Love Gone Mad (28 page)

Her hand goes to her mouth and a gasp erupts from somewhere deep in her throat. Her eyes widen in stunned disbelief, and she’s speechless. She plops onto the sofa, and he drops down beside her, wrapping his arms around her. Her shoulders shake, and she seems to convulse as he feels a coarse shuddering go through her. He can’t tell if she’s crying or laughing, or simply quaking from the shock of it all. And then she leans against his chest and buries her face against him, and he presses her close and feels the beating of her heart, knowing she and Marlee are the most precious beings in his world.

Megan draws back, her hands in his; she looks into his eyes and whispers, “This is unbelievable. It’s unreal. It’s … it’s just … Adrian, of all the people in the world, they used
your
sperm?” Her intake of breath is ragged and her look of incredulity is mixed with that of deep revelation blended with shocklike astonishment. She gasps again. She seems unable to process what she’s heard and incapable of uttering a word. Megan shakes her head and stammers, “Here we are … all these years later … and we met in the cafeteria … just a few months ago and … and all these years I didn’t know it, but Marlee … she’s yours, too? I … I don’t even … I can’t get my
head
around it all,” she says in a tear-filled voice.

“I’ve been in complete shock,” he whispers, feeling light-headed.

The clock on the mantle ticks so loudly, it seems to reverberate in his ears along with a low-level hissing sound. A minute passes, maybe two, perhaps three. Adrian can’t really tell because his head spins and his heart flutters and a sizzling sensation sears through him as Megan tries to process this fate-filled and incredible denouement in their lives. And Adrian can tell she’s trying to absorb—to digest and process—the sheer craziness of it all, the statistical improbability of it. Then, looking bewildered, even staggered, Megan nods, blinks, and gazes at him with those incredible eyes, and while they’ll need more time to truly understand this, Adrian can tell that Megan realizes how everything in their now shared little world has changed—completely, permanently.

Their bedeviled little universe—after years of Megan’s misgivings about Conrad and Adrian’s regrets about Peggy and not having a child—has all funneled down to this single unalterable fact: Marlee’s paternity is no longer a mystery. Her identity and Adrian’s role in her life—and in Megan’s, too—has been forever changed.

After a long and shared silence, as they hold hands and gaze into each other’s eyes, Megan whispers, “Who’d have ever dreamed that … How can this
really
be true … that when I went to Dr. Margaret, I’d—”

“Dr. who?”

“Dr. Margaret … she put me onto AI.”

“I can’t
believe
this,” he says. He stands up as voltage shoots through him, and his pulse throbs. “That’s what
Peggy’s
patients called her …
Dr. Margaret
. She didn’t like being called Dr. Yanes. Way too formal for her.”

“Dr. Margaret’s last name
was
Yanes. She was your
wife
?”

He nods as the room swirls and his knees wobble.

“Adrian, this is so strange. It’s so … so unbelievable. Your ex-wife, the woman who didn’t want
your
baby helped
me
get pregnant.”

“Yes and with
my
child.”

“With
our
child …”

“Thank you, Peggy Yanes,” he whispers, almost reeling at yet another revelation. “Thank you for this wonderful gift,” he murmurs as his blood hums.

“It’s so
crazy
,” Megan whispers. “Conrad’s absolutely
right
. Marlee’s not his. She’s
yours
. He’s insanely right! Marlee’s
your
child. She’s yours … and mine. She’s ours. I can hardly believe it.” Her hands go to her cheeks. Adrian hears the intake of her breath.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” Adrian says as a sob threatens to burst from his chest. His words bubble in his ears. “It’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened in my life.” He shakes his head; his entire body tingles, and he says, “It’s hard to believe … Peggy brought us together this way.”

Tears drip down Megan’s face, and he pulls her so close, he feels her heart beating against him. He kisses her cheeks, then her lips, and she sobs with joy and wonder and excitement; and it all seems a gorgeous mystery to Adrian as he tastes the tang of Megan’s skin, the saltiness of her tears, the sweet wetness of her mouth, and he’s overcome by the astonishing, incredible madness of it all.

“S
o this is the place,” Megan says, getting out of the car. “It’s Whitehall Forensic Institute … long-term housing for the criminally insane.”

“Looks like a college campus, not a mental institution.”

