Out again. In again.
More neck-rolling.
I knew where I’d seen the face. Poster art from my college days. Edvard Munch’s The
Scream.
Hairless melting man clutching his face in primal mental agony. Peake could have posed for the painting.
His hands remained in his lap, but his upper body swayed, trembled, jerked a few times, seemed about to topple. Then he stopped Righted himself.
Looked in our direction.
He’d butchered the Ardullos at age nineteen, making him thirty-five. He looked ancient.
“Ardis?” said Swig.
No reaction. Peake was staring in our direction but not making contact. He closed his eyes. Rolled his head. Another two minutes of tardive ballet.
Swig gave a disgusted look and waved his hand, as if to say, “You asked for it.”
Mik> ignored that and stepped closer. Peake began rocking faster, licking his lips, the tongue emerging, curling, retreating. Several toes on his left foot jumped. His left hand fluttered.
“Ardis, it’s Mr. Swig. I’ve got some visitors for you.”
Nothing.
Swig said, “Go ahead, Detective.”
No response to “Detective.”
I bent and got down at Peake’s eye level. Milo did, too. Peake’s eyes had remained closed. Tiny waves seemed to ruffle-eyeballs rolling behind gray skin. His chest was white and hairless, freckled with blackheads. Gray nipples- a pair of tiny ash piles. Up close the burning smell was stronger.
Milo said, “Hey,” with surprising gentleness.
A few new shoulder tics, tongue calisthenics. Peake rolled his head, lifted his right hand, held it in midair, dropped it heavily.
“Hey,” Milo repeated. “Ardis.” His face was inches from Peake’s. I got closer myself, still smelling the combustion but feeling no heat from Peake’s body.
“My name’s Milo. I’m here to ask you about Dr. Argent.”
Peake’s movements continued, autonomic, devoid of intent.
“Claire Argent, Ardis. Your doctor. I’m a homicide detective, Ardis. Homicide.”
Not an errant eyeblink.
Milo said, “Ardis!” very loud.
Nothing. A full minute passed before the lids lifted. Halfway, then a full view of the eyes.
Black slots. Pinpoints of light at the center, but no definition between iris and white.
“Claire Argent,” Milo repeated. “Dr. Argent. Bad eyes in a box.”
The eyes slammed shut. Peake rolled his head, the tongue explored air. One toe jumped, this time on the right foot.
“Bad eyes,” said Milo, nearly whispering, but his voice had gotten tight, and I knew he was fighting to keep the volume down. “Bad eyes in a box, Ardis.”
Ten seconds, fifteen… half a minute.
“A box, Ardis. Dr. Argent in a box.”
Peake’s neuropathic ballet continued, unaltered.
“Bad eyes,” Milo soothed.
I was looking into Peake’s eyes, plumbing for some shred of soul.
Flat black; lights out.
A cruel phrase for mental disability came to mind: “no one home.”
Once upon a time, he’d destroyed an entire family, speedily, lustily, a one-man plague.
Taking the eyes.
Now his eyes were twin portholes on a ship to nowhere.
No one home.
As if someone or something had snipped the wires connecting body to soul.
His tongue shot forward again. His mouth opened but produced no sound. I kept staring at him, trying to snag some kind of response. He looked through me-no, that implied too much effort.
He was, I was. No contact.
Neither of us was really there.
His mouth cratered, as if for a yawn. No yawn. Just a gaping hole. It stayed that way as his head craned. I thought of a blind newborn rodent searching for its mother’s nipple.
The music from the ceiling switched to “Perfidia,” done much too slowly.
Ostentatious percussion that seemed to lag behind wan-wan trumpets.
Milo tried again, even softer, more urgent: “Dr. Argent, Ardis. Bad eyes in a box.”
The tardive movements continued, random, arrhythmic. Swig tapped his foot impatiently.
Milo stood, knees cracking. I got to my feet, catching an eyeful of the chain on the wall. Coiled, like a sleeping python.
The room smelled worse.
Peake noticed none of it.
No behav. change.
12.
OUTSIDE THE ROOM, Swig said, “Satisfied?”
Milo said, “Why don’t we give Heidi a try with him?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Wish I was, sir.”
Swig shook his head, but he hailed a tech standing across the hall. “Get Heidi Ott,