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“That’s all I need. Thank you for coming in.”
Mary tilts her head, makes an expression that might be called a smile. “Sending me off so soon? I don’t even get a little something for the road?”
A pause. “I’m not exactly going to kiss you goodbye, M—”
“Advice. It’s the least you can do, for old times’ sake.”
**
“She what?”
Michael took a step back when she whirled on him and now he takes another, nearly exiting her office altogether. “Umm, died, as far as we can tell. She died.”
“How? A Leitner?”
“More or less. The book she referenced in her statement? She was found surrounded by her own flayed skin, so —”
“Impossible. The whole point is that the subject is dead before the process begins. There’s no way she could have succeeded.”
“Well, it was her son that did it. According to the initial police reports. And he didn’t exactly succeed, so…”
“Give me that.” Gertrude all but snatches the file from him, makes up for it with an apologetic flap of the hand. “This simply isn’t right. Gerry couldn’t do such a thing to his own mother, no matter how much she…”
She trails off, skimming the illegible Xerox as best she can, and Michael fills the silence awkwardly.
“It would be the right thing to do. Help him out, I mean. For Eric.”
“Yes, it would be, Michael. Be a dear and put on the kettle, why don’t you.”
He’s used to dismissal by now and doesn’t seem to mind, or notice. Whether he caught her embarrassing lapse is another thing, but he’d likely make it an excuse to care for her more. To love her more. The poor thing.
Gerard had loved her too, once, when he was a boy. Maybe even Mary had loved her, alien as the concept was to any of them.
It doesn’t make her sick to read the coroner’s report, or even to go through the gruesome photographs, but that’s hardly surprising. Ex-wife or inhuman fear monster, a mass of flesh is a mass of flesh — once you’ve seen one…
See, Mary would have gotten the humour there.
“Here’s your t—”
“I’m FINE, thank you, Michael.”
He jumps, hurt like a startled puppy, and she curses herself. Now he’ll think something’s wrong, which it really isn’t. Shouldn’t be.
“It’s the migraine. Lights?”
Silently he turns them off and Gertrude is surprised to note that it actually does make her feel better. She honestly doesn’t notice the headaches anymore — it’s a constant battle between the building pressure behind her eyes and her refusal to let it in, to let it through. When stars explode on the back of her eyelids they form constellations of meaning.
Michael clears his throat gently. “Are you alright, Ms. Robinson? Do you need a painkiller?”
She needs a something killer. “Go home, dear. It’s past seven already.”
“So that you can stay up all night undisturbed? Again? I don’t think so.” The brat actually pulls up a chair, settling in with a painfully gentle expression. “Let me see those again. You think we missed something?”
“Michael, I’d really rather you didn’t. This is…” and here she winces, “It would be better for me if you weren’t involved.”
He blinks. “It’s what?”
“It’s.” Gritting her teeth. “Personal.”
“Eric was my friend, too, Gertrude. And Gerry — did you ever meet him when Eric brought him in? I—”
“Michael.”
“What?”
“It’s. Personal.”
“I don’t —”
“I know them better than you did. After Eric died. Much better.”
“Huh.”
She waits.
“Oh.”
“Go home, Michael.”
“Right. Okay. Uh. Goodnight.”
“Turn out the lights, please”
He steps out, gingerly. After a moment the building goes dark. And then she hears the door closing.
Only then does she let out the breath she’s been holding.
**
“You never wanted help before.”
“I’ve decided to take a… page from your book. You have your assistants and your migraines; can’t I have you?”
“That’s a layered question, Mary, and I don’t have time for your games anymore.”
A pout. “You never did. Alright, I’ll do it myself.”
“Please do. And send my regards to Gerry.”
“You just said that because you know I hate nicknames.”
“Yes, I did. Goodbye, Mary.”
“Goodbye, dear.”
**
In the Archive, in the dark, Gertrude Robinson puts her head in her hands and does not make a sound.