“It reminds me of Harvard,” Adrian says, gazing at the Federal-style brick buildings with shuttered symmetrical windows, low-pitched roofs, and balustrades. Stately sycamores and gnarled maple trees line the walkways crisscrossing a parklike setting. The air is crisp and cold; it’s mid-January. The afternoon sky is a deep indigo. A cooing blizzard of pigeons flutters upward; feathers spiral and swirl through the air.

“You know, I’m still trying to get my head around this,” Megan says as they walk arm in arm toward the main building.

“You mean what we are to each other and to Marlee?”

“Yes, that I’ll be marrying Marlee’s father. It’s just insane. Actually, it’s insanely wonderful.”

“It brings things full circle.”

Megan stops at the stairs. “I sometimes wonder if this is all a dream.”

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him.

“For all these years, the donor was a phantom. I’d wonder who he was, what kind of person he was. Had I been fair to Marlee with my decision to have a mystery man as her father? And now that mystery man is right here.”

She plants a kiss on his lips. The taste of her arouses him.

“And I always felt cheated, even angry,” Adrian says. “I blamed Peggy for my not having a family. And now I learn that with
you
, I have a smart, beautiful little girl. Thanks to
Peggy
. Life is so crazy, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s crazy and wonderful.”

“You know,” he says, “sometimes at breakfast when I pretend to steal Marlee’s Apple Jacks and she shoots that little smile at me …?”

“Yes?”

“I realize it’s my mom’s smile.”

Adrian also knows that Marlee’s laugh is a distant ghosting of Mom—and Dad, too—a glimmering trace of genetic indelibility. Yes, he sees in Marlee slight insinuations of Megan and himself and his parents. Marlee’s a mirror of lineage, of kinship.

Suddenly, Megan’s brow furrows. “I just wonder,” she says.

“About what?”

“If it was known that Marlee
is
yours, would Conrad have a legal basis to go to court because he was right?”

“Yes, he’s right, but for all the wrong reasons.”

“But could there be legal complications? I mean, if Kovac—”

“Megan, Conrad tried to kill us both. He’s a madman. That’s all that counts right now.”

“And the rest is our little secret,” she says.

Standing amid the twittering of sparrows and cooing of pigeons, he says, “It’ll be our secret. And when she’s old enough, we’ll tell Marlee.”

“We sure had her in an unusual way, didn’t we?”

He pulls her close again and inhales the fragrance of her hair.

“I have an idea,” she says, moving back and smiling.

“Yes?”

“Let’s have another baby. But in a more traditional way.”

“Let’s get to work on that when we get home.”

D
r. John Grayson greets them. He wears dark slacks, a blue shirt, no tie, and a white lab coat. He sports that three-day stubble.

“Thanks for agreeing to see us, John,” Adrian says.

“It’s my pleasure, Adrian. And it’s good to meet you, Megan.”

“You have quite an elaborate security system,” she says.

“We’ve never had an escapee at Whitehall. It’s a hospital facility within the Department of Correction.” Grayson sits behind his desk and gestures toward two leather chairs facing him.

Grayson’s office is book-lined and cozy. The shelves brim with medical and legal volumes. A skull of what Adrian guesses is a Neanderthal man sits on a black pedestal in a corner. A chart with drawings depicting the evolution of a fish crawling out of the sea to become an anthropoid hangs on one wall.

“We need to know what to expect since Conrad was found not guilty,” Adrian says.

“I understand,” Grayson begins. “Let me explain a few things, especially for you, Megan, since you weren’t in court when Judge Burke gave his instructions to the jury. As the judge said, an NGRI verdict isn’t the same as being found not guilty in a regular criminal trial. The jury decided Conrad acted out of an
insane belief
and that’s why he’s here and not in prison.”

“But what if he gets better?” asks Adrian. “And gets out?
Then
what happens?”

“We don’t want to live under a cloud,” Megan adds.

Grayson says, “I understand completely. But contrary to popular belief, a defendant found NGRI isn’t just treated and released. In 1983, a forensic case was tried before the Supreme Court—
Jones v. United States
. The court ruled that the sentence a defendant would have received if he’d been convicted has
no bearing
on how long he can be committed after an insanity acquittal. The crime could have had a fifteen-year sentence, but he can be hospitalized for
thirty years
, or a lifetime, if necessary.”

