Burial by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online Page B

have to clean her the best way I can.’
    â€˜Jesus.’
    Karen said, ‘Harry … you must be able to help somehow.’
    I stepped back. ‘I don’t know … can’t the shrinks do anything at all? Jesus. She looks like she’s catatonic’
    Michael said, distractedly, ‘They bandaged her ribs … they checked her over. Then they tried to take her in for observation, but as soon as they tried to move her she threw such a fit that they decided that it would be safer to leave her where she is. I mean she went totally crazy. Arms waving, feet kicking, choking on her tongue. They keep coming up with these theories, but they still don’t understand what’s wrong with her. Dr Stein visits every two or three days. He used to be senior consultant at Bellevue. He’s given her every test he can think of. Every session he comes up with a different theory. Hysteria, deprived childhood. Change of life. He even tried to suggest that she was a secret alcoholic, and that she was suffering from DTs. God almighty, Naomi never drank more in her life than a half a glass of red wine at her brother’s bar-mitzvah. Dr Bradley’s the same, he’s been twice. He keeps saying she’s manic depressive.’
    â€˜Does she speak?’ I asked him.
    Michael nodded. ‘Sometimes. It doesn’t always make sense.’
    â€˜If I say something to her now, do you think she might answer?’
    â€˜You can try.’
    I approached Naomi Greenberg with considerable caution and leaned forward. Her eyes were still rolled up into her head, but her eyelids had begun to flutter.
    â€˜Naomi,’ I said. ‘Naomi, my name’s Harry. I’m a friend of Karen’s.’
    Naomi didn’t show any signs that she might have heard me, but her eyelids fluttered even faster, and she began to breathe more quickly.
    â€˜Naomi, I’ve come here today to see what I can do to help you.’
    Still no reply, although her right foot suddenly shifted on the woodblock floor, making a sharp chipping sound that made me jump.
    â€˜Can you hear me, Naomi? I need to ask you some questions. I need to know what has happened to you.’
    â€˜She won’t say,’ Michael put in.
    I lifted my hand behind me to shush him. ‘Naomi … I need to know what happened. I need to know what you saw.’
    Naomi suddenly stiffened, and her pupils rolled down into sight. They were brown, filmed-over, unfocused. She stared at me in bewilderment — not so much as if she couldn’t work out who I was, but as if she couldn’t work out
what
I was. Maybe she thought that I was furniture, too. I didn’t have any idea how deep her disturbance went. A friend of my mother’s lived for years under the delusion that her husband was a hatstand.
    â€˜Naomi,’ I repeated. ‘My name’s Harry. I’m a friend of Karen’s. Karen asked me to come see you. She thinks that maybe I can help you.’
    â€˜You … can … help … me?’ Naomi slurred. Her voice had no intonation at all.
    â€˜I’m going to try. But I need to know what happened to you. I want you to tell me all about this furniture.’
    Slowly, Naomi turned her head and stared at the heaped-up chairs and tables. ‘Couldn’t … stop … it,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t … stop … it.’
    â€˜Naomi,’ I asked her, coming closer. ‘Did
you
move the furniture?’
    She thought about that for a while, and then gave a quick flurrying shake of her head.
    â€˜What did I tell you?’ said Michael. ‘Last week, Dr Bradley kept on shouting at her, trying to get her to admit that she was acting hysterical. Like she was doing it on purpose. But how the hell could she? Why the hell
would
she?’
    â€˜Please, Michael,’ I told him. ‘I need to concentrate here.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ said Michael. ‘But all