Whence the Mockingbird - Chapter One

8/14/2019 Whence the Mockingbird - Chapter One

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Larry Schliessmann

It is easy to be brave from a safe distance.Aseop

Chapter 1Benjamin Charteret

A mockingbird appeared in my backyard. He was hefty for hisspecies, and seemed particularly interested in what I didwhenever we shared what he must have considered his territory.Nothing too unusual, I supposed at the time.

His timing interested me since he showed up weeks after atourist walking the beach discovered the body of my closet andoldest friend.

Someone had savagely murdered Alan. The killer or killersdismembered him one limb at a time. However, that was not theworst of what the sonofabitch did to him. After severing a limb,he cauterized the wound to keep Alan alive. After repeating thisfour times, he placed Alans torso on his stacked limbs just belowthe high tide mark, and then left his wallet balanced on hisabdomen.

However, the tide did not come in enough to wash him outinto the Atlantic Ocean. Instead, the cop who responded to atourist's 911 call found my name in Alans wallet and later toldme that the coroner concluded that Alan had died from shock andfear.

Unfortunately, the murderer escaped and now three weekslater, he seemed to have disappeared completely. Alan Paltrowwas about to become a cold case file.

I never knew all of Alans activities. Whoever does even withthe closest of friends?

After the funeral, which was mercifully brief, his ex-wifeapproached me. She had not shed a tear during the ceremony, andthen when she stood near enough for me to examine her face, Isaw the grief she had withheld earlier. She smelled like perfume

one might buy in a store such as J C Penney or Kohl's. The scentwas not unpleasant just ordinary unlike his ex-wife.Patti was a tall blonde who carried some extra weight on her

hips, but still looked as terrific as when Alan first introduced me

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Whence the Mockingbird

to her after he met her at some kind of luncheon. The loose black dress she wore looked expensive, hung to just above her kneesand got me thinking she should have worn something more

conservative. Her large blue eyes demanded attention. The rest of her face complimented them in a way that guaranteed that theviewer would not ignore her.

This is for you, she told me, dug an envelope from hershoulder bag, and held it out like an offering.

Reluctant to accept the large brown manila package, I didafter I saw my name in Alans hand printed on the front. Theenvelope was heavy enough to tell me that what hed put insidewas more than a single page letter.

Thanks, I said and wondered why I had since it felt soinappropriate, and watched Patti as she walked to her car,climbed behind the wheel, and drove off without lifting her handin a wave.

When seated in my Honda, I ripped open the envelope anddiscovered the deed to his cabin in Western North Carolina, aletter from his attorney explaining the transfer of ownership andtitle, and a note from Alan.

In the note, he wrote, "This is yours when Im dead. Take itand shut the hell up about it. You deserve ownership since youvebeen the only person who was always there for me. The onlyperson I've ever trusted.

If its at all possible, Ill return in my next life to drive youto drink.

Best wishes, Alan.Who besides you wants another life? I'd thought and stared

out the car window at the workers covering his grave with wetearth.

Built like a football center, Alan Paltrow would not have beena man I expected to be easily overcome by anything less thanthree assailants. He worked out regularly, and razzed meconstantly about not doing the same. Most women seemed to

think he was attractive. He had dark brown brooding eyes andkept his brown hair trimmed short. He face was long butsymmetrical. His five foot ten inch frame, broad shoulders andbarrel chest, made him a man to respect. However, he was one of

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those bears with a warm heart, and would stop the car to allow asquirrel right of way, or risk getting run down by jumping outand racing into traffic to rescue a slow moving turtle.

Two days after reading his letter, I arrived at his cabin andhad concluded that I would move there permanently, which I didthe next week after closing out my life in Coastal South Carolina.I was sick of tourists anyway.

The following day, the Mockingbird appeared to welcomedawn with a herald-like barrage of bird songs.

Okay, its weird to believe a bird might prove to be areincarnated friend, but I began to wonder as time progressed.

Whenever I went out, he sat there watching. He allowed meto approach until I would reach about ten feet from where heperched, and then with what could be misconstrued as a shrug,flew off to put distance between us.

After three days of this, I decided to follow him. We played agame of tag-like hide-and-seek constantly moving uphill deeperand deeper into the heavy forest behind the cabin.

