Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [123]
Karen, the nurse manager, sat closest to the Admin offices. She’d removed her glasses for the occasion. A large bear of a man—Ed, D.D. thought was his name—sat not far from her. The younger MC with the short black hair—Sissy? Cecille?—sat to the left of him. Then came three more MCs and another nurse, Janet. The only person who didn’t participate was Tyrone, who had checks duty: Every five minutes, he recorded the location of each child and staff member. Given the kids and staff were currently quiet, the duty had him standing in the middle of the hallway, across from D.D. She felt like they were bookends—the only two vertical people at a horizontal party.
Gang’s all here, she thought, and was very curious about what would happen next.
“Slowly inhale,” Lightfoot intoned. “Feel yourself drawing the breath deep into your lungs, pulling in the air from your toes, bringing it up your entire body, every cell contracting, every pore of your body inhaling a slow rush of fresh oxygen. Still inhaling, for a long count of one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Now exhale. Push the air out for a shorter count of one, two, three, four, five …”
D.D., leaning against the wall with her arms across her chest, found her breathing pattern falling into Lightfoot’s hypnotic rhythm. She caught herself, forced a short exhale, and felt light-headed.
Alex had gone to fetch pizza. The taskforce members still had a long night ahead of them; given the earlier disruption with the kids, and now the “debriefing,” the detectives hadn’t had a chance to interview the staff yet. Karen had promised to start sending them MCs, one by one, the moment Lightfoot’s session was over. Assuming of course the unit remained under control. Given the fresh rounds of screaming and banging D.D. had heard just ten minutes ago, she wasn’t overly optimistic.
Lightfoot needed to live up to his hype or she didn’t see how the kids or the staff were getting through the night.
Lightfoot was sweating. D.D. could see beads of moisture forming on his upper lip. Despite his instructions for slow and steady breathing, his own chest moved shallowly, and one hand trembled on top of his knee.
The force of his efforts to stave off so much negative energy? To find the light amidst the dark?
Good Lord, now she was starting to sound like him.
“I want you to release your tension,” Lightfoot instructed, his voice strained. Across from him, Karen opened one eye, frowning at the healer.
“Focus on your toes. Feel the tension in the bottom of each foot. The tight little muscles along the arch of your foot, the tendons moving up your heel. The tiny muscles clenching each toe, digging them into the carpet. Now catch that tension. Relax it, push it out. Feel your toes uncurl, your feet relax comfortably against the carpet. Your heels are soft and pliant, each foot relaxed. You can feel the light, your foot warming, a white glow spreading across the bottom of your heel. Focus on it. Feel it expand, climbing to your ankles, your calves, the bend of your knees.”
The white light had a ways to go. Many muscles had to relax. Many body parts needed to glow. Around the room D.D. could see various staff members giving themselves over to the exercise. Even Danielle appeared fresher, the lines in her forehead smoothing out, her slender wrists resting loosely on her knees.
Lightfoot, on the other hand, looked like hell. He was sweating profusely, his pale yellow Armani shirt blossoming with dark stains. He used the small break between glowing muscle groups to take discreet swigs of iced tea. He had the group relaxing their stomachs now, and the iced tea bottle was nearly empty. D.D. didn’t think the healer was going to make it. Did one call for a time-out, a brief intermission, in the midst of meditation? Or did that ruin the moment, like checking your police pager in the middle of sex?
Now, as she watched, he grimaced. Rubbed his chest. Grimaced again. A muscle in his left shoulder did a funny little dance, then relaxed again. Lightfoot took another drink,