Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) by Robert Gregory Browne Page A
Authors: Robert Gregory Browne
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promise I won’t hurt you.”
He was about to reach for her again when a tiny, cracked voice that was barely audible rose from her small frame:
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
Tolan froze, that wave of familiarity washing over him again. Who was this woman?
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
She spoke quietly, but the tone and tenor of her voice sliced right through him, exposing a raw nerve.
“Two times four is a lie,” she murmured. “Two times four is a lie . . .”
Finally finding his own voice, Tolan said, “Sometimes it seems as if we live in a world full of lies. And lies cause nothing but hurt. Even the small ones.” He paused. “Has someone lied to you? Hurt you?”
She spoke again, but it came out so low and soft that he couldn’t decipher the words. He wasn’t sure if she had responded to his question or had simply repeated the same phrase.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me who hurt you.”
He reached out again, touching her shoulder, her reaction much less violent this time. She began to move, unfolding her arms, slowly turning toward him.
The wild damp hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him for a brief, lucid moment, her voice soft and full of quiet pain:
“You . . .” she said. “You hurt me.”
And in that moment, Tolan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He jumped to his feet, backing away from the bed, and he knew with an unblemished certainty that he had just lost his mind, because the face staring up at him, with its fierce, unflinching eyes—
—was Elizabeth Abagail Tolan.
Abby.
His dead wife.
10
B LACKBURN SAW IT coming just moments before it actually happened. Pushing his way out of the observation booth, he moved to the seclusion-room door. “Get this thing open. Now!”
Cassie quickly punched in a security code on the keyboard in front of her and, with a faint beep, the lock unlatched.
Blackburn threw the door wide and—
—Psycho Bitch was already midway through her attack, hands going for Tolan’s throat. For some inexplicable reason, Tolan just stood there, looking like a virgin hunter about to be sacrificed to a hungry lion.
Blackburn shot across the room and swatted her, hard, right across the face. With a howl, she grabbed her nose and fell to the floor, immediately drawing her body inward, curling into a ball, as she half-squealed, half-whispered the now familiar chant, her words coming out in wet, nasal gasps:
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two, a lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
And now Cassie was there, saying, “Get her on the bed.”
They grabbed her limbs, forcing her out of the ball, hoisting her to the mattress as she bucked and twisted, trying to break free.
A moment later, a security guard burst into the room and joined in.
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two, a lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
Nose bleeding, she rocked her head from side to side as Cassie worked with quiet efficiency and buckled her into restraints, wrists and ankles, then pulled a belt across her waist. She continued to thrash, blood flying, until Cassie held her head in place and pulled a strap across her forehead.
“Two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie . . .”
Blackburn thought about Tolan chastising him for calling these people whack jobs. But if a phrase ever described someone accurately, it was that one, because she was about the wackiest whack job he’d ever encountered.
“Two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie . . .”
After a moment, she finally began to calm down, the words gradually dying on her lips.
Blackburn caught his breath, then turned to find Tolan on the floor, his back against the wall, looking about as shaken as a man can get.
Which surprised him. Until this moment, Tolan had come off as a true professional,
He was about to reach for her again when a tiny, cracked voice that was barely audible rose from her small frame:
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
Tolan froze, that wave of familiarity washing over him again. Who was this woman?
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
She spoke quietly, but the tone and tenor of her voice sliced right through him, exposing a raw nerve.
“Two times four is a lie,” she murmured. “Two times four is a lie . . .”
Finally finding his own voice, Tolan said, “Sometimes it seems as if we live in a world full of lies. And lies cause nothing but hurt. Even the small ones.” He paused. “Has someone lied to you? Hurt you?”
She spoke again, but it came out so low and soft that he couldn’t decipher the words. He wasn’t sure if she had responded to his question or had simply repeated the same phrase.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me who hurt you.”
He reached out again, touching her shoulder, her reaction much less violent this time. She began to move, unfolding her arms, slowly turning toward him.
The wild damp hair fell away from her face as she looked up at him for a brief, lucid moment, her voice soft and full of quiet pain:
“You . . .” she said. “You hurt me.”
And in that moment, Tolan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He jumped to his feet, backing away from the bed, and he knew with an unblemished certainty that he had just lost his mind, because the face staring up at him, with its fierce, unflinching eyes—
—was Elizabeth Abagail Tolan.
Abby.
His dead wife.
10
B LACKBURN SAW IT coming just moments before it actually happened. Pushing his way out of the observation booth, he moved to the seclusion-room door. “Get this thing open. Now!”
Cassie quickly punched in a security code on the keyboard in front of her and, with a faint beep, the lock unlatched.
Blackburn threw the door wide and—
—Psycho Bitch was already midway through her attack, hands going for Tolan’s throat. For some inexplicable reason, Tolan just stood there, looking like a virgin hunter about to be sacrificed to a hungry lion.
Blackburn shot across the room and swatted her, hard, right across the face. With a howl, she grabbed her nose and fell to the floor, immediately drawing her body inward, curling into a ball, as she half-squealed, half-whispered the now familiar chant, her words coming out in wet, nasal gasps:
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two, a lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
And now Cassie was there, saying, “Get her on the bed.”
They grabbed her limbs, forcing her out of the ball, hoisting her to the mattress as she bucked and twisted, trying to break free.
A moment later, a security guard burst into the room and joined in.
“A lie stands on one leg, the truth on two, a lie stands on one leg, the truth on two . . .”
Nose bleeding, she rocked her head from side to side as Cassie worked with quiet efficiency and buckled her into restraints, wrists and ankles, then pulled a belt across her waist. She continued to thrash, blood flying, until Cassie held her head in place and pulled a strap across her forehead.
“Two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie . . .”
Blackburn thought about Tolan chastising him for calling these people whack jobs. But if a phrase ever described someone accurately, it was that one, because she was about the wackiest whack job he’d ever encountered.
“Two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie, two times four is a lie . . .”
After a moment, she finally began to calm down, the words gradually dying on her lips.
Blackburn caught his breath, then turned to find Tolan on the floor, his back against the wall, looking about as shaken as a man can get.
Which surprised him. Until this moment, Tolan had come off as a true professional,