besides I didn’t fall asleep in the motel until after eight o’clock. I
probably couldn’t have gotten up again, gone out, and bought the clothes
before the stores closed.”
“Some places are open until ten o’clock,” Clint said.
“There was a narrow window of opportunity,” Bobby agreed.
“I don’t think I would’ve broken into a store after hours,” Pollard
said. “Or stolen the clothes. I don’t think I’m a thief.”
“We know you’re not a thief,” Bobby said.
“We don’t know any such thing,” Julie said sharply.
Bobby and Clint looked at her, but Pollard continued to stare at his
hands, too shy or confused to defend himself.
She felt like a bully for having questioned his honesty. Which was
nuts. They knew nothing about him. Hell, if he was telling the truth,
he knew nothing about himself.
Julie said, “Listen, whether he bought or stole the clothes is not the
point here. I can’t accept it either. At least not with our current
scenario. It’s just too outrageous-the man going to a mall or K-Mart or
someplace in his underwear, outfitting himself, while he’s sleepwalking.
Could he do all that and not wake up-and appear to be awake to other
people? I don’t think so. I don’t know anything about sleepwalking,
but if we research it, I don’t think we’ll find such a thing is
possible.”
“Of course, it wasn’t just the clothes,” Clint said.
“No, not just the clothes,” Pollard said.
“When I woke up, there was a large paper bag on the bed beside me, like
one of those you get at a supermarket if you don’t want plastic. I
looked inside, and it was full of… money. More cash.”
“How much?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t know. A lot.”
“You didn’t count it?”
“It’s back at the motel where I’m staying now, the new place. I keep
moving. I feel safer that way. Anyway, you can count it later if you
want. I tried to count it, but I’ve lost my ability to do even simple
arithmetic. Yeah, that sounds screwy, but it’s what happened. Couldn’t
add the numbers. I keep trying but… numbers just don’t mean much to
me any more.” He lowered his head, put his face in his hands.
“First I lost my memory. Now I’m losing essential skills, like math. I
feel as if… as if I’m coming apart… dissolving… until there’s
going to be none of me left, just a body, no mind at all… gone.”
“That won’t happen, Frank,” Bobby said.
“We won’t quit. We’ll find out who you are and what all this means.”
“Bobby,” Julie said warningly.
“Hmmm?” He smiled obtusely.
She got up from her desk and went into the bathroom.
“Ah, Jeez.” Bobby followed her, closed the door, and turned on the fan.
“Julie, we have to help the poor guy.”
“The man is obviously experiencing psychotic fugues.
doing these things in a blacked-out condition. He gets them in the
middle of the night, yeah, but he’s not sleepwalking.
awake, alert, but in a fugue state. He could steal, kill-and remember
any of it.”
“Julie, I’ll bet you that was his own blood on his hands.
maybe having blackouts, fugues, whatever you want to call them, but he’s
not a killer. How much you want to bet?
“And you still say he’s not a thief.? On a regular basis he wakes up
with a bagful of money, doesn’t know where he got it, but he’s not a
thief.? You think maybe he counterfeits during these amnesiac spells?
No, I’m sure you think he’s nice to be a counterfeiter.”
“Listen,” he said,
“we’ve got to go with gut feelings sometimes, and my gut feeling is that
Frank is a good guy. Clint thinks he’s a good guy.”
“Greeks are notoriously gregarious. They like every one.
“You telling me Clint is your typical Greek social animal? Are we
talking about the same Clint? Last name-Karaghiosis ? Guy who looks as
if he was cast from concrete, and about as stoic as a cigar store
Indian?”
The light in the bathroom was too bright. It bounced off the mirror,
white sink, white walls, and white ceramic tile. Thanks to the glare