{"id":229,"date":"2017-05-23T08:39:09","date_gmt":"2017-05-23T12:39:09","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/allen-wold.com\/?page_id=229"},"modified":"2018-01-06T08:16:04","modified_gmt":"2018-01-06T13:16:04","slug":"below-the-threshold-sample","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/?page_id=229","title":{"rendered":"Below the Threshold first pages"},"content":{"rendered":"

File One: Monday Evening<\/strong><\/p>\n

The phone started ringing just as Dr. Jack Page settled down with a double Laphroaig before fixing himself some supper. With a sigh he put down his drink, careful not to spill any on his black-gloved false left hand, got out of his recliner and picked up the phone on the third ring.<\/p>\n

\u201cPage here,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Page, this is Emily Velasquez. I\u2019m sorry to disturb you but look, could we talk this evening?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me check,\u201d he said, and took from his shirt pocket the slim appointment book he always carried. He\u2019d love to talk with Emily, any time, but her tone of voice had implied she needed him as her therapist, rather than \u2014 otherwise. \u201cI\u2019m free right now,\u201d he said when he found the right page. Emily had no idea of his interest in her, of course. He was too professional for that. \u201cWant to tell me about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m frightened, Dr. Page,\u201d she said. \u201cMaybe I\u2019m just imagining things again, maybe it\u2019s just the dream I had last night, but even if that\u2019s true, I\u2019m frightened, and I don\u2019t know what to do about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow take it easy, Emily, try to calm down. I haven\u2019t had supper yet, do you want to meet me at my office, say about eight?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, Doctor, I can\u2019t stand it. I\u2019ve got to know if what I saw was real or not. If I just invented it, okay, that\u2019s bad enough, I thought I was getting better \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are, Emily, you know that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but then maybe it\u2019s real, maybe \u2014 and I was right there, and I didn\u2019t even know it, right there with them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith who, Emily, slow down and tell me what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIm sorry, Dr. Page, I \u2014 I don\u2019t want to talk about it on the phone. I think I\u2019ve stumbled onto some kind of conspiracy. \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want me to come over there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not here, they may be watching \u2014 God, I sound paranoid, don\u2019t I?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do, and that\u2019s not like you. All right, come down to the office, we\u2019ll try to work this out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you haven\u2019t eaten yet, how about the Escapades, dinner on me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jack sighed. He was not in the habit of accepting meals from his patients, though if Emily had just asked him, instead of presenting him with this inarticulate story, he would have been sorely tempted. As it was\u2026. \u201cCan you tell me anything about it at all?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIm sorry,\u201d she went on. \u201cI can\u2019t explain, I have to \u2014 Maybe it\u2019s all in my mind, but if it\u2019s real, it could be important, and I might be in danger. I have to show you something. Then you can tell me what I should do next \u2014 go to the police, take a tranquilizer, whatever.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d Dr. Page said. \u201cWhen shall I meet you?\u201d \u201cSeven thirty? Will that be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat will be fine. I\u2019ll see you then.\u201d<\/p>\n

File Two: Monday Evening<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jack Page drove up Garfield through downtown Freeport, toward the Escapades restaurant and his meeting with Emily Velasquez. The traffic was light, putting no strain on his artificial left hand. Encased in a black glove, it easily gripped the steering wheel in between the mechanical thumb and the rigid but naturally curved fingers.<\/p>\n

He turned right onto Clyne, doing most of the work with his right hand. The neighborhood here was a bit rougher, and the hookers, he noticed, were already out, though it wasn\u2019t yet seven thirty.<\/p>\n

Emily had been seeing him for a year now, and he had thought that she was making progress in dealing with her schizophrenic tendencies. The phone call had not been like her at all, and had any of his other clients called him with a story like that, he would have insisted on a regular office visit. But Emily was different. Clinical psychologists and their patients should not develop relationships outside the office, but \u2026<\/p>\n

He turned left up Wade Avenue. Emily had better have a good reason for this meeting, he thought. But then, he had to admit that it was he who had yielded to temptation. In fact, if he could face the truth, he was falling in love with her. And that, he knew, was interfering with his objectivity in this case.<\/p>\n

