Free The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller by Andrew E. Kaufman

kidnapping seemed to become more distorted, as did her impression of reality as a whole.”
    “Distorted in what way?”
    “Her recollection about what actually happened, the circumstances leading to it—none of it made any sense, and most of it seemed to lack truth. After a while, it started sounding like she was talking about someone else’s life rather than her own. She was a different person.”
    “What kinds of things did she say?”
    He gazed down at his notes, threw his hands up, shaking his head. “I honestly wouldn’t know where to begin. Purely illogical thinking.”
    I leaned forward to glance at the notes. “Can I have a look?”
    He dropped his arms down to shield them and stared at me as if I’d asked the unthinkable. “Absolutely not.”
    “But Mrs. Kingsley’s no longer alive, and her husband gave me permission.”
    “That’s not the point, Mr. Bannister. It’s at mydiscretion whether or not to release them, and I choose not to.”
    I shot him a long, curious gaze. He broke eye contact by picking up the phone, hastily punching a few buttons, and then said, “Ms. Penfield, please come to my office immediately.”
    “Doctor Faraday, you should understand my intentions here. I’m not trying to—”
    “I understand your intentions just fine. You have a job to do. So do I.”
    Penfield walked in, spared me a quick glance, then gave the doctor her attention. He said, “Please put these records back where they belong.”
    She nodded, moved toward his desk.
    I tried again. “Doctor, I don’t want to put Mrs. Kingsley or this hospital in a bad light. I just want to tell her story so people can understand the hell she went through. Not seeing those records would be missing the biggest part.”
    Penfield suddenly looked at me with an expression that was hard to read. I couldn’t tell whether it was animosity or…well, I just couldn’t tell.
    The doctor said, “The answer is still no, Mr. Bannister. The records are confidential. End of discussion.”
    Penfield grabbed the last of the papers, closed the folder. “Will there be anything else, doctor?”
    Faraday shook his head, and she threw me another quick glance before going on her way.
    He said, “Now, where were we?”
    I nodded toward the door. “We were discussing those records you just had whisked out of here.”
    “Look,” he said, exhaling his frustration and shaking his head. “I’m sorry if it came out wrong. It’s not that I’m afraid you’ll put us in a bad light or anything like that.”
    “Then what is it? Because quite honestly, I’m a little confused about what just happened here.”
    His stare lingered a moment. “Let me put it to you this way. Some things are better left alone. Trust me, this is one of them.”
    “I’m not following you.”
    “What I’m saying is that the picture you’d see of Mrs. Kingsley would not be a flattering one. And it wouldn’t serve any purpose other than to make her look badly.”
    “Doctor, with all due respect, good or bad, it’s reality, and it’s my job to write about it, not hide it.”
    With eyes locked on mine, lips pursed, he shook his head.
    I tried another option. “Then if you won’t let me see the records, can you at least tell me more about what happened while she was here?”
    He paused for a long moment, seemed to be evaluating my words, and then with reluctance in his voice said, “With each visit, she became more disturbed, more agitated…and more lost in her own mind. We couldn’t help her. No one could. Things were becoming extremely tense. And unpleasant.”
    “Unpleasant, how?”
    “We were concerned about the safety of others.”
    “Why?”
    He hesitated again. “There were threats.”
    “What kind?”
    “Death threats. To the staff and other patients—actually, to anyone who came within shouting distance of Mrs. Kingsley. Quite honestly, she frightened people. We’d made the decision to move her to the maximum-security unit, and her husband