Whisper in the Dark (A Thriller) by Robert Gregory Browne Page B

a guy in control of himself and his patients. Which was pretty much a miracle when you considered what Tolan had been through over the last year. The guy was a rock.
    But there was something now that didn’t quite fit. Something more to Tolan’s demeanor than the sudden surprise of a patient going ape shit. His eyes registered a shock that was far deeper than the situation warranted, as if he had just seen or witnessed an event that Blackburn wasn’t privy to.
    The image of the old homeless guy came into Blackburn’s head. He, too, had had that look when he saw the bitch. Not quite as severe as Tolan’s, but he had backed away from her with what, at the time, had seemed to be an unwarranted expression of surprise and fear.
    Blackburn had just assumed the old guy was off his rocker—so many of the homeless were—but it now appeared that this woman, whoever she was, had some hidden ability to render men powerless. Something in her look or her demeanor or her scent, something Blackburn was unable to see or feel or smell, made them vulnerable to an attack. She was an insect, stinging her victims into submission before she devoured them.
    “We okay in here?” the guard asked Cassie.
    She nodded and he headed back out the door.
    Glancing down at the smear of blood on the back of his hand, Blackburn watched as Cassie used a tissue to swab Psycho Bitch’s face and nose. He didn’t think he’d broken anything, but she was certainly a mess.
    And she was no longer fighting. Just stared at the ceiling as if none of this had happened, looking for all the world like a corpse waiting for the embalmer.
    Blackburn wondered if she was too far gone to help him. She was about as cracked as you can get, and no amount of spit and bailing wire would put her back together again. And judging by Tolan’s demeanor, he wasn’t in any shape to help out.
    Blackburn held out a hand to him. “You all right, Doc?”
    Tolan ignored the offer. “Her face . . .” he said.
    He still looked dazed.
    Blackburn frowned, remembering something similar coming out of the old homeless guy’s mouth. Looking over at the bitch again, he realized he’d never seen her without blood all over her face.
    “Yeah, I guess I banged her up pretty good.”
    “No,” Tolan said, “that’s not what I mean. She . . . she looks just like . . .”
    Then he paused, letting the words trail off as he dragged himself to his feet. His gaze had fallen on Psycho Bitch, his eyes abruptly coming into focus as the shock that had been clouding them for the last few moments seemed to vanish in an instant. Now they showed relief.
    “Doc?”
    Tolan shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing,” he said. “I . . . I don’t know what happened. She just took me by surprise.”
    Sensing there was a lot more to it than that, Blackburn was about to respond when his cell phone bleeped. He took it from his coat pocket, checked the screen.
    Mats Hansen.
    He clicked it on. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”
    “So am I,” Mats said. “And you’re gonna want to see this.”
    “What’ve you got?”
    “Not over a cell. You never know who’s listening.”
    “Oh, for crissakes,” Blackburn said. “Give.”
    “No way. This is too hot. This case just took a major left turn. So get your ass over to the lab ASAP.”
    Then the line went dead.
    Mats had always been something of a drama queen, but this was ridiculous.
    Blackburn looked at Tolan, who seemed to have almost fully recovered now and was crossing to the bed. When he got there, he stared down at Psycho Bitch with only a trace of hesitation. Whatever had spooked him was gone.
    “So what’s the prognosis, Doc? Any chance you’ll get her to open up?”
    Tolan kept staring at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure he trusted his eyes. “I don’t have an answer for you,” he said. “Or a timetable, for that matter.” Then he turned to Blackburn. “But one thing I do know: You owe my colleague an