After another block he saw the restaurant ahead, and made a sharp left into its parking lot. He had to use the spinner on his wheel. His false left hand, as good as it was, could not grip the steering wheel strongly enough to make the turn unaided. The hand \u2014 and the arm above it to halfway between his elbow and his shoulder was a compromise between a more powerful but fully artificial metal hook, which might have disturbed his clients, and a purely cosmetic but totally useless plastic hand. He stopped by the attendant\u2019s booth between the restaurant and the parking lot, got out, and gave his keys to the young man on duty.<\/p>\n

The main entrance of the Escapades was directly opposite the parking lot booth. Jack adjusted his turtleneck shirt and went in. There were several other people in the little lounge area, but no Emily. When the Maitre d\u2019 came over, Jack asked him about her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir,\u201d the man said. \u201cWe have no reservation in the name of Velasquez.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I\u2019m a little early,\u201d Jack said. \u201cCan you give me a table, and tell her Dr. Page is here when she comes in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCertainly, Dr. Page. Please come this way.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was led to a small table at the back. When the waiter came over a moment later Jack ordered a Laphroaig on the rocks, and was gratified when the waiter knew what that was. Another moment later and he had the fine unblended scotch whisky and took a sip.<\/p>\n

All right, he told himself, maybe he was overstepping his professional bounds a bit by coming here, but dammit, that phone call of Emily\u2019s was not a part of her usual pattern. Either there was something real to worry about, or she was developing a new psychosis. In either case, it was best to get to the bottom of it at once.<\/p>\n

Though his conversation with her had been brief, the sudden expression of paranoia she had exhibited was not uncommon these days. Indeed, many of his clients came to him for just that reason. Ever since the Visitors had come, three years ago, a large portion of the population had developed exaggerated fears about what the Visitors were and what they were up to.<\/p>\n

That there was cause for concern only complicated the issue. Almost everybody had second-hand experience with Visitor violence, and many had felt the impact first hand, even here in Freeport. This was one of the few cities in the south, the zone in which Visitors could live without fear of the red dust, and which was, at the same time, completely controlled by humans. Oh, there were those \u201cnaturalized\u201d Visitors, of course, ex-fifth columnists who, known as such to their own people, had come to this human-controlled city for refuge.<\/p>\n

But it was one thing to be concerned about tbe realities of the Visitor\u2019s presence, and another to be unable to separate imaginary fears from the truth. It was Jack\u2019s self-imposed task to help those who could not do so, to enable them to be able to come to terms with Visitor influence and presence, even with Northampton so near across the bay. The human mind frequently over-reacted to the sudden strange, the alien, and the unknown. For many of Jack\u2019s clients, this was keeping them from coping with the day-to-day world.<\/p>\n

His glass was empty. It was ten minutes to eight. He signaled the waiter, ordered another, and asked the man to check to see if Emily had come in yet. After a few moments the waiter returned and said that she had not.<\/p>\n

Emily might be schizophrenic, but she\u2019d never before exhibited any of the Alien Anxiety Syndrome, as Jack called it. What had she said on the phone? Something about being afraid, a conspiracy, wanting to show Jack something, about \u2018being there with them,\u2019 whatever that meant. He wished he\u2019d been able to draw her out more. From any of his other AAS clients, he\u2019d just assume an intensification of their paranoia, but Emily didn\u2019t fit in with that syndrome.<\/p>\n

It was especially disturbing since, during the last month or so, many of his AAS patients had seemed to be getting a lot better. In itself, that should have been encouraging, but there were too many of them, and it was happening too quickly, as if they all shared a common disease which had run its course. Except that psychological problems didn\u2019t work that way. He was sure there was a pattern there, though there was nothing yet he could put his finger on.<\/p>\n

And Emily was going counter to that pattern.<\/p>\n

The waiter came back and asked him if he\u2019d like to order yet.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to wait a bit longer,\u201d Jack said, \u201cin case she\u2019s just gotten hung up in traffic somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnother drink, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d better not.\u201d He showed the waiter his artificial hand. \u201cI have a hard enough time driving as it is,\u201d he said. The waiter nodded and went off.<\/p>\n

It was now after eight. Emily, Jack thought, might be schizophrenic, and might even be developing a latent paranoia, but her strange call to him was more than a little worrying. He noticed the Maitre d\u2019 standing beside his table. \u201cMiss Velasquez has not come in yet,\u201d the man said. \u201cAre you sure you were to met her here, at this time?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite sure,\u201d Jack said. He could see, beyond the Maitre d\u2019, people standing in the lounge. \u201cMaybe I\u2019d better wait in the bar.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat might be best,\u201d the Maitre d\u2019 said, and as soon as Jack got up from the table a busboy came over to make it ready for a paying customer.<\/p>\n