Most of the morning and early afternoon passed and then hisbehavior changed radically. The bird landed on a small mound of leaves and pine needles and let me get close enough to touch him.His small dark eyes showed remarkable intelligence while hestared at me. Then he looked down and pecked the ground as if hunting a bug for a snack. He kicked at the forest debris untilbare earth showed, and then flew into the nearest tree as if toawait my reaction.

Curiosity burned a hole into my thoughts. I dropped onto myknees, brushed the leaves and needles aside, and found a smallbronze plaque. On it was the inscription Here it is.

An iced feeling of dread ran down my spine. All I could do atthat moment was to place my hand on the cool bronze surface asI wondered at the sequence of events that had transpired to leadme to that particular place, starting with Alan's brutal murder.

I sat and looked for the Mockingbird. When I found him, he

went into his heralds birdsong repertoire.The voice in my head warned me to forget about whathappened, sell the cabin, return to the coast, and get on with mylife.

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I did not. Planning to return the next morning, I left aftercovering the exposed dirt and plaque with leaves and other forestdebris so it appeared undisturbed.

The bird returned to the cabin with me, landed on the edge of the rear porch roof, and seemed to wait expectantly to learn of my plans.

I located a shovel on the porch and showed it to him, and thenwent into the cabin to think. No, not to think about the bird. Hehadnt even glanced at the shovel, and hell he was a bird.

Okay, I was not really convinced that something paranormalhad occurred and his lack of attention seemed to confirm mythoughts about him. It had seemed as if he had led me into theforest with the intention of showing me the bronze plaque, but healso might have intended to eat at a favorite spot and the locationproved coincidental.

Besides, as far as I knew that night, there was nothing else tofind, or perhaps it was all someones idea of a prank. If I liftedthe plaque, I might have discovered it to be the lid to a bizarreJack-in-the-Box. Imagination is a good pastime, but also, toooften; it seemed like a warning device set off requiring me toscrutinize my thoughts more thoroughly.

When I woke the following morning, I found the cabinimmersed in thick Blue Mountain fog. If someone stood on thefront porch, which was but fifteen feet deep, I would not haveknown of their presence.

I wondered what birds did during such weather. Nothing , Ithought, and decided to toss out some of the birdseed Id found ina plastic container at the bottom of the kitchen pantry to learn if my theory might prove true.

Opening the front door, I stepped into the fog and got an eeriefeeling that there was indeed someone standing now less than tenfeet away from me.

Hastily, I dumped some seeds on the floor of the porchwithout watching where they fell, and went back inside.

Now, with nothing planned for the day, I logged onto the netand ran a few stock transactions. I had done well enough over thelast five years that my accumulated wealth would provide mewith a comfortable retirement even though I was thirty-eight.

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Weathering the recession proved trying, but I had held my own.Two hours passed during which time, I grossed about eight

thousand. I shut down and when I looked outside discovered that

the sun shone brilliantly. The fog had melted under its heat.This time before entering the forest, I fixed a quick energylunch to bring along with three bottle of Deer Park natural springwater. I knew about the ongoing debate regarding bottled versustap water purity, but read a blogger who did these cool tests tocompare tap water to bottled water. She worked with a differentbrand, one that used processed tap water from some God-awfulriver around Newark, New Jersey. Reports showed that DeerPark was hands down better than all of the other brands. Thebloggers results, by the way, clearly demonstrated that tap waterwas gross in comparison to what came in a bottle. The tap waterboiled down into a yellow soup; bottled boiled down clear.

Finally, outside, I grabbed the shovel, and stepped onsomething that crunched underfoot. I looked down and saw thehusks of spent seeds. Somehow, the birds found their waythrough the fog and ate all of them.

Getting lost on the side of a mountain in Western NorthCarolina would prove unpleasant at best. Black bears do notmake for good companions even if they do not attack withoutserious provocation. If you unexpectedly walked up on one, youwould understand fear in a rapid heartbeat. I found two beforelocating the tree where the bronze plaque rested amongst itsroots.

After a quick food break, I jammed the blade of the shovelinto the earth alongside the plaque and hit a thick tree root. Theshock of it drilled up my arms.

Finding a better angle, I hoped, I tried again and managed tosucceed. The bronze plaque lifted and exposed bare earth. Tenminutes passed before anything else happened and then I heard ametal on metal thud and screech.

Tossing the shovel aside, I dropped to my knees and used my

fingers to expose the top of a small metal box about six by nine. Iwedged it free, sat, and opened the lid. Inside, I found a key to asafe deposit box.

