The Analyst by John Katzenbach Read Free Book Online Page A

or when they’ll say it that will open up their world to you, do you? So you have to be alert at all times. Because you never precisely know when the door might open to reveal the hidden secrets. So, you must always be ready and receptive. Attentive. Always vigilant for the word or the story that is slipped loose and tells you much, right? Isn’t that a fair assessment of the process?”
    He nodded in reply.
    “Good,” she said brusquely. “Why would you think that this visit today is any different from any other? Even though it obviously is.”
    He did not reply. Again, he remained quiet for a second or two, just eyeing the young woman, hoping to unsettle her. But she seemed oddly cold-blooded and even-tempered, and silence, which he knew is often the most disturbing sound of all, seemed to not affect her. Finally, he spoke quietly, “I am at a disadvantage. You seem to know much about me, and at least a little something about what happens here in this room, and I don’t even know your name. I would like to know what you mean when you say Mr. Zimmerman has ended his treatment, because I have had no contact from Mr. Zimmerman, which is extremely unlikely. And I would like to know what your connection is to the individual you call Mr. R. and whom I presume is the same person who sent me the threatening letter signing it Rumplestiltskin. I would like the answers to these questions promptly. Otherwise, I will call the police.”
    She smiled again. Unflustered.
    “Practicality intrudes?”
    “Answers,” he replied.
    “Isn’t that what we’re all searching for, Ricky? Everyone who steps through that door into this room. Answers?”
    He did not respond. Instead he reached for the telephone.
    “Do you not imagine that in his own way, that is what Mr. R. wants, as well? Answers to questions that have plagued him for years. Come now, Ricky: Don’t you agree that even the harshest sort of revenge starts with a simple question?”
    This was intriguing, Ricky thought. But the interest he might have had in the observation was overcome by his growing irritation with the young woman’s manner. She displayed nothing except a confident arrogance. He put his hand on the receiver. He was at a loss for anything else to do.
    “Please respond promptly to my questions,” he said. “Otherwise I will turn all this over to the police and let them sort it out.”
    “No sense of sport, Ricky? No interest in playing the game?”
    “I fail to see what sort of game is involved with sending disgusting, threatening pornography to an impressionable girl. Nor do I see the game in demanding that I kill myself.”
    “But, Ricky,” the woman grinned, “wouldn’t that be the biggest game of all? Outplaying death?”
    This made him pause, hand still hovering over the telephone. The young woman pointed at his hand. “You can win, Ricky. But not if you pick up that telephone and dial 911. Then someone, somewhere, will lose. That promise has been made, and trust me, it will be kept. Mr. R. is, if nothing else, a man of his word. And when that someone loses, you lose, too. This is only Day One, Ricky. To give up now would be like conceding defeat right after the opening kickoff. Before you’ve even had time to run a single play from scrimmage.”
    He pulled his hand back.
    “Your name?” he asked.
    “For today and for the purposes of the game, call me Virgil. Every poet needs a guide.”
    “Virgil is a man’s name.”
    The woman who called herself Virgil shrugged broadly. “I have a girlfriend who goes by the name Rikki. Does this make a difference?”
    “No. And your connection to Rumplestiltskin?”
    “He’s my employer. He’s extremely wealthy and able to hire all sorts of assistance. Any kind of assistance he wants. To achieve whatever means and ends he envisions for whatever plan he has in mind. Currently, he is preoccupied with you.”
    “So, presumably, then as an employee, you have his name, an address, an identity which you