“I’m not affiliated with the hospital.”
“Then what the fuck you want?”
“Hayes Bannock.”
“What’s that?”
“Not a what. A who. I’m Emory Charbonneau’s husband.”
The name struck a chord. Apparently they had been watching news broadcasts as well as sitcom reruns. Norman looked over at his brother and ordered, “Shut that off.”
Will, who’d been in charge of the control for the TV, fumbled with it and muted the audio. Jeff had won their undivided attention.
“May I sit down?”
Norman made a gesture of consent. Jeff dragged a chair from beneath the window, positioned it between the two beds, sat down, and casually crossed one leg over the other. “I was told about the unusual circumstances under which you met my wife.”
“She went by Dr. Smith.”
“She lied about her name. She’s been lying a lot recently. Ever since she was abducted by your neighbor.”
“Bannock, you say? He was stingy with his name. We never knowed it.”
“With good reason, as it turns out. He’s wanted by the FBI.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
Norman looked over at Will. “You called it right.” Norman came back to Jeff. “We had a bad feelin’ about him. What the feds want him for?”
“You know how they are about their cases. Very tight-lipped. But I’ve met with the agent who’s been trying for years to capture Bannock.”
“Years? Then whatever he did must’ve been bad.”
“I shudder to think,” Jeff said. “His attack on you was psychopathically vicious. And now he’s kidnapped my wife. For the second time.”
Norman turned his head and exchanged a long look with his brother, as though silently consulting with him. When he came back to Jeff, he scrutinized him as he shifted his weight and resettled more comfortably in the bed. Then he flashed a grin, made particularly ugly by the damage done to his face.
“You sure she didn’t just run off? ’Cause it didn’t strike us that she was with this Bannock against her will.”
“He’s brainwashed her.”
Norman guffawed. “Get out.”
“Maybe not in a literal sense,” Jeff said, “but something to that effect. I can tell you with certainty that she’s not herself. She’s behaving irrationally, and…and I fear that if she’s ever returned, she won’t be the woman she was before. The one I knew and loved.”
He covered a light cough/sob with his fist and hoped to God the playacting was convincing. He also hoped they understood at least a few of the multisyllable words.
They understood enough of them. Norman was no longer grinning. “He’s got our ma and sister all moony-eyed, too. Sum’bitch just sauntered into our house and made himself all cozy in our business.”
“That’s why I—”
“But truth is,” Norman continued, interrupting, “he’s meaner’n a snake, and we don’t want no more truck with him, especially with him being wanted by the feds and all. We don’t need that shit, nor nothing like it. No thank you.”
In the next bed, Will confirmed that with as much of a nod as he could manage.
Bolstered by his brother’s endorsement, Norman expanded. “Now, I’m sorry about your wife preferring him. That sucks, all right. But it ain’t our problem, it’s yours. So…” He hitched his chin toward the door. “Don’t let it hit you in the ass on your way out.”