Read Online Orpheus Lost by Janette Turner Hospital - Free Book Online

fly. Nevertheless, the hold she had over him because of that night was intolerable. It was also the very thing that made the tripping of the switch so intense. She would come to understand that. Lesson One was about to begin.
    “I keep reading about this,” she said, coming to life. “Random interrogations. A lot of bloggers claim they’re notofficial at all, they’re rogue vigilante groups, ex-military types, that kind of thing.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Everyone’s understandably paranoid these days, it’s a national epidemic, isn’t it? Still, I’ve assumed the bloggers were conspiracy nutters.” Her focus on the eye holes in his mask was intense. “But then, it’s never happened to me before. I’ve never had a gun held against my head before.” She waited for his response, and when there was none, she said, “And then again, suicide bombers tip us all toward conspiracy theories.”
    She was turned on again.
    So was he.
    They were at the lip of the switch-flow falls.
    Would she recognize his voice? Unlikely. Did he want her to? Yes. No. Not yet. Not until he was ready. I know things about you that no one should know. When you know that I know them, you will squirm. You will find the situation unbearable but there will be nothing you can do.
    “This is all very strange,” she said. “I suppose it’s to do with yesterday’s subway bombing?”
    “I have some questions. Your answers will be recorded.”
    She frowned, her monitoring of details unwavering. “You remind me of someone. Do I know you?”
    He did not look at her. He said nothing. He took the chair opposite, on the other side of the table, and switched the tape recorder on.
    “Name,” he said.
    “Have we met somewhere? Your voice sounds familiar.”
    “Name.”
    “You mean you don’t know it?”
    “State your name.”
    “Obviously you already know it. You don’t arrest people in the middle of the night and put them in a car with blackened windows and take them on long rides in circles around Boston and to God knows where without knowing who they are.”
    “You are not under arrest.”
    “I’m glad to hear it. You would have been in multiple violations of due process if I were. So what exactly am I under, apart from duress?”
    He busied himself with knobs and dials, his voice bureaucratic. “You have been brought in for questioning on issues pertaining to terrorist acts.”
    “You mean the Park Street incident.” She leaned closer, intimately conspiratorial. “If you bring in people at random, that’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, but these days it’s better than being on the casualty lists. On the other hand, if I’m supposed to have any information on the incident, I regret to tell you somebody must have screwed up because I’m a dead waste of your time. But if you tell me who you think I am and what murky connection you think I have to the bombing, then I’ll tell you who I really am and what I actually do, and I’ll state my full name for your machine there. Then maybe you can figure out who screwed up.”
    She was behaving the way she behaved in his dreams. Was this a dream? In a small spasm of anxiety, he applied tests: he pushed REWIND and PLAY.
    You are not under arrest , his own voice said.
    I’m glad to hear it. You would have been in multiple violations of due process due process due process—
    He pushed STOP .
    He had the dream-sense of moving underwater, of wading through sand, of being unable to make things happen, of beingimpotent. He could never make the dream scripts come out right. He could never make switch-flow happen in his sleep. You won’t think it’s so funny , he kept warning in dreams, but she kept on insisting it was.
    He almost shouted at her: A normal person would be alarmed . A normal person, at the very least, would be either frightened or outraged. What was the matter with her fear index? How was it possible, given what had happened to her in the course of