Holding it on my palm brought back a flood of forgotten

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memories.I have a secret, Alan said one night between drinks. We

were halfway to smashed, which was the moment of the night

when either of us might decide he wanted to share somethingoutrageous.Im not surprised to hear it, I had replied as I lifted my half-

empty glass as I prepared to drain it.Alan put his down, and lifted his briefcase from the floor

alongside his chair. He snapped the latches open and lifted out alegal looking document. He placed it on the table after wiping thesurface with a napkin he snatched from the booth behind us.

Dont read this, he said. I want you to trust me and justsign the line at the bottom. Then, mysteriously, he covered therest of it with a manila folder and handed me an ink pen.

I trust you, I said. I was drunk enough not to care if it was aprank, and signed my named, and then asked, So to whom did I

just give all of my assets?He added mystery to mystery. One day youll understand,

but until then youll have to continue to endure and trust me.Is this about your secret?He nodded without speaking as if he did not intend to explain

more of the details.Okay, I said. Am I now in danger?Alan glanced at me as he slipped the sheet of paper into the

folder, put that in his briefcase, and snapped it shut.With a broad disarming smile, he chuckled and said, Not as

long as Im still alive.With the key in hand, I suspected what I had signed was a

form to give me access to the box that I would need the key toopen.

I filled in the hole, replaced the bronze plaque, covered itwith leaves and pine needles, and returned to the cabin in time fornightfall. When I washed my hands, I smelled the loamy earth.

Not once had I seen the Mockingbird that day.

After a shower, I began searching through the draws in thebedroom, kitchen, and small office until I located a stack of bank statements from a local bank. The total in the accounts wasminimal, but that was irrelevant.

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Sitting in the small kitchen alcove with a line of bowedwindows surrounding two sides the round table and chairs, Isipped freshly brewed coffee and read the local newspaper.

A loud rapping on the window glass scared the crap out of me, but when I looked, I saw was the Mockingbird sitting on thesill with one fathomless eye peering at me.

So, youve been roaming around the forest all day and nowyou demand attention. You know that I was almost eaten by bearsbecause of you. If youd've guided me back to the tree, Iwouldntve gotten lost.

He pecked the glass again, and I watched him snag the smallinsect his activity had dislodged.

I shouldve known you didnt care, you self-interested bird,I said, turned back to the paper and was interrupted by a loudrepeated knock on the front door. The sound resonated throughthe cabin.

Standing in front of the door, I couldnt imagine who knewthat I lived there now, or why a stranger would appear just afterdark. The locals were friendly, but that friendly?

Instead of opening it, I grabbed a fireplace tool and calledout, Yes?

The response I heard was, Benjamin, its me Patti. Wouldyou please let me come inside? Its awful out here when I'malone.

"Patti?" What the hell as you doing here? You're alone?Of course Im alone, I just told you that. Now, please, Ben,

open up.Its unlocked, Patti, come on in. I put the tool alongside my

leg and turned so she would not see it when she entered.Pattis entrance was both hurried and elegant. How she

managed that, Ill never know but when she shut and locked thedoor behind her after a quick furtive glance into the dark forest, Istopped thinking about the way she entered the cabin.

Thank, God, she said as if she had suddenly found that

Jesus really was her personal Savior. Before that moment, theonly savior I knew that she would accept needed a strongfinancial bottom line and a lot of cash flow.

I waited for her to cross herself, and when she failed to, I

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asked, Why are you here?Her answer proved to be innocuous and meaningless. I

wanted to see if everything worked out for you. I knew you left

the beach, but I needed to know if you made it here safely.Why in Gods name would you give a damn about my safety

all of a sudden?Really? I asked, watched her nod, and added, Theres

fresh coffee in the kitchen. Go on and help yourself. Ill be therein a second.

Patti shed her jacket, dropped it on the sofa without a word ora glance over her shoulder, and walked through the doorway intothe kitchen, which alerted me to the fact that she'd been in thecabin sometime in the past maybe more than once.

That should not have surprised me, but briefly, it did and Ishook it off. I put away the fireplace tool, locked the front door,picked up her jacket, and draped it on the arm of the side chair bythe wall. I did not want Alan's ex feeling as if she had somepreferential right to visit my new home.

