---

Chapter 29

He stretched out on the stone slab beside me, propped on one elbow, his free hand, clutching the knife, resting on my stomach. I lay still, staring up at him, waiting. He stared back. Finally, I could take it no longer, and asked shakily, “What are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do? I guess that depends mainly on you.”

“What do you mean, depends on me?”

“On what I hear, and what I see. On what you say and what you do. Everything depends on you.”

Hmmm? Maybe I could manufacture an opportunity, and see if he was really doing what I thought he was doing, at the same time. “Okay, if everything depends on what I say, untie me and let me go.”

He looked shocked. “Untie you and let you go? But that would spoil the game, you know. And then I’d be here all alone, with no smoke signal, fax, or phone. I’d be so lonely, so bummed out. I’d be depressed, without a doubt.”

Yep, he was really doing it. Disorganized schizophrenics sometimes rhymed words. Most of them weren’t this good at it; didn’t speak in complete rhyming sentences. But this was Aloysius. He was better at everything than anyone else; he’d be better at being crazy than anyone else. I had no idea how to respond to him.

He continued without stopping for breath. “No pretty one to touch or hold; no one to warm me. I’d be cold. Just the way it used to be, when no one cared at all for me.”

Despite the circumstances, my heart broke for him. “I care for you, Aloysius. I love you.”

“Everything depends on you. You say you love me. If it’s true, indulge me in my one small fetish. Don’t be bashful or coquettish.”

I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. “What’s your fetish?”

A faint tinge of pink grew in his cheeks. “Embarrassing is my request, but I crave it badly nonetheless. It isn’t much that I require. Vellicative touch is my desire.”

“Vellicative?”

“As part of the constabulary, you should improve vocabulary.”

Now that was just rude. “Name one other agent who would know what vellicative means!”

He nodded sadly. “English skills have been forsaken. Your point, madam is well-taken.”

“Okay, so tell me what it means.”

“To vellicate; to cause to itch, or move with spasmodic convulsions. Twitch!”

“Are you saying you want to be tickled?” His cheeks got a little pinker. “Don’t look so stupefied, dear Cat. There are worse fetishes than that.”

Surely I was hallucinating. All the fear and pain and weirdness, all the ups and downs and reversals, hit me at once, and I began to laugh, first softly, then uncontrollably. I’d been on the Pendergast roller coaster for going on three weeks now, and it was a helluva ride. Wheeeeeeeee!

Aloysius stood up beside the bed, highly offended. Nose tilted at the ceiling, he declared, “I hardly thought you’d be so rude. What I suggested was not lewd! If you think it so bizarre, it only shows how staid you are!”

Aloysius Pendergast calling anyone else staid! It was too much. I snickered and giggled, snorted and hee-hawed. I couldn’t stop. Tears, not entirely of mirth, ran down my face. Through them, I saw his face turning pinker and pinker, bordering on red. His eyes glittered like silver Christmas tree lights. White teeth flashed in a sudden snarl and, though I didn’t even see him move, he was on top of me suddenly, straddling me, nose to nose. His long hands gripped my arms painfully. His usually honeyed voice was a furious roar.

“I asked for what I need from you because you said you cared! Untrue! You’re not an angel, you’re a witch! Don’t laugh at me, you little bitch!”

---