Free Prelude to a Scream by Jim Nisbet Page B

remember. I tried and found nothing. Although my mother’s maiden name came to mind…”
    â€œLet’s have it.”
    â€œSmith.” Corrigan probably knew that already. Stanley’s fingerprints weren’t exactly a secret. At this thought, he looked at his fingertips and turned them over. They hadn’t been inked, but that’s not the way it’s done anymore. There’s this scanner, now, plugged into a computer. You just lay your hand flat on a glass plate and relax while the computer memorizes the entire intimate thing.
    â€œSmith. Okay.”
    â€œThe birth was difficult. Flash forward forty-seven years, to a juniper in Golden Gate Park. Sounds of traffic. I heard a construction project, a crow calling. There was a gent by the name of Jasper sleeping nearby. He pulled me out from under the tree. It hurt like hell. I’d like to thank him anyway. I remember an irrigation sprinkler, too.”
    Annoyed, the cop sighed. “Nothing else? Say, three or four days before that?”
    â€œNothing. Let’s see. I went to work on Friday. I goofed off all week. Stayed home. Watch movies on TV. I—.”
    â€œWhat movies?”
    â€œSeveral. All of the Star Treks.”
    â€œOf course,” said Iris brightly.
    â€œIt was a festival thing. That’s the last I remember. Have I had an accident or not?”
    â€œYou could say that.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean? Wait a minute. You mean something corny, like an accident of fate?”
    The cop frowned. No jokes for Corrigan.
    Then again, Stanley bitterly noted, the joke wasn’t on Corrigan.
    Iris clasped his hand to her thigh and stared earnestly into his eyes.
    The joke is on Ahearn, and it’s not funny. But this is one firm thigh beneath this thin layer of cloth. No slip. A stocking, of a material distinct from that of the skirt. It has a certain mesh to it. Then smooth muscular flesh. She frequents a gymnasium; she climbs the Stairs to Nowhere three nights a week: less often than Stanley descends them… So, despite an Accident of Fate, Stanley is alive, this gymnastic thigh tells him so. To hell with Fate. Stanley is alive and receiving sentient messages via the umbrella stand in the corner.
    He pressed the thigh gently.
    Her lips slightly parted. But she did not resist.
    She knows how to bring them back from the brink, this nurse. Yes, I’m alive, Stanley thought, and he felt something like an electric current course suddenly into him, straight into the palm of his hand, like a yo-yo snapping back after rocking the cradle.
    He stared into her violet eyes. “Are we talking about a crime, here?”
    Corrigan shrugged. “That depends. Received any large sums of money lately?”
    Stanley frowned stupidly. How could this guy possibly know about the twenty dollars?
    â€œAh, Inspector Corrigan.” Dr. Sims turned away from the film he’d been examining and favored Corrigan with a thin, condescending smile.
    â€œWhat’s the verdict?” said Corrigan. “Any further wrinkles?”
    â€œI’ve only this minute received the films,” said the doctor. “I haven’t quite had time to review all of them.”
    â€œHop to it,” said Corrigan.
    Sims raised an eyebrow.
    â€œGo on,” said Corrigan.
    Sims clipped a large rectangle of film to a lightbox mounted on the wall.
    Thickened by morphine, curiosity and lust, Stanley’s voice projected little authority. “Am I the victim or the criminal, here? What’s going on?”
    â€œWe’re about to make it official,” said Corrigan.
    â€œMake what official?”
    Iris released Stanley’s hand and stood up from the bed. “Please Sean,” she began, “I know you’re upset…”
    Along with her use of the cop’s first name, Stanley took umbrage at the antecedent of her sympathy. The cop was upset?
    â€œâ€¦But don’t annoy the patient.