The bar was opposite the lounge from the dining room. Jack went into the darkened room and looked for a seat at the counter. He saw an acquaintance with an empty stool next to him, so he went over.<\/p>\n

\u201cLewis,\u201d he said to the naturalized Visitor, \u201cNaturals\u201d as they were called in Freeport. \u201cMay I join you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Jack, sure, sit down.\u201d He appeared to be in his late twenties, with a strong face and short, light brown hair and wearing chinos and a sport shirt, to contrast with the rest of the customers. \u201cHow are things doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot bad. And yourself?\u201d Jack had known Lewis for almost two years now, and though they didn\u2019t often socialize, he had always liked the alien.<\/p>\n

\u201cDoing real well,\u201d Lewis was saying. \u201cNot much excitement, of course, but then I prefer it that way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t we all,\u201d Jack said as the bartender came up. Jack decided that he could handle a third Laphroaig, and Lewis ordered a refill on his red wine.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t look too cheerful,\u201d Lewis observed.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt appears I\u2019ve been stood up,\u201d Jack said. \u201cYou come in here often?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEvery now and then. It\u2019s expensive, but then, what can a Natural spend his money on, even here in Freeport? I can\u2019t get a driver\u2019s licence, so I don\u2019t need a car. Don\u2019t have enough to buy a house, and the better apartment buildings won\u2019t rent to Naturals. Nothing to save my money for, so I might as well spend it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow can you eat the food here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOysters,\u201d Lewis said with a grin. \u201cAnd at the Golden Carnation, sushi.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess that\u2019ll waste your paycheck,\u201d Jack murmured.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t like to spend money on food?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing to show for it but an increased waistline. I wouldn\u2019t come here except the person I was supposed to meet offered to pay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s too bad. I wouldn\u2019t mind a few nicer things, but what the hell, I really like to eat. But you know, things are beginning to loosen up a bit lately. Clerks will wait on me now, more often than not. Of course, the hassles here are nothing like they are in say New York, or Chicago, or Sacramento. Freeport\u2019s a good place for Naturals, relatively speaking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt would drive me up the wall,\u201d Jack said.<\/p>\n

\u201cFreeport\u2019s about the only place where a Natural can hold a regular job. So what if I\u2019m only the head janitor in a rattail building, I\u2019m working.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s Northampton, where your people are in control \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d be executed as a fifth columnist. No thanks. I never was very deep into it but as far as Northampton and the rest of my people are concerned, I\u2019m a traitor. I\u2019ll stay here, where I\u2019m at least free.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jack wasn\u2019t really listening. He was watched the LEDs on his watch tick off the seconds and minutes. It was now eight thirty, and Emily still hadn\u2019t come in. He caught the bartender\u2019s eye and asked for a phone. Lewis stopped talking while Jack dialed Emily\u2019s home number. There was no answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot that you don\u2019t have my sympathy,\u201d Lewis said as Jack hung up, \u201cbut I don\u2019t even have the opportunity to be stood up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely you know some naturalized women,\u201d Jack said.<\/p>\n

\u201cA few, but how many are there in Freeport? That don\u2019t already have some sort of relationship, that is. I think that\u2019s probably the hardest thing for me to deal with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBelieve me, Lewis, I know exactly how you feel.\u201d He flexed his artificial hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo who is this ungrateful wench?\u201d Lewis asked, keeping it light.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne of my clients, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you weren\u2019t supposed to get involved with them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIm not. And I\u2019m not tonight, either, she wanted to talk to me professionally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you like her a lot, anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat I do, though I\u2019ve never done or said anything about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo who is she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAn interior designer. She\u2019s fairly successful. And an awfully nice person. I have to admit that lately I\u2019ve been having difficulty keeping my attraction for her separate from my professional interest. That\u2019s not uncommon, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you do anything about it? Or do your professional ethics forbid any romantic entanglement whatsoever?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I can\u2019t be both her doctor and her lover. What I should do is tell her about things, and let her find another therapist. But . . . \u201d he flexed his artificial hand again.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re afraid to tell her how you feel,\u201d Lewis said. \u201cls that because of your professional concern, or because of your artificial arm?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I\u2019m not sure about. Now, tonight has nothing to do with romance. She asked me here as her therapist. Which is why I\u2019m not being quite as frank with you as I might be, though I\u2019m probably saying more than I should.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJack, you\u2019re the psychologist, but you\u2019re too close to this. If you could hear your voice, you\u2019d know that you\u2019ve got to come to some kind of an understanding with yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that,\u201d Jack said laughing. \u201cOnly, knowing doesn\u2019t make it any easier. But thanks for telling me anyway. I\u2019ve been reluctant to admit my feelings, even to myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout your arm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbout \u2014 yes, dammit, about my arm. Hell, Viet Nam was a long time ago. I thought I\u2019d learned to accept it. I don\u2019t have nightmares anymore, I don\u2019t have ghost arm aches anymore.\u201d He finished his scotch. \u201cBut I guess I\u2019m not adjusted after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHas your friend ever shown any aversion to your arm?\u201d Lewis asked gently.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. But dammit, that\u2019s my problem, not hers.\u201d<\/p>\n

