Speaking In Tongues

He eased forward. “Oh, Megan, I’m so sorry.”

The point of the knife tilted toward him and Matthews froze. He said in his best therapist’s tone, “I didn’t want it to happen this way.”

He fell silent. And to fill the intolerable gap of silence she asked, “What way?”

“This…“ He lifted his arms to the hallways. “If there’d been anything else I could have done, I would have. I promise you.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes. “You don’t really know me. But I know you. I’ve known you for a long time.”

She shook her head, frowning, confused. The tip of the knife was pointed lower.

“My name’s Aaron Matthews…

She’d’ve learned his real name, of course-from looking through the desk in his rooms here. But tell someone the truth-no matter how much you’ve lied to them in the past-and you nudge them closer toward you, if ever so slightly. He continued right away-Matthews had a spell to weave and spells work best when cast quickly. “I worked with your father on a case last year. He hired me as an expert witness. To evaluate a suspect. We were talking before the trial. Just making conversation. And I asked about children, if he had any, and he said…” Matthews paused and his face grew somber. He continued, “I’m sorry honey, but he said no, he didn’t.”

Megan’s beautiful light eyes widened. Shocked for a moment. Then they grew deeply sad, as they had in Hanson’s office. A child betrayed, a child alone.

What are the bears whispering to you?

“But I’d heard somebody mention his daughter and I asked him about you. He looked embarrassed and said that, well, yes, he did have a daughter. But she lived with her mother. He said you were technically his child but that was all. I told him about my son, Peter. See, he had some problems at birth. Serious mental problems.”

Another flicker of lash. So she knew about him too. He said, looking down, “But I’ve always felt that, despite all that, I loved my boy and wanted him to be with me. I mentioned that to your father. But he didn’t say anything. I asked him how often he saw you… He said virtually never. I asked him about you and he didn’t seem to know much at all. And then-” Matthews stopped abruptly, like a man finding himself in a minefield.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me,” she said with faint desperation in her voice.

“He said some things about you.”

“Please.” The knife was pointed straight down. Her face was no longer fierce. “I want to know.”

“He said being more involved with you would be… awkward.”

“No, he didn’t,” she whispered. “He didn’t say that at all, did he?”

“I’m not sure Matthews stammered, putting a vulnerable look on his face.

She muttered, “He said being involved with a child would be inconvenient. Right?”

“Yes,” Matthews conceded, sighing. “I’m so sorry, Megan. But that’s what he said. And when I heard it, all I could think of was how I hoped you had a good relationship with your mother. I hoped someone cared. I felt so bad for you.”

A faint laugh then her face went still. “My mother. Yeah, right.”

He cocked his head, offering her another sympathetic glance. And continued, “Well, I went to see her. When you were in school one day.”

“You did?”

Matthews eased a few inches closer He decided that anger wouldn’t work with Megan, unlike with her boyfriend, Josh. The madder she got, the more dangerous she’d be, No, the way to get inside her defenses was to tap into her sorrow and loneliness.

“I lied, Megan. I’ll admit it. I told Bett I was a counselor with your school and I wanted to know how you were doing. I was shocked to find that she didn’t have much time for you either. She told me she was engaged, trying to make that relationship work, was totally absorbed with Brad, didn’t have much time for,.. well, she said, for baby-sitting.”

“She said that?” Megan gasped.

“In fairness she said you were very mature and didn’t need a lot of hand-holding.”

“How would she know?” Megan muttered.

Matthews swayed toward her but the coldness returned to her eyes and she asked, “But why the fuck did you kidnap me?”

“Because I wanted to give you a second chance, Megan.”

“Kidnapping me? What kind of chance is that?”

He looked down and rocked back and forth on his feet, moving a good six inches closer to her. “Oh, Megan, yes, I kidnapped you. But I’d never hurt you. That was the last thing on my mind.” If she’d seen the room, she’d probably also seen the kitchen. He said, “I can prove it. I’ll show you the kitchen. It’s filled with food that you like. I found out what you liked and I bought a lot of it.”

She nodded. Her defenses slipped a bit more. “You were the one following me for the past couple weeks.”

“That’s right. I followed you. And I talked to people about you too. Teachers, students. And the more I learned about you, the more I couldn’t understand your parents. You’re creative, you’re fu

Her lip began to tremble. She wiped tears.

“It was so unfair,” he whispered. “I wanted to give you the love that they never did. Parental love, I’m speaking oh I hope you know that… I think you’re beautiful but I don’t desire you physically.” He nodded toward her padded cell. “I could have done that when you were unconscious if I’d wanted to.”

Her eyes told him that she understood it. That she’d checked her body for tenderness, for moisture.

But the eyes hardened again. She asked, “But there’s more, isn’t there? There’s another side to it.”

He smiled. “Oh, you’re smart, Megan. You’re very smart. Yes, there’s another side. I wanted another chance too. I told you about my son. The problems I mentioned? They were pretty serious. My wife… she drank and had a Valium habit when she was pregnant. I tried to get her to stop but she wouldn’t, My son had permanent brain damage… Oh, I wanted a normal child. Someone I could spend time with. Have fun with. Someone I could spoil.” He remembered something Bett had told him earlier that evening. “I wanted someone to play games with, to spend Christmas and Easter with, Thanksgiving. To make oatmeal and pancakes for. To hang out with on Sunday in sweats and sneakers and read the paper and rake leaves.”

From somewhere, he summoned a tear.

“You wanted me to be your daughter,” Megan said softly.

“Yes! But there was no way you would’ve agreed on your own. Or even listened to me. You would’ve thought I was some kind of crank and called the police. So I did what I had to. I waited until I had a chance-Dr. Hanson’s mother getting sick-and I arranged with him to see you.”

“That part was true?”

“Oh, yes. Of course it’s true. We’re friends, Hanson and me.” He smiled indulgently. “Though I think I’m a better therapist than he is. I get right to the core of the problem.”

“Yeah, you sure as hell do.” She offered a faint smile in return.

“You didn’t like those letters, I know. But I had to make you see how angry you were with your parents. I had to make you see the truth.”

“That’s why you made me write them?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do with them? Did you send them?”

He frowned. “The letters? No, I threw them out. Writing them was for you, Megan. I thought maybe, here, we could get to know each other for a while. I’d hoped you’d stay for a few weeks, a month. If it worked out, fine. We could move to San Francisco, you could start college there in the fall.”

He’d moved another few feet closer to her. He was slumped, diminished, looking mournfully at the floor. Matthews had decided how she’d die: He’d strangle her. Her eyes would grow wide and he’d stare at them, drink them in as she died. Pull the glass knife from her hand and get a grip on her neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the tip of her protruding tongue stopped quivering. And squeeze some more after that.