Free Night Visions by Thomas Fahy Page B

Kincaidsticking his head through the front door. He steps inside warily, scanning the room for Detective Snair.
    â€œI talked to the landlord about the light fixture. The bulb burned out last week, and he only had a red one to replace it. It’s temporary until he can get to the hardware store. He’s had a lot of trouble getting around because of a bad back. Most likely, it’s just the mattress on his bed, but mattresses are expensive, so he keeps putting off—”
    â€œWhy did he have a red bulb in the first place?”
    â€œI asked that too. It’s from his darkroom.”
    â€œThanks.” Samantha nods.
    â€œKincaid, what the hell are you doing in here!” Snair roars as he comes through the tent.
    Officer Kincaid’s face blanches.
    â€œWe might have a print here.” Samantha steps into Snair’s path.
    He looks into her eyes, and she can’t tell if he is surprised, furious, or amused. Maybe all three. He turns to the desk. “On a CD?”
    â€œYes. It’s the same recording Frank found at the first crime scene.”
    â€œDetective Snair”—an officer steps through the tent—“I think you should see something.”
    â€œJacobs, dust this for prints,” Snair barks. Without looking at Samantha, he turns and follows the other officer through the tent and back onto the fire escape.
    Frank steps toward the window, and Samantha touches his arm. “I’m going to leave, okay.”
    He pauses, then nods quietly. “Sure.”
    She can tell that he is looking for some sign of weakness in her. She realizes that she is covering her stomach with her hands again and drops them to her side, pressing her lips tightlytogether to keep them from shaking. “Go on,” she says. “Let me know what you find out.” She starts quickly for the front door.
    â€œOne more thing.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWhat do you know about Phebe?”
    â€œShe was getting treatment for insomnia at the San Francisco Sleep Clinic. That’s where I met her. She and I are—were—part of a new study with Dr. Clay. He calls it Endymion’s Circle.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
    â€œEndymion?”
    â€œHe was a figure from Greek mythology.”
    â€œLike the guy who slept with his mother and poked out his eyes?”
    â€œNo, that’s Oedipus. You obviously weren’t a classics major.” She smiles faintly.
    â€œWho in their right mind would be a classics major?” Frank’s voice shifts in tone, becoming softer, more sincere. “Sam, when did you start having trouble sleeping?”
    â€œA little over six months ago.” Her head falls to the right.
    â€œAfter I moved?”
    â€œBefore,” she says quickly and looks up. “Anyway, the first treatment didn’t work for Phebe, so she left.”
    â€œWhat kind of treatment was it?”
    â€œElectrohypnosis.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you tell me?”
    â€œI didn’t think it was a big deal.”
    â€œYou didn’t think it was a big deal?” he responds incredulously, placing his hand on her right shoulder.
    â€œFrank, it doesn’t concern you. Just call me later and let me know what you find out, all right?”
    â€œOkay.” He lets go and walks to the tent.
    Â 
    Samantha rushes out of the building and drives away. At first, she doesn’t know where she is going, but soon she is sitting in the back pew of the church. She doesn’t want to see Phebe again, not as a piece of evidence. Phebe. Phebe. Phebe McCracken. Samantha says her name again and looks at the porcelain frog in her palm. She feels guilty about taking it from the apartment, but she needed something to think about other than that bloodred circle. Phebe loved frogs and the cello. Like Samantha, she wanted desperately to sleep again.
    There are fewer people than usual at the nine o’clock service, and