He tossed down the last of his scotch. The question right now was, where was Emily? She had said something at her last session with him about a big contract she was hoping to get. Maybe, he thought, she\u2019s gotten tied up at the office. The phone was still on the bar, so he called her there.<\/p>\n

He got only the answering machine. He left a brief message and hung up. Maybe she\u2019d gone to see her client. But she had sounded so urgent on the phone earlier that he couldn\u2019t believe that.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs she often late for appointments?\u201d Lewis asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever. She\u2019s usually very prompt, very meticulous about things, a bit too much so, perhaps.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe she\u2019s really in trouble.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m beginning to suspect she is.\u201d He called the bartender over and asked for his bill from the dining room. \u201cI think I\u2019d better do some checking,\u201d he told Lewis. \u201cShe could have had an accident somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bartender brought his bill, and Jack paid. On his way out he spoke to the Maitre d\u2019, giving him a tip and asking him to give Emily a message if she should come in after all.<\/p>\n

He pulled out of the Escapades\u2019 parking lot and drove south to Marlin, then west toward Emily\u2019s address. He\u2019d never been to her apartment before, but he knew it was in one of the newer apartment buildings just outside the business district. There was no street parking when he got there, but the underground lot had spaces for visitors, so he pulled in and took the elevator straight up to Emily\u2019s floor.<\/p>\n

He knew her apartment number from his records. Her door was slightly ajar. He rang the bell, and felt a surge of relief when, after a moment, he heard someone corning.<\/p>\n

The relief was turned to disappointment when a man opened the door. Emily had never said anything about a boyfriend. The man, dark and slender, smiled at him in a friendly way.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry to disturb you,\u201d Jack said, \u201cbut I\u2019m looking for Emily Velasquez.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man spread his hands in a kind of a shrug. \u201cI can\u2019t help you,\u201d he said. \u201cDo you have the right apartment?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think so,\u201d Jack answered, and looked over the man\u2019s shoulder at the number on the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe another floor,\u201d the man said with a quick grin. \u201cThe halls in this building are all the same, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess I must have made a mistake,\u201d Jack said, feeling an alarm bell going off inside his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo problem,\u201d the man said, and firmly shut the door.<\/p>\n

Jack stood there for a moment. He was sure this was the right apartment. He started to reach for the bell again, and then thought better of it. Instead, be went back to the elevator and took it down to the lobby.<\/p>\n

He went over to the mailboxes and found Emily\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

The apartment number was the one he\u2019d just visited. Thoroughly alarmed, he went to the phone in an alcove off to the side. The man in Emily\u2019s apartment could be a burglar, or worse, else why deny that it was Emily\u2019s place? Jack turned to the front of the phone book and found the number of the police.<\/p>\n

He reported a suspected burglary in progress, and the police said they\u2019d send a car right over. But when he hung up, Jack wondered if that were really the case. A strange intruder, right after Emily\u2019s concern for some kind of a conspiracy, was a bit too much of a coincidence. Jack didn\u2019t believe in conspiracies, but this was not the time to argue about it.<\/p>\n

Knowing how inefficient the Freeport police were, Jack was surprised when two officers entered the lobby after only a few minutes. Jack went up to them at once.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you the one who called in the burglary?\u201d the black officer asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuspected burglary,\u201d Jack said, and told them what had happened as he walked with them toward the elevators.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood reason to be suspicious,\u201d the white officer said. Instead of going up, they turned down a side corridor to a door marked \u201cNight Manager.\u201d There they identified themselves, stated the problem briefly, and asked the man to accompany them and bring the pass key. The manager, a craggy gray haired man, complied with obvious concern. Then they all went up to Emily\u2019s floor together.<\/p>\n