She was sitting at the table by the window. A glance outside,told me that the Mockingbird had left the area where light fromthe kitchen illuminated the grounds.

Off to hunt more bugs , I suspected and sat across from myseriously unwanted guest.

"How did you get here?" I asked and hoped she wouldunderstand the inference of my question.

"I drove of course. You know there isn't any publictransportation out here." She sipped coffee and watched me overthe rim.

"You could've had a cab bring you up here." I looked at mycoffee. The cup was empty, so I went to the counter and filled it.She did not respond, but I hadn't expected her to.

After sitting, I studied her face. A minute passed in silence,and she finally spoke, which was good since I had no plan to sayanything before she talked.

"I know you're wondering why I'm really here, Benjamin."She stopped as if expecting a response. When she didn't get one,she shook her head and smiled wryly as if she wanted me toknow she understood what I'd done, which made me feel slightly

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emasculated.You think? "Alan told me he planned to give the cabin to you and I

agreed. I thought it was best under the circumstances." She liftedher mug."And you just thought you'd drive for six or seven hours to

tell me that face to face? Come on, Patti, you think I'm stupid orwhat?"

"No, I don't and no I didn't drive up here to tell you that. It's just that you're making me so nervous. Can't we have aconversation like acquaintances at least?" She placed her mug onthe table without taking another sip and stared out the window.

"I think I know who killed Alan, but not why." She spokevery softly.

She had my attention. "Who?""A guy named Steuern, Thomas Steuern. He used to be a

psychiatrist back home. The bastard developed an emotionalharem of married women, and several unmarried ones, of course." Patti placed her folded hands on the table. She appearedserious, but who knew with her?

"What did this shrink have to do with killing Alan?"She shook her head. "Nothing directly, but I believe he hired

someone to do it.""A Board Certified psychiatrist? You are joking right? I mean

how much does the bastard make for his feel good gibberish?"She shrugged as if helpless to explain the man's motives to

another man. "I paid him $250.00 an hour.""You saw him? For how long if I might ask.""About six months." She appeared uncomfortable, and I

considered dropping it, but not if Steuern had a hand in Alan'sdeath. Hell, law enforcement had yet to punish anyone for thecrime. Someone needed to eat shit for it soon.

"None of this makes much sense to me, Patti. I think youneed some evidence to at least make it plausible, don't you?"

"If I was planning to go to the police, I would, but that's whyI didn't go to the police. They wouldn't've believed me with whatlittle I know. Besides, Steuern knows everyone who is importanton the island. Especially the women in his emotional harem.

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There're a lot of them." She leaned back, a button at the top of herblouse popped loose, which, since the two above were openedpreviously, exposed the tops of her breasts. Well, a guy notices

these things.When she did nothing to cover herself, or button her blouse, Ithought, Now, what is this about? Distraction or accidental?Hell, she was never shy about her physical attributes as Alanfound out one night a local club.

He went out with a couple friends he worked with, and afterseveral rounds, they decided to try the newest strip joint, which iswhere he found his wife dancing in a string thong, nothing ontop, with a pole between her legs. Oh, I forgot, she was upsidedown and humping the pole as if she wanted to reach climax withan audience of drooling men from every walk of life who threwfistfuls of cash her way.

Alan never told me if she succeeded, or how he reacted whenhis friends asked him what she was doing there and did he knowabout her dancing? Is that why he brought them to that club? Heconfronted her still on stage, but by then without the thong.

Hell of a thing , I thought at the time, seeing your wife nudeand filmed in sweat before a crowd of men who would use thememory of the occasion when they arrived home.

Divorce was imminent and happened uncontested three-months later.

Alan had been grateful they did not have children, but Ialways believed there was something more he felt that he wouldnever reveal even to me. Like, I said, everyone has secrets.

Patti had been talking and I missed every word of it due todistraction.

"You still work at the club?" I blurted unexpectedly as aconnection between her, Alan, and the bullshit doctor formed inmy head.

"Alan told you about that?" she asked without soundingoffended by my question, but colored slightly.

I nodded and watched her again.She grinned and raised an eyebrow as she shrugged."Weekends the pay is real good. I make six hundred a night. If there's a convention in town I might earn a grand for pole

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dancing." Naked pole dancing , I thought. Wow. "How does this come into play with the shrink and Alan's

death?" I asked as calmly as possible."I was seeing Steuern for therapy when we started clubbing,and asked him if he thought I should try out as a dancer. He said Ishould and that I also needed to put some distance between meand Alan."

