Did Dylan himself approve of this surveillance? If so … did that mean that the Durand employees were colluding with their boss’s activities? Or was Dylan in the dark about the surveillance as well?
THIRTEEN
He returned home from his business trip at around noon and made it only as far as his in-home office. Without pause, Dylan plunged into a number of calls to the marketing division. He wanted to clear his slate before he met with Alice. Her concise, brilliant drill-down of the numbers followed by his meeting with Durand’s northeastern region vice president yesterday had engineered the structure for a bold new marketing plan for VitaThirst utilizing the advertising firm Alice had recommended.
“Fall,” he answered distractedly into the phone when it rang at around one thirty. He assumed it’d be one of the marketing managers getting back to him with the data he wanted.
“Dylan? It’s Sidney.”
Dylan blinked at hearing the name, trying to clear the number-strewn contents of his brain.
“Sidney? Is anything wrong?”
“I thought I was supposed to be the one asking you that,” Sidney said. Dylan imagined the sharp amused glint in the eminent psychiatrist’s eyes. Sidney had his own private practice in Morgantown, but he also did consulting work for Durand Enterprises on an international basis. It was easy for Dylan to call up an image of the doctor. When he’d been fourteen years old, he’d seen Sidney once a week in the summer months every year before he’d left for college. That, and an adult friendship, had made Sidney one of a handful of true confidants. He’d selected Sidney to be one of his Durand advisors, and often sought his counsel, valuing his psychological acumen on issues ranging from staff motivation to complicated business negotiations.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Dylan said, dragging his glasses off his head and rubbing his burning eyes. He hadn’t been getting much sleep lately, thanks to Alice. He planned to be getting little rest again tonight, and he was damn well looking forward to it.
“Any more nightmares?” Sidney asked.
“No. Nothing obvious. Or that she’s told me about, anyway. But as I’ve said, she’s far from being an open book. She does seem less anxious, though.”
“And she and you are still—”
“Yes.”
He immediately regretted his sharpness. It was guilt that was making him so defensive with his old friend—a man he trusted at this point in his life more than anyone. And Sidney had looked very worried when Dylan had told him he and Alice were sleeping together. It had been an unexpected situation, Alice looking up at him in those stables with desperate, raw need blazing in her eyes.
It’d been an unexpected complication, one he hadn’t been able to resist.
It was too late to go back now. He’d crossed the line. She wasn’t something he was going to give up without a fight. She was worth too much.
Everything, in fact.
Sidney cleared his throat. “You sound worried.”
“Is that a surprise?” Dylan asked gruffly.
“No. Of course not. I had thought, given the way things were progressing from the first, there might be more of these—intrusions on her part. The gong. Her fear in the woods. The vision in the hallway. Fascinating, all of it.”
“She’s not the subject of one of your academic journal articles.”
“Of course not. At any rate, it seems her integration process has slowed. Anxiety isn’t pleasant, but it can signal that something is trying to rise from the unconscious mind. It’s undesirable to slow that process until it halts completely. A pressure is required, a subtle but firm one. Maybe it’s time you stepped up the process, let a little more light into the darkness, so to speak. Maybe you should expose her to more potential triggers instead of less.”
“Do you really think that’s wise?” Dylan asked slowly. “I thought you said if we just dumped the truth on her, it could have unforeseen, potentially catastrophic results.”
“I’m not suggesting we bludgeon her with the truth, perhaps just test her a little more intensely so that we can observe the results. I don’t pretend to be an expert on the precise amount of pressure required.”
“You’re the best expert we have. You’re one of the best in the world,” Dylan said.
“Every human being is different, every mind’s strengths and weaknesses impossible to tally given a specific stressor.”
Dylan exhaled, but the tension remained in his muscles. “I’m starting to think we should just tell her. There are times when I look into her eyes, and she seems … so close.”
“I still think it’d be best not to force the issue entirely. It’s impossible to know precisely, just how much anxiety she’s experiencing. Especially since, as you’ve reported, she disguises it so well. By all reports, she’s functioning adequately at the camp.”
“I told you not to rely on Kehoe’s reports alone,” Dylan said sternly. “He’s taken a dislike to her. My more objective observers tell me she’s excelling as a counselor. She’s compassionate, smart, hardworking, not afraid to try new strategies, and the kids and staff love her.”
“All the better for Durand Enterprises. You don’t suppose Kehoe suspects—”