Jack led them to the door where the officers instructed him and the manager to stand to one side. The black officer rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang again. Still no answer. He knocked, called out Emily\u2019s name. There was no response at all.<\/p>\n

The white officer nodded to the manager who came up and unlocked the door, then stepped aside to let the police be the first to enter. He and Jack followed the two officers inside.<\/p>\n

Lights were on, though there was nobody home. The place had obviously been searched, and rather thoroughly. Every drawer and closet had been opened, furniture moved and sometimes overturned. The officers told Jack and the manager to stay where they were and made a quick tour of the apartment, guns drawn.<\/p>\n

When they came back they asked Jack to describe the man he\u2019d seen. They asked the manager about Emily, known visitors, and known habits, but he was of little help. Then they ushered Jack and the manager out of the apartment. While the white officer remained behind, the black officer escorted them down to the lobby again, so he could call in a report from his squad car.<\/p>\n

On the way down the officer took Jack\u2019s name, address, phone, and inquired about his relationship with Emily.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you let me know when you find anything out?\u201d Jack asked as they walked through the lobby to the front door. \u201cShe may need some emergency therapy as a consequence of this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere should be no problem about that,\u201d the officer said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s something else,\u201d Jack said, as they went out to the street and over to the patrol car. \u201cI don\u2019t know if there\u2019s any connection, but there might be.\u201d He then told the officer about the phone call he\u2019d received from Emily.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll check it out,\u201d the officer said. He reached into the car and took out the microphone.<\/p>\n

There was nothing more for Jack to do.<\/p>\n

File Three: Tuesday Morning<\/strong><\/p>\n

Jack got to his office shortly before nine the next morning. His secretary, Mrs. McKinley, had coffee waiting as usual.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour first appointment\u2019s at ten,\u201d she said, handing him a cup.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine. Has Miss Velasquez called?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, is something wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid there is,\u201d Jack said, and told her about what had happened last night.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds very bad,\u201d Mrs. McKinley said, tapping her toes under her desk. \u201cDoes her family know?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing to say until we find out more from the police.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m going to call them right now. \u201c<\/p>\n

He went into his personal office and after checking the folders Mrs. McKinley had placed on his desk, had her put the call through. He identified himself to the officer who answered and asked if they had come up with anything yet.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re looking into it,\u201d the sergeant said, \u201cbut we don\u2019t have much to go on. She could have messed up the apartment herself, or the man you reported seeing there could have done it, but we have no evidence one way or another. She hasn\u2019t been missing for twenty-four hours yet, so we can\u2019t officially declare her a missing person.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would think that an intruder in her apartment would indicate that she hasn\u2019t just walked off,\u201d Jack said, exasperated by the sergeant\u2019s apparent lack of interest.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, sir, we have only your word for that. Nobody saw a man such as you described going up to that floor, and none of the neighbors saw or heard anything suspicious between the time you say Miss Velasquez called and the time the officers arrived on the scene.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat doesn\u2019t mean the man wasn\u2019t there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, sir, but we have no reason yet to believe that the situation is serious. There are a lot more pressing problems to be handled, as I\u2019m sure you\u2019re aware.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think,\u201d Jack said, struggling to keep his voice even, \u201cthat there\u2019s every reason to assume that the problem is indeed serious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, we\u2019ve got murders, robberies, muggings, dope dealers, black marketeers, God knows what. We\u2019ll get to Miss Velasquez just as soon as we can.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d Jack said stiffly. \u201cYou have my number, please keep me informed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll do that,\u201d the sergeant said and hung up.<\/p>\n

Jack sat staring at his office door for a long moment, bringing his anger under control. It was true that there was more crime in Freeport than the police could handle, but most of the time they didn\u2019t seem any too enthusiastic about handling it. That didn\u2019t help his worries, however.<\/p>\n

He had Mrs. McKinley call Emily\u2019s apartment. There was no answer. Then he had her put a call through to Emily\u2019s office. The familiar voice of Joyce Higgins, Emily\u2019s secretary whom Jack had never met, answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, I called last night and left a message on your answering machine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, we got a lot of messages last night. Which one was yours?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI was calling from the Escapades, where I was supposed to meet Emily. She \u2014\u201d a tiny crackling sounded on the line. \u201cSorry,\u201d be went on, \u201cthere\u2019s some static. Emily was supposed to \u2014\u201d the crackling came again, only this time he knew what it was, a poorly installed bug.<\/p>\n