"Tell me about his emotional harem. What did you mean bythat?"

"Well, you know most psychiatric patients come to love theirdoctor, or develop strong bonds that are more dependency thanhealthy. Usually, the psychiatrist sets up boundaries. Steuernexploited the bonds instead. Many of his married patients aredivorced because of his recommendations. I know for a fact thathe's slept with several."

"And you know that because?""After I started working at the club, before Alan caught me,

Steuern came to watch my performance. The next time I had anappointment, he told me I needed to strip for him, and that itwould be exactly the kind of therapy I needed to move beyondthe constraints of an overbearing husband and failing marriage.

"I trusted him and did it. Afterwards, he had me stay nakedand before I knew it, we were having sex. I didn't mind because Itrusted him, and to be honest, some part of me loved him. He'dhelped me free my inner self and I became stronger. The nextday, I realized what he had done was seduce me emotionally intoallowing him to have me. It felt like emotional rape."

"And Alan?""Alan never knew, but I began talking to other patients.

Several were close friends. All of them acted as if Steuern wasGod on earth, or a secret lover. One friend's daughter asked hermother if she had been sleeping with Steuern, which she deniedof course, but she had been and wanted to continue it as part of

her therapy to improve her sex life."I recorded all of my conversations and turned the bastard in.He lost his license, was sued by several former and currentpatients, and ended up ruined."

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"And that's why he had someone kill Alan?" It made goodsense on the face of it, but still, evidence needed plausibility.

"I think so," she said. However, Patti did not sound as if she

really cared as much as I thought a woman in her situation shouldcare.Then I had a real revelation. "You enjoyed sex with the

doctor didn't you? How many times did you fuck him, Patti?" Damn it girl you were married to Alan at the time. My frown

must have relayed my feelings.She tried to look in my eyes, but her gaze kept sliding off as

if she stood on an oil slick and needed to check the floor."You believe that your decision to be a pole dancing stripper

is the real cause of his death." I was close to shouting hated theraw rage that throbbed in my head.

Patti nodded, and looked both meek and defeated, which inturn made me fell like a total shit.

I couldn't decide who I loathed more just then, her or me andconcluded either way I'd been wrong with at least mypresentation.

"Listen," I started, and saw tears in her eyes. "Sorry, Ishouldn't've been so crude."

"No, you were right, but I don't want to live life beingpunished by you or anyone else. None of us is that perfect, Ben,not even you. I made a lot of mistakes."

"Then why did you lie to me? Does fabricating truth help justify your actions then or now?" I struggled against theannoyance I felt knowing that at least in part it was due to theknowledge that she was correct. My expectations of other peoplewas often too damn high, a fact I frequently failed to realize untilI was too late to change the results. I rubbed my eyes with myfingers and glanced up at her.

She glared at me, but I could see in her eyes that she wouldnot answer the single question that would have ended mysuspicions.

Oh, to hell with it. To each his own, I thought and drained mymug. I did not feel like talking with her for another second. Shehad lied about her actions back then and her lie might have cost

Alan his life. Why should I care enough to believe anything else

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she said?"You can let yourself out," I told her in an expressionless

monotone, and quietly left the kitchen.

"But wait--""No, Patti. There's nothing to wait for." I had reached the hallwhen she called out.

"If you don't mind, I really don't like driving around up herein the dark. I would get lost and drive off the road. Can I use yourguest room?"

I turned to deny her, and found myself three feet away fromher. She had slipped off her shoes, followed me, and almoststopped my heart. I despise being startled.

My instant reaction was to shake my head, but I squeezed myhands into fists. "Sure, Patti. There're towels and linens in thecloset at the end of the hall. See you tomorrow."

This time, I made it into the bedroom, shut the door, and saton the edge of my bed. My heart still raced and sweat beaded mybrow more from the effort to control my reaction than herunexpected presence. Usually, I get a feeling when someone isclose, but this time my inner warning system had failed.Moreover, I hated being angry, which was something Alanalways found to be a source of personal entertainment. He oftenpushed me to the limit and then stood back to watch me spiral outof control. The memory made me grin.

"Damn woman," I muttered and shut off the light, but twentyminutes later, she knocked on my door.

