Free Pipeline by Christopher Carrolli Page A

She made me tell her
everything.”
    “Who? What are you talking about?”
    “Susan Logan, the sneaky bitch, that’s
who!”
    Tracy started to speak, and again, Marcia cut
her off.
    “She called me aside at the hospital today.
She said she heard reports that you’ve been drinking, and that
you’ve been distracted and absent minded while on duty. She made me
tell her everything that is going on, or she was going straight to
Kemp with what she heard. She knows.”
    “She has no right—”
    “She said that she could still consider you a
patient, since you never actually finished the sessions,” Marcia
said. “I’m sorry, Tracy, I didn’t know what else to do. I asked her
not to tell anyone—”
    “It’s all right, Marcia. It’s not your
fault.”
    “Tracy, I think she may be on her way
over.”
    “Great,” she said, her sarcasm undisguised as
she looked at four anxious faces.
    “Uh oh, you mean, everyone is there, right
now?”
    “Yep.”
    “Damn,” Marcia said, in her famous tone that
said the shit was about to hit the fan. Tracy promised to call her
back then flipped the cell phone shut.
    “We may be expecting company,” she said. The
words barely left her lips when the doorbell rang.
    * * * *
    She wasted no time opening the door and
greeting Susan Logan with a sneer of contempt. Susan stood in the
doorway, tilting her head in a sympathetic gesture used mostly
between old friends.
    “Tracy, please let me in. I’m very concerned
about you,” she said. “We all have been.” A brief and silent pause
passed while Tracy held the door open, allowing the brisk October
air to sweep through the house.
    The team all stared at each other, except
Sidney, who at the sound of that familiar voice, rose from the
chair in curiosity. He couldn’t see her; Tracy was blocking the
view between himself and the newly arrived guest.
    “You’ve been so concerned about me that you
decided to coerce Marcia into telling you what? That I’m a drunk,
or that I’m a lousy nurse lately, or that I’m holed up here, crazed
and consulting ghost hunters? What? What is it that you want with
me?”
    “It’s not you she wants, Tracy,” Sidney said,
breaking the mounting tension of a cauldron about to boil. “It’s
me.”
    He had recognized her voice after all, and as
Tracy stepped away in surprise, he could see that he was right.
    Dr. Susan Logan entered and stood before him,
face to face, for the first time since the last time he sat in her
office. She looked no different in the years that had passed. She
had the same rich, blond hair, and the same girlish charm still
oozed from her.
    “Hello, Sidney,” she said. “It’s been a long
time.” Her voice sounded cautious and uneven.
    “Suzy Q,” he said, now munching a Snickers
he’d stored in his backpack. “So, you finally found me.
Congratulations.”
    A look of confusion spread across all
faces.
    “You know her?” Tracy said.
    “This is the shrink I was telling you about,”
he said. “This is who my parents kept me from because of that
embarrassing moment many years ago when the adults finally realized
that little Sidney was in fact, ‘the speaker for the dead’.”
    Susan gave a nervous laugh; she could see
that the odd sense of humor in the boy had flourished in the man.
Tracy remained confused, and the others shot questioning glances at
Sidney.
    “So, you haven’t been concerned about me,”
she said. “You just needed me to lead you to Sidney?”
    “No, Tracy. That’s not true. My concern began
with you. When I spoke to Marcia, I realized that what was going on
with you was so much more complex than anyone understood.”
    “So, two birds with one stone, as they say,”
Sidney said. Susan didn’t answer. Sidney Pratt had grown into a
genius with an IQ level so high that no one talked about it except
behind closed doors. His scholastic work had been published in
nationwide journals, some of which came to Susan’s attention. He
was no one’s idiot.