He felt the hair on his arms rise up as he hung up without further word. He was grateful that he hadn\u2019t identified himself. Emily could have installed a recording tap herself, but after her call and disappearance Jack doubted that that was the case. He didn\u2019t remember hearing any similar bug-static when Emily had called yesterday evening. Somebody else had put that bug there, someone who wanted to know more about Emily\u2019s business than he had any right to know. And that implied that Emily hadn\u2019t just wandered off, but had been abducted.<\/p>\n

But if that were the case, there had to be a reason, and whatever that was, the people who had Emily hadn\u2019t been able to learn what they wanted from her herself. Had they killed her?<\/p>\n

He wished Emily had felt free to tell him more about the conspiracy she had feared. He didn\u2019t know what to do next. He thought about calling the police again, but the sergeant\u2019s lack of enthusiasm and interest in the case put him off.<\/p>\n

Before he could work himself up into a real state, his intercom came on and Mrs. McKinley announced his first client. Ten o\u2019clock already? It was. Jack composed himself and prepared to deal with Mrs. Atchison\u2019s drinking problem.<\/p>\n

After Mrs. Atchison left, Mrs. McKinley came in, coffee cup in hand, to tell him that both his eleven o\u2019clock and one o\u2019clock appointments had been canceled. \u201cWhat did the police say about Miss Velasquez?\u201d she finished.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re too busy to look into it now,\u201d he said bitterly, glancing at the folders on his desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t believe that,\u201d Mrs. McKinley said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s the gist of what they told me,\u201d Jack answered. The two patients who had canceled had both been complaining of Alien Anxiety Syndrome. \u201cWhat reason did they give for canceling?\u201d he asked, holding up the folders.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Brown said he just felt a lot better, and Mr. Clancey said it didn\u2019t seem worth the trouble anymore. If I were you, I\u2019d call the police back and demand an explanation.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf Miss Velasquez doesn\u2019t show up by seven thirty tonight, I will. Right now I\u2019m going to her office, to see if anybody there has any answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could call \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHer phone\u2019s been bugged.\u201d He got up and got ready to leave. \u201cI\u2019ll be back at two,\u201d he told Mrs. McKinley, and left her standing there with her mouth open.<\/p>\n

Emily\u2019s offices were decorated with the strong colors, patterned rugs, and textured fabrics that were the hallmark of the David Hicks school. The secretary, Joyce Higgins, was a startling contrast, a tall young woman who wore bright, clinging dresses and shoulder-length brown hair. Jack introduced himself and Joyce smiled in recognition.<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily\u2019s talked a lot about you,\u201d she said, \u201cbut I\u2019m afraid she\u2019s not in right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I\u2019m here,\u201d Jack said. \u201cLook, I called a little earlier this morning and hung up rather abruptly. I \u2014\u201d \u201cOh, was that you? I thought it might have been. That static was terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t static, it was a bug. I \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomebody has put a tap on your phone line. The best thing to do is to report it to the phone company and have them come out and \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s terrible, who would want to listen in on our calls?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, but I suspect it might be whoever is responsible for Emily not meeting me last night.\u201d He went on \u2014 with frequent interruptions from Joyce \u2014 to explain about Emily\u2019s call, not showing, and the business at the apartment. \u201cI was hoping,\u201d he finished, \u201cthat she might have gotten in touch with you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Dr. Page, she hasn\u2019t. This is terrible. Emily didn\u2019t come in yesterday at all, and we were beginning to worry because of this big new contract she was trying to land.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was the last time you saw her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFriday afternoon. Shouldn\u2019t we call the police?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have, but I\u2019m not holding my breath. I figure I\u2019d better do a little investigating myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019d better talk with Marvin,\u201d Joyce said, getting up from behind her desk. She led him through the conference lounge to a small private office at one side.<\/p>\n