I rolled out of bed, slipped a robe over my shoulders, beltedit, and opened the door. Beyond her, the lights were off, butenough moonlight seeped into the cabin for her silhouette to beclearly visible. She had a towel around her torso. The terry clothended high on her thighs. Her bare legs looked better than I hadpictured them a few times, years back. Patti might have carried afew extra pounds on her hips, but not on her legs. They seemedathletically trim and she smelled like soap and clean female.

"Do you need something else?" I asked, pleased my voicesounded a bit groggy as if she'd awakened me, and not as if I'dtaken inventory of her body.

"I didn't bring any clothing with me except what I wore and I

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can't sleep in that it's too damn dirty."I considered her statement, decided it was reasonable, and

nodded. "Okay hold on a minute." I turned and went to my

dresser, again did not know she'd followed until a small flashlightilluminated the drawer I slid open."I keep it in my purse for emergencies," she said as if needing

to explain why she carried the light. Right, in case you get stuck on the side of the road driving up

the mountain at night. There was always something going onwith her, some plan or maneuver.

She aimed the beam so it lit her manicured nails, highlightedthe drawer's contents, my underwear, and said, "Those will do."

"Take them." I watched her lift out a pair of red boxers. Shepassed me the light, which I took now as curious as a cat seeingan eagle walking across the yard thinking, hey, a bird is a bird, Ican take this one.

I did not point the light away from the dresser, but did see herpull my boxers on, saw a tantalizing glimpse of flesh maybe Ishouldn't've seen, but felt she wanted me to see it and okay, Iwanted me to.

"How about a t-shirt?" she asked smiling as if to let me knowthat she had worked me, and knew I'd reacted to her flash of exposure as she had wished I would.

Score one for you , I thought grimly. She was making self-control difficult.

After opening the second drawer, I said, "Pick one, and no Idon't have a red one to match the boxers."

The light ran over the neatly arrayed piles, and stopped onone of my favorites. Printed across the front was "Cancel mysubscription; I don't need your issues anymore."

This time when I looked at her face, I saw her watching me.Again, I reacted, as she had desired.

Where the hell is this going?"Could you hold the light again?" I accepted it when she

handed the flashlight over. I really wanted to illuminate her bodycompletely while she pulled on the t-shirt. What the hell. Wewere consenting adults.

This woman is a nut case, pal be careful what you ask for.

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However, I could not force myself to look away as the toweldropped and she lifted the t-shirt over her head. She turned justenough to give me a full profile, show me her firm breasts, hard

nipples, and I fought down the wave of desire that threatenedcommon sense. I'm telling you, ace, don't go there , I thought, do not cross the

line with this one. For some reason, she needed to shake her torso slightly as she

pulled the shirt over her head, and finally, I turned away, foundthe window, and stared into the moonlit yard. I felt sweat trickledown my spine.

The Mockingbird sat on the windowsill as if he too wanted towatch her show.

"Thanks," Patti said and put her fingers on the back of myhand as if she meant to hold it and guide my fingers to touch herbody.

I slipped the flashlight against her palm. "Anything else youwant?" Please don't answer that.

She shined the light down so it lit her from breasts to feet,squatted, and picked up the towel.

"I'll need something to wear in the morning while I wash myclothing. You do have a laundry room?" She did not sound likeherself, but more like a woman attracted by my rejection andknew she would overcome an obvious male weakness with timeand, well exposure.

"Washer and dryer," I said. "They're in the closet in thekitchen alongside the pantry. I'll show you in the morning." Alandidn't show you?

"Thank you, Ben," she said and left the room after switchingoff her light.

I waited until I heard her close the guest room door, closedmine and sat on the edge of the bed, saw the Mockingbird, andsaid softly, "Now what the hell do you make of that, pal?"

The bird seemed to examine my eyes, pecked the glass,

snatched a small moth attracted by Patti's flashlight, and flew off into the darkness.Yes, I wanted to go to her. Yes, I wanted to remove what

she'd just put on and see and touch what was special about her,

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what had driven Alan to marrying her when he was havingsecond and third thoughts.

But hell a body isn't everything, I attempted to convince myself.

A healthy functional mind is a lot more important, I addedfacetiously, climbed under the sheet with the knowledge that Ineeded to get her to leave, or the part of me driven to desire thephysical over sanity, might just win the argument. Not everybrain cell agreed with the mind over body thing.

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Whence the Mockingbird - Chapter One

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