“Really?” Adrian says.

“Yes. Our NGRI acquittees are under maximum security. Patients in Whitehall come under the purview of the PSRB—the Psychiatric Security Review Board.”

“Which means?” Megan asks.

“It means that twice a year, the patient’s status is reviewed by a committee. I’m in charge of the PSRB. All staff members who’ve had contact with the inmate participate. We evaluate everything, from the patient’s relationships with inmates and nurses to his treating psychologist and psychiatrists—everyone. The board votes on whether or not the commitment continues or is modified in some way.”

“Please don’t take this personally, John,” Adrian says, “I just don’t trust hospital committees. People with different agendas butt heads.”

Grayson laughs knowingly. “I know, Adrian. But these patients are very sick, and there’s little chance they’ll be restored to any semblance of mental health.”

“So how long are they kept here?” asks Megan.

“Good question. The average commitment in Whitehall is twenty-five years. Whitehall’s no walk in the park. Of course, we’re usually dealing with very sick paranoid schizophrenics and, basically, they’re lifers.”

“That’s encouraging,” Adrian says, glancing at Megan.

“Conrad’s not schizophrenic or retarded, to say the least, but he’s paranoid—very disturbed.”

“So he’ll be here for a long time?” asks Megan.

“Probably. Megan, if you’d been in court, you’d have seen how sick he is. He convinced a jury of that. And his delusion about you two makes him dangerous.”

“To
us
,” Megan says.

“Yes. I don’t see Conrad leaving Whitehall for a very long time, if at all. I have to say that Wilson’s an intriguing patient.” Grayson gets up, moves to the pedestal, and sets his basketballer’s hand over the Neanderthal skull. “You know, I’ve always been interested in anthropology and evolutionary biology … the blending of science and animal instinct. And in that context, Conrad Wilson’s absolutely fascinating.”

“How so?” asks Megan. She looks milky white.

“First of all, he’s brilliant. We’ve given him all the standard tests: the WAIS, the Stanford-Binet, the Reynolds Intellectual Assessment Scales, and the Woodcock-Johnson Test of Cognitive Abilities. Conrad tests off the charts. Our neuropsychologist, Dr. Morgan, says Mensa would take him in a heartbeat. He masters any subject in no time and can apply what he’s learned in practical ways.”

“Conrad was always very smart,” Megan says.

“He’s interesting in other ways, too,” Grayson says, sitting again. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s quite a physical specimen.”

“Oh, yeah,” Adrian says. “If he hadn’t slipped and hit his head, he’d have killed me. And he tracked me at night, over very rough terrain.”

“Well, his abilities aren’t limited to strength, speed, and agility … though they’re extraordinary. He has some other unique physical characteristics,” Grayson says. “At Eastport General, they did CT scans and MRIs of his brain. It was fascinating. The studies showed a very large olfactory bulb, the part of the brain’s neural system responsible for smell. In animals with a strong sense of smell, the olfactory bulb is relatively large. We humans have a smaller olfactory center in proportion to the rest of the brain.

“Conrad has an extraordinary sense of smell. Our neurologist tested him using the common test materials: banana, cinnamon, chocolate, onion, and a few others. They come as scratch-and-sniff test strips. You put the strips beneath the nostrils, but Conrad can smell them from across the room.

“And our audiologist used an audiometer, brain stem evoked potentials, and quantitative EEG brain mapping to test him. He has incredible hearing.”

“So what’re you saying?” Adrian asks.

“I’m saying that Conrad’s a perfect storm of extraordinary physical and mental abilities. From an evolutionary standpoint, he has many atavistic animal traits mixed with the highest human mental attainments.

“You see,” Grayson continues, moving to the Darwinian drawing of man’s rise from the ape. “In human evolution, from lower creatures to Homo sapiens, we lost certain abilities. Our sharp eyesight, the ability to smell and to hear at great distances, our capacity to run fast and leap high—they were watered down over millions of years as our brains became more highly developed. But Conrad retains these physical traits, which are integrated with the higher mental capacities of humans. Conrad almost straddles the evolutionary scale. He’s a Darwinian exception of some kind.”

Megan’s face is drawn; Adrian sees fear etched on her features.