Marvin Dahlgren, Emily\u2019s partner, was in his late thirties, very blond, with heavy-lidded eyes in a long face and a slender but muscular build. He wore slacks, a gray blazer, and a dark brown shirt with no tie. When he got up from the drafting table at which he was working, he proved to be a good six feet tall. He did not seem very happy to see Jack.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is Dr. Page,\u201d Joyce said by way of introduction. \u201cHe thinks something may have happened to Emily.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed,\u201d Dahlgren said. He did not offer to shake hands. \u201cAnd how did you come to that conclusion?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jack explained briefly. Dahlgren listened, strangely suspicious.<\/p>\n

\u201cIm sure,\u201d Dahlgren said when Jack had finished, \u201cthat we\u2019re all very concerned about Emily\u2019s whereabouts, but isn\u2019t looking for her yourself a bit beyond your responsibility?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps,\u201d Jack said, \u201cbut the police don\u2019t seem eager to take an active interest, and as I am her therapist, I felt I had to do something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA purely professional interest, I\u2019m sure.\u201d Dahlgren turned away, went to his desk, and sat down.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was a man in Emily\u2019s apartment last night,\u201d Jack went on. \u201cIf it was a friend of hers, then fine, but he denied knowing her, indeed intimated that it wasn\u2019t her apartment at all. Perhaps you might know him.\u201d He described the man as best he could.<\/p>\n

\u201cMeans nothing to me,\u201d Dahlgren said, not meeting Jack\u2019s eyes. \u201cAre you accustomed to visiting your \u2018clients\u2019 in their homes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with you, Dahlgren? I\u2019m Emily\u2019s therapist. She called me for help. When she didn\u2019t show up at the Escapades, I called her apartment, and called here, and then went there to see if she was all right, or leave a message. What would you have me do, just pass if off as unworthy of attention, as the police seem to have done?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry Dr. Page, but I don\u2019t know you, and I don\u2019t know that Emily is missing, only that she\u2019s not here nor at her home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere else might she be, then? I believe she called me from home. Where might she have gone afterwards, given that she was intending to meet me at seven thirty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI really couldn\u2019t say. She was busy all day yesterday with fabric designers. Maybe she had other appointments to keep.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat hardly seems likely. Look, Dahlgren, I\u2019m only trying to help. When did you see her last?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSaturday afternoon, here in the office. It\u2019s not unusual for either of us to work on weekends. I had to do some paperwork on the Stafford Hotel account, and Emily was developing some film I think.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid she seem at all upset then? Anxious? Afraid?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, she didn\u2019t. She was enthusiastic about the pictures she\u2019d taken Friday evening. I don\u2019t know what they were of.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEmily told me something about a big contract she was trying to land,\u201d Jack said, and watched as Dahlgren, who had begun to relax, got stiff again. \u201cDid those pictures have anything to do with that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe pictures, as far as I know, had nothing to do with the contract.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, there has to be a reason why she didn\u2019t just immediately go to the Escapades. The only thing I can think of is this contract, whatever it is. Could she have gone there for any reason?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow should I know? She had an appointment with Vanessa Carpentier Sunday evening, but you say you\u2019ve spoken to her since then.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis Carpentier is the one with the decorating job?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, dammit, what do you think?\u201d Dahlgren got up from his desk, shoved his hands in his pockets, and paced between his chair and the drafting table. \u201cLook, Page, this is a complete redecoration, a big job, lots of money, and a boost to om: reputation. I can\u2019t just go tossing out information that might hurt us. \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t afford to withold information that might help us find out what happened to Emily and why. I\u2019d like to talk with this Vanessa Carpentier, how can I get in touch with her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll I know is that her offices are in the Delmark Building.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all? You\u2019re Emily\u2019s partner. If this contract is as important as you say, as Emily has led me to believe, surely You have talked with Carpentier yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, l haven\u2019t. First, I\u2019m busy with other work. Second, Emily wanted to handle this herself. I\u2019ll help out if we get the contract, of course, but I really don\u2019t know much about<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d Jack said. He turned to go. \u201cI\u2019ll let you know if I find out anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d appreciate it,\u201d Dahlgren said.<\/p>\n

*\u00a0 *\u00a0 *\u00a0 *\u00a0 *<\/p>\n

You might find a second hand copy here<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

File One: Monday Evening The phone started ringing just as Dr. Jack Page settled down with a double Laphroaig before fixing himself some supper. With a sigh he put down his drink, careful not to spill any on his black-gloved false left hand, got out of his recliner and picked up the phone on theContinue reading →<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-229","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry","no-thumb"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=229"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":447,"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/229\/revisions\/447"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/allen-wold.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=229"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}