Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [109]
I do understand you, you know.
Nobody understands me.
I do—I swear it. I know what it feels like to be you.
If you did, you’d know what I’m going to do next.
I do know.
You think you’ll get me to tell you that way?
I don’t need you to tell me.
Reverse psychology—that’s so pathetic.
You seem to know something about psychology.
I know all I need to know.
Really? What’s that?
I’ll be striking closer to home next time.
What’s that supposed to mean?
You figure it out. You’re the one with the degree.
We’re a lot alike, you and I, don’t you think?
Nice try. See you later.
The message box read,
Holyman has logged off.
Lee bit his lip and stared at the screen.
I’ll be striking closer to home next time.
Chapter Forty-nine
The mayor stood on the platform, the sun reflecting off the bald spot on his head. Camera crews jostled with each other to get the best angle, the closest shot. People in the crowd craned their necks and stood on tiptoe, climbing up onto the bases of street lamps, straining to see better. Chuck Morton stood behind him and to the left, next to the Manhattan DA and the police commissioner. The police presence on the street was heavy. Patrolmen dotted every corner, and there were still a few National Guardsmen roaming around in their military outfits.
There was an oddly festive atmosphere in the air. Ice cream vendors wheeled their carts down Park Row, men selling brightly colored helium balloons plied their way through the crowd, and there were pretzel and hot dog vendors on every corner, all of them doing a brisk trade. After a cold, dark February, the temperature had shot up to nearly sixty degrees. Lee could smell coconut oil, bringing with it the incongruent memory of summer days at the beach. He and Butts stood at the edge of the crowd, near the iron gate leading into the park.
Lee couldn’t help thinking of the scene at public hangings, or the crowd that surrounded the guillotine as Madame Defarge calmly knitted her way through the carnage. Knit one, purl two. He suspected most of the people here didn’t believe they were in danger from the Slasher, and that they were just attracted by the event itself. Oh, look, Harriet, the mayor’s giving a press conference open to the public. Let’s grab the kids and head on down. After 9/11, people seemed to gather in groups in public more often, as if there truly was safety in numbers.
“What do you think?” Butts said, sucking on a salted pretzel. “Is this guy full of it or what?”
“Well,” Lee said, “I guess we’ll see.”
The mayor raised his arms, and the buzzing in the crowd subsided. He looked out across the rows of expectant, upturned faces, eager for him to lead them once more, to recite magic words of comfort, once again restoring order out of chaos. The crowd grew silent, and Lee could hear the rushing of the wind through the caverns of lower Manhattan, picking up speed as it crossed over the flat expanse of New York Harbor, to wind its way through the twisted labyrinth of downtown skyscrapers.
A gust of wind lifted a tuft of the mayor’s thinning hair, and he put a hand up to stop it, then seemed to forget all about his hair as the shifting wind brought with it the thin, acrid smell of smoke from the still smoldering ruins a few blocks to the south. The mayor hunched over the microphone and tapped it. There was a buzz, a short, high-pitched burst of feedback, and then silence as the sound crew adjusted their dials. The mayor cleared his throat, and the crowd leaned in to hear his words.
“My fellow citizens,” he began, adjusting the mike stand, “this has been the most trying time in this great city’s history. The events of five months ago proved that New York is indeed the greatest city in the world.”
He