The Prodigy Part 27

Jimmy's lower lip curled downward, "He got mad."

"That's not fun," Barrett said, modulating her tone to be the kindergarten teacher to his eight-year-old boy.

"No," he shook his head. "He tried to trick me."

"That wasn't very nice of him, was it?"

"No."

"How did he try to trick you?"

"He sent Kelly and Hector and they made me give them blood."

"That wasn't nice at all. Especially since you hadn't been taking any pills, had you?"

"No. He wanted to trick me, because he was mad."

"So what did you do?"

Jimmy blinked. His pink tongue flicked between his lips, and his pupils narrowed. "Dr. Conyors, this isn't fun," his voice shifted lowering in pitch. "Just what is it we're trying to do here? Where's my wonderful feeling?" he said, aping her hypnotic suggestion.

The cat stirred, and looked warily at Jimmy.

"It's a light hypnosis," she answered, feeling a chill, and worrying that he'd pulled himself from the trance.

"Just a light one? Like a small martini or a touch of fine-Moroccan hash?"

"Something like that," she answered, leaving her school-marm voice behind while trying to gauge Jimmy's current persona.

"So you'd like Jimbo to tell you what happened to the good doctor, is that it?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Aren't you supposed to tell me how wonderful and relaxed it will make me feel, to divulge all of his nasty secrets?"

"That's not what you want," she replied. "You want something else, don't you?"

"Of course," he answered, "I want what everyone wants, what you want, what Dr. Kravitz wants."

"What's that?" she asked, noticing how on edge this other Jimmy made her feel.

"Love. Admiration. A good f.u.c.k now and then. There's nothing wrong with that."

"No," she agreed, as the cat squirmed out of the chair and bolted beneath a bookcase.

"Can you give me that? If you can give me that I'll tell you about Dr. Kravitz."

"You can give that to yourself," she said.

He laughed, "That was lame. But I like watching you, so maybe I'll tell you anyway. It was simple. Morris was upset because the gravy train was leaving the station-without him."

"So he ordered bloodwork. Why?"

"He wanted leverage. Even Jimbo could see that."

"The bloodwork never made it to the lab."

"No, there was an accident. Oops!"

"And Dr. Kravitz?"

Jimmy smiled, "Oops, oops. Diabetics have to be so very careful." He leaned forward in his chair, his movements sinuous, like a python sidling up to its prey. "What is that perfume you have on?" he asked. "Here, let me breathe it in deeply like a flower, and as I do, I may feel wonderfully relaxed."

Barrett tensed.

"You do this so well, doctor," he closed his eyes and sank back into his chair. "And you didn't even use a shot. So talented, so filled with fun and games. It's no wonder he likes you so much."

"Who?"

"Jimbo. I can't blame him. I think the boy may finally be growing some taste." He closed his eyes and his tongue lewdly circled his lips.

"Is Jimbo there?" she asked.

"He's hiding. He's such a little fool, never could come out and ask for what he wanted. Perhaps we should enroll him in some a.s.sertiveness training? We did a lot of that in the hospital."

"And who are you?"

"James Cyrus Martin, of course."

"Which one?"

"Yes ... he did pick well. I can't tell if it was the velvet dress, your flawless skin, your lips, your exquisite eyes, or that hint of a Southern accent you try so hard to hide. Did he ever tell you about his first love?"

In spite of her fear, Barrett felt a surge of excitement. Was he about to tell her the truth of what happened to Nicole Foster? "No."

"It was his nanny, a dark-skinned woman from Georgia. So sad what happened," he leered at Barrett.

"Tell me."

Jimmy chortled, "She was terminated." A shudder pa.s.sed through him, he blinked and started to tremble.

Jimmy feels the red-hot heat from the furnace on his face. He hears the crackle and hiss of black coal. And there's Maylene, but why does she have that look in her eyes? So frightened, and Father's hands around her throat as she kicks and claws at his fingers. Father smiles and clamps down harder making her eyes grow big, like a plastic squeeze toy.

"Jimmy, what's happening?" Barrett asked, noting a look of wall-eyed terror in him.

"He's doing it again," the voice shifted pitch, the tone was now gravel-tinged and adult.

"Who is?"

"Father."

Tears stream down Maylene's face, her legs kick spastically and her white nurse's shoe falls to the cement floor.

"Make him stop."

"What is he doing?" she asked.

"He's in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Please, you said no one was going to hurt me."

"Tell me what he's doing."

"I don't want to watch."

Maylene's looking at Jimmy, her eyes much too big as blood vessels burst inside the whites. She loves him, even as her life slips away, he knows that she loves him.

If he could bite Father's big hands, but he can't move. He strains against the leather belts that hold him captive in the wooden chair. There's nothing he can do but watch.

