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Chapter 8, continued
Kate stood as he walked into the room, the ghost of a smile floating across her face. "You came," she breathed quietly, relief in her voice.
"I said I would," Don answered, "and it's kind of my job too."
The vacant, pretend smile flitted by again, "Yes, but I know you have other-- other cases to work on as well."
"Actually," Don responded, noting her effort not to stress the word 'cases,' "I don't."
At her questioning gaze, he explained, "I did have one other that I was working on, but I decided this morning that I want to focus fully on this."
Kate's eyes widened and tears welled in her eyes, "You didn't have to do that--"
He cut her off, but spoke softly, "Mrs. Richard, it was my decision. It has nothing to do with what I had or didn't have to do."
A tear spilled over and trickled down her cheek, "Thank you," she whispered, "and please. . . it's Kate."
Don smiled at her and jammed his hands into his pockets, "Of course," he said. Then, his voice returning to it's normal brisk tone, he asked, "now, why did you call me down here?"
Instead of the tears subsiding, as Don had hoped they would, a new stream began to dribble out, like the first raindrops down a drain pipe. "It's Mara," she whimpered, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "she. . ."
"She hasn't lapsed?" Don asked with concern.
"No," Kate answered in the same soft crying tone, "she was talking in her sleep last night. About Chailyn. I think she knows more than she's told either of us. I. . . I asked her about it, and she said that I would think she was crazy, and refused to tell me. I just thought, that maybe if you talked to her. . . as an outsider and as, you know, a detective. . . maybe she would feel like she was really helping or something. Not being. . . well, crazy was the word she used."
Don nodded. He understood that people found him easier to talk to because of his profession. In fact, people had always spoken freely around him. They seemed to believe that since he was a quiet person, he was trustworthy. It was a good feature to have as an investigator. "I'll speak with her," he answered, "but I'll have to do it alone." He watched her response to this carefully,
"Yes," she said, without so much as a flinch, "I figured you would. Please," she said, gesturing to the room, "find out anything you can. Please." She repeated the last word, truly begging him.
"You are our last hope," a voice murmured behind him. Don whirled around, but no one was there.
"What did you say?" Don asked, startled at the sudden confusion.
Kate smiled, "I said please," she gave a sorrowful laugh, "I must have been really rude to you earlier. I'm sorry, I'll say it again: Please, please, please." The laughter was completely gone from her voice, but Don was only half listening. Normally delusions only hit him in the middle of the night. Now they were coming out to play in the daytime too. Spectacular, he thought, as he turned and entered Mara Richard's hospital room.
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