know lots of guys who
have never felt that kind of need."
    "Not that way, maybe. But
you all do it to one degree or another. If we fuck, we're wicked.
If we don't, we're cold. If we're pretty, we pay too much attention
to our looks. If we're not pretty, we're pigs or dogs. If we want a
career, we're trying to compete with men. If we don't, we're lazy.
If we make it in a career, we got there on our looks. If we don't
make it, nobody really expected us to, anyway. If we love a man so
much we hurt inside, he walks all over us. If we don't and he
can't, then we're incapable of love."
    "That's all nonclinical. But I'll bet