"He's killing her!"

"Tell me what he's making you watch," Barrett urged, feeling something evil and dangerous in the room.

"He's killing Maylene."

"She was your nanny?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what he's doing in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"He's singing ..."

"The hip bone's connected to the leg bone, the leg bone's connected to the ankle bone," Father laughs as he checks for a pulse. He waltzes across the cellar floor, dragging Maylene's limp body. Her other shoe falls off and her knee-high nylons snag and run. Giant shadows cast by the flaming furnace create phantom couples dancing on the walls.

"Tell me what you see," Barrett pleaded.

"The smell is horrible."

Feces stain the back of Maylene's dress and golden pearls of urine cling to her torn and bunched up nylons. He lays her down on a rubber mat, and raises her head so that her dead and bulged-out eyes stare back at Jimmy. "You're getting too old for a nanny, Jimbo," Father says, as he nods Maylene's lifeless head up and down, as though she's agreeing with his a.s.sessment. Father lifts up her thin flower-print skirt and pulls out a butcher cleaver. He raises it overhead and brings it down right below her knee, hacking through the bone and flesh.

Jimmy shrieked and jumped in his chair. "There's blood on the floor and there's sparks coming out of the furnace. It's so hot. He's throwing her into the furnace."

Father's white shirt is soaked in blood and perspiration. He takes it off, wipes his face and tosses it into the furnace. All that remains of Maylene is her head. "And the neck bone's connected to the ..." Father swings it up by the hair and dangles it inches in front of Jimmy's face. Even in death he can see the love in her eyes. "Give her a kiss, Jimbo ... And here's the word of the lord." Her flesh is still warm as Father mashes the dead woman's lips to his son's. "Say goodbye "... and Father backs away, still dangling the blood-dripping head in front of Jimmy. He swings it back and forth, back and forth, and then tosses it into the sizzling fire.

"It's so hot." Jimmy sobbed, like a child. "It's too hot." He wept and coughed, his throat filled with the choking smells of burning flesh and heating fuel.

"It's okay, Jimmy," Barrett soothed, "I need you to leave the bas.e.m.e.nt and go someplace happy."

He blinked and stared at her, a sneer crept across his lips. "She had such soft skin, like yours ..."

"What is it you want?" she asked, sensing a grim shift in him.

His lips curled back, revealing two rows of perfect white teeth, "You'll find out."

"What happened to the little boy?"

Jimmy started to sing, "The breast bone's connected to the neck bone. The neck bone's connected to the ... Wheee! Everyone into the pool!"

The clock chimed, and as it did Barrett knew that she had not gotten what she needed. Jimmy was a good hypnotic subject, but there was still a degree of free will, along with whatever odd configuration of personalities moved inside of him that weren't giving up the goods. She made a final stab, "Tell me what you did to Dr. Kravitz."

He blinked again, looked at Barrett and then at the clock, "Why nothing, Dr. Conyors. Why would you ask? And look, our time is up. Now aren't you supposed to tell me that you'll clap your hands and I'll wake, feeling fresh as a spring morning?"

"That doesn't appear necessary."

"No," he agreed. "I never touched Dr. Kravitz."

"You never touched Nicole Foster," she added. "You didn't have to because someone else did it for you."

"So you say." He leaned forward, sniffing the air as though he might capture her scent. "Such a lovely brooch," he commented. "A present from Detective Hobbs, no doubt."

Barrett recoiled, realizing that Jimmy knew she was wired, that he'd known the entire time.

Mimicking his little-boy voice, he chanted. "Maylene ... Maylene."

"Who's helping you, Jimmy?" she persisted.

"I don't know what you're getting at. There's just me and millions and millions of dollars. Did you ever wonder what it might be like to have all that money? It's amazing how many people fantasize about having what I have. Do you wonder about that, Dr. Conyors? Do you wonder what will happen to all that money when I'm gone? You can see that Ellen isn't about to pop out a kid. Even if she wanted, the Martin women go through the change early; it's too late for Chicky. We have no heir ... not yet...of course, there is Fred. Where is that cat? I think he'd ... I'd make an interesting father, don't you think? That's what we should focus on, finding me a bride. Then we could get to work on James Cyrus Martin, the Fifth. It has a certain ring, maybe twins or triplets; it's good to have playmates, a spare or two to keep things jumping. But we really must do something about strengthening the blood. Far too much inbreeding."

Torn between wanting to get the h.e.l.l out, and needing something, her eyes fell on a stack of envelopes next to Jimmy's chair.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, following her gaze. "I need to give you yours." He handed her the fine linen envelope.

Not understanding, she opened it, and stared at the engraved invitation.

James Cyrus Martin, IV

invites you to an evening of romance and music.

Place: Carnegie Hall/Weill Recital Hall