| Author: | Elizabeth Cameron | ISBN: | 9781452466903 |
| Publisher: | Elizabeth Cameron | Publication: | April 17, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Elizabeth Cameron |
| ISBN: | 9781452466903 |
| Publisher: | Elizabeth Cameron |
| Publication: | April 17, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
"So that's it." I'd wrapped all of Pedersen's comments in a nice neat package, tied it up with a ribbon and presented it to Paul.
"And that takes care of Jennifer." I added with a sigh of resignation. "As for Abernathy, maybe he really did have a stroke, and as for my episode with the dogs, I'll never know. Maybe they're just a little more security conscious than in most places. Certainly those dogs would deter anybody from trespassing."
I sipped my brandy laced coffee, curled up on the corner of the seat of the wheelhouse of the Snow Goose and waited for Paul's comment.
He remained silent.
He sat in the cockpit chair, the pipe making only the occasional puff of smoke to suggest it was still alive, as he gazed out into the grayness of the thickening fog. I heard the fog horn sound its lone and eerie warning from the Point Atkinson lighthouse and I followed the wake of a harbor tug turning towards its moorings its radar scanning head rotating above the mast while the red port lights appeared only as blurs in the dense fog. The Snow Goose rolled almost imperceptibly as the wash from the tug reached her hull.
Fog, as it inevitably did, brought almost an unnatural calm to the water, a deathlike quiet as the thick, wet grayness pressed down on the sea. Maybe the fog seemed to creep into Paul's mood and his mind. It was some moments before he answered, as he turned his attention back from the harbor.
"Then you're through out there? he asked. You're calling it quits?" His last comment slightly ruffled my feathers. "I'm not calling it quits I'm just through out there, that's all. There's nothing more I can do. As it is I've put in more time there than was ever required. I've still got loose ends in other places to take care of for Yvonne and I don't have that much time left. It's nearly Christmas. The S.P.A.C.E. program my part of it, the evaluations are to be completed by the end of the year."
"I suppose uncovering the odd murder and the attempt on your own life makes a satisfactory conclusion."
"Paul!" I was more than a little miffed. "I did everything I could to clear up or at least clarify what I thought had happened. Remember, you agreed with me when I said there was no point going to the police without proof. And as I recall, it was you who suggested that little midnight escapade that nearly got me killed. The point is I was wrong. Pedersen may be old and doddery but there's nothing wrong with his head. He was very thorough. He spent a lot of time going over her records, her history, her diagnosis, her medications, and he didn't find anything wrong. He's not involved. He doesn't know the patient, so he can't be biased. Paul, I didn't want to believe him because it made it all seem so futile. I've always trusted my instincts my intuition whatever you want to call it and I genuinely felt there was something strange not only about her, but about the whole place. But I'm prepared to admit I was wrong. Even you suggested I wouldn't find anything wrong with the records. And you were right. I'll probably go on thinking it's a strange place but maybe mental institutions are always strange. All I know is that I've got to get on with what I have to do. I'll chalk up Island View as an unpleasant experience and, in time, probably forget all about it."
"So that's it." I'd wrapped all of Pedersen's comments in a nice neat package, tied it up with a ribbon and presented it to Paul.
"And that takes care of Jennifer." I added with a sigh of resignation. "As for Abernathy, maybe he really did have a stroke, and as for my episode with the dogs, I'll never know. Maybe they're just a little more security conscious than in most places. Certainly those dogs would deter anybody from trespassing."
I sipped my brandy laced coffee, curled up on the corner of the seat of the wheelhouse of the Snow Goose and waited for Paul's comment.
He remained silent.
He sat in the cockpit chair, the pipe making only the occasional puff of smoke to suggest it was still alive, as he gazed out into the grayness of the thickening fog. I heard the fog horn sound its lone and eerie warning from the Point Atkinson lighthouse and I followed the wake of a harbor tug turning towards its moorings its radar scanning head rotating above the mast while the red port lights appeared only as blurs in the dense fog. The Snow Goose rolled almost imperceptibly as the wash from the tug reached her hull.
Fog, as it inevitably did, brought almost an unnatural calm to the water, a deathlike quiet as the thick, wet grayness pressed down on the sea. Maybe the fog seemed to creep into Paul's mood and his mind. It was some moments before he answered, as he turned his attention back from the harbor.
"Then you're through out there? he asked. You're calling it quits?" His last comment slightly ruffled my feathers. "I'm not calling it quits I'm just through out there, that's all. There's nothing more I can do. As it is I've put in more time there than was ever required. I've still got loose ends in other places to take care of for Yvonne and I don't have that much time left. It's nearly Christmas. The S.P.A.C.E. program my part of it, the evaluations are to be completed by the end of the year."
"I suppose uncovering the odd murder and the attempt on your own life makes a satisfactory conclusion."
"Paul!" I was more than a little miffed. "I did everything I could to clear up or at least clarify what I thought had happened. Remember, you agreed with me when I said there was no point going to the police without proof. And as I recall, it was you who suggested that little midnight escapade that nearly got me killed. The point is I was wrong. Pedersen may be old and doddery but there's nothing wrong with his head. He was very thorough. He spent a lot of time going over her records, her history, her diagnosis, her medications, and he didn't find anything wrong. He's not involved. He doesn't know the patient, so he can't be biased. Paul, I didn't want to believe him because it made it all seem so futile. I've always trusted my instincts my intuition whatever you want to call it and I genuinely felt there was something strange not only about her, but about the whole place. But I'm prepared to admit I was wrong. Even you suggested I wouldn't find anything wrong with the records. And you were right. I'll probably go on thinking it's a strange place but maybe mental institutions are always strange. All I know is that I've got to get on with what I have to do. I'll chalk up Island View as an unpleasant experience and, in time, probably forget all about it."
