Forbidden Passion by Rita Herron Read Free Book Online

it came to her.
    Good grief Marlena. You’ve never lusted after a man like this.
    Flipping the water to cool, she rinsed, climbed from the shower, and dried off. She had work to do, and fantasizing about a man who didn’t want her would get her nowhere.
    A quick cup of coffee and a bagel later, she dressed, wrapped up in her long winter coat, gloves, and scarf, and hurried out to her Honda. The sedan cranked immediately, although with winter’s arrival, she was tempted to buy an SUV with four-wheel drive to help maneuver the mountain roads when the ice and snow fell.
    Gray skies clouded her property and the ancient trees shook, sending dried leaves raining to the ground. Mystena Mental Hospital, the local psychiatric hospital where she worked, was only a few miles from her house. A concrete structure that looked like an old Gothic castle, it was situated on acres of land bracketed by thick woods and fencing near the river. It was isolated and had an eerie feel.
    As soon as she arrived, Ruthie Mae Stanton, one of the psychiatric nurses, rushed toward her. “There’s a patient in your office, Dr. Bender,” Ruthie Mae said. “Gerald Daumer. I tried to calm him, but he’s extremely agitated and insists he’ll only speak with you.”
    “Of course.” Marlena divided her time between her research and clinical work, seeing patients whenever possible, and recognized Daumer from her patient list. “I’ll see him now.”
    Adopting her professional mask, she opened the door and studied Gerald. He was rail-thin and pale, which made his thick wire-rimmed glasses look too large for his narrow face and pointed chin. He tugged at his goatee and paced in front of the window, his movements jerky.
    “Hi, Gerald,” she said in her most soothing voice. “What’s going on today?”
    He whirled around, pupils dilated, then began to pick~ at some invisible lint on his gray sweater.
    “There’s blood everywhere,” he said in a shrill tone. “Blood on the floor, on the walls, on my bed.” He threw his hands up in fr6nt of her face. “And when I look up, my hands are coated in it.”
    Marlena maintained a calm expression as she took a seat in her leather wing chair and urged him to sit down.
    But he was too disturbed, bouncing up and down one minute, then pausing the next to straighten the magazines on the coffee table, placing them in an even line.
    “Where were you when you saw this blood?” she asked cautiously.
    Her words jerked him back from his obsession with the magazines, and he yanked at his hair again and resumed pacing. Gerald had been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder, but up until today, he hadn’t exhibited signs of violence.
    “I don’t know. . .“ His voice cracked, his agitation mounting as he pivoted, then rolled one hand into a fist and beat it against the side of his head three times as if he was trying to jar his brain.
    “Sometimes I’m in a bed, sometimes a hotel. Different places.” Knock, knock, knock, his fist hammered his temple again. “Then I hear that voice. A deep husky, ugly voice screaming at me to do bad things.”
    “What kind of things?”
    “To kill the girls,” he said. “Kill them and make them bleed?’
    “Gerald,” Marlena said, once again interjecting a low, soothing tone. “Did you do something you need to tell me about? Did you hurt someone?”
    He whirled on her, eyes wide and unfocused. “No…1 don’t know.” He paced back to the window and shielded his eyes from the light shimmering through the blinds. “My head hurts, hurts, hurts. It won’t stop. The voices, they tell me to do bad things. To kill the girls…1 think it’s the devil. .
    “Did you do what the voice ordered?” she asked again.
    He dropped to the floor in the middle of the room and began to pull at his hair again, yanking it viciously, then beating his head again as he rocked back and forth. “No. . .1 don’t know. I can’t think. Have to stop the voices, have to stop them, get the