Do No Harm

He hung up the phone and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Clyde. It sruck him that, when talking to Diane, he'd slowly gravitated to the middle of the bed, rather than leaving his wife's side untouched as he usually did.

He should have been exhausted, but he was wired, still riding his adrenaline high. The clock blinked 3:30 a.m. He'd have a little more than three and a half hours to sleep before getting up for his morning shift. He couldn't even count how long it had been since he'd had a respectable night's sleep. He closed his eyes and forced himself to clear his thoughts. He was just drifting off when the phone rang. He fumbled for the receiver, then answered. "Diane?"

"Almost," a voice said. Suddenly, an awful screaming came through the phone, the sounds of someone being tortured. David bolted up in bed, slowly placing the initial voice as Clyde's. He reached for the answering machine on the nightstand and clicked record. The screams continued, followed by a woman's intense pleading.

"Hello?" David's heart was pounding. Nothing engendered panic like exposure to it. "Hello? Who's there? Are you all right?"

The noise stopped instantly, and David heard only labored breathing. He tried to put his thoughts in order. How had Clyde managed to take someone captive? The screaming had cut off abruptly-maybe it had been recorded. Why would Clyde awaken him with a woman's screaming? To scare him. To scare him off.

David's voice sounded weak, and he had to clear his throat to start over. "Clyde. What have you done? Listen to me. What have you done?"

A silence during which David imagined Clyde relishing the fear that had shown in David's voice.

"You said you were gonna help me and you didn't. You're like them, like the others. You've seen what I can do to them." Clyde's voice firmed with pride. "The hospital was shut down because of me. Security guards to protect people from me. They're scared. And you'll be too."

A woman's scream, prolonged and wavering.

The sheets around David were stained with his sweat. David fought to keep the fear from his voice, because he didn't want to give Clyde the satisfaction. He got up and paced circles around the room, the phone pressed to his ear. "Do you have someone with you, Clyde? Is someone there?"

"Yeah." He laughed. "Yeah. Someone's here. I got her. It's your fault. I did this because of you."

"Clyde, listen to me. This is very important. If you harm another person-one other person-I won't ever try to help you again. Do you understand me?"

A pause, and then a statement, ringing with the clarity of conviction. "I'll. Never. Stop." The line again filled with the woman's wrenching cries, then cut out.

David turned on a light, suddenly spooked by the dark bedroom, and paged Ed. Then, he called Diane's room.

She answered the phone, her voice cracked from sleep. "Hello?"

Relief poured through him. "Clyde called. He might have had someone captive." David's reflection in the window stared back at him, frightened. "Just lock your door. And call security. Have them post a guard at your door."

"Okay. I'll call someone to stay until I get out of here in the morning."

"All right," he said. "All right."

"Are you going to tell the police?"

"I have to." David cursed under his breath. "They'll probably think I instigated this somehow."

"Well," Diane said. "Didn't you?"

After they hung up, Ed called back. He sounded wide-awake. "Something's off," he said, when David finished recounting the call. "I doubt this guy is capable of holding a captive. Plus he no longer has his own space. Was there any background noise?"

"I don't know," David admitted.

"Make me a recording of the call before you turn it over to the cops," Ed said. "Drop it in your mailbox. I'll drive by and pick it up."

Yale returned David's page immediately, listened with a quiet intensity, and said he was on his way.

David found an ancient dictation recorder in his study, and dubbed a copy for Ed. He'd just finished when Yale arrived, and he handed off the answering machine tape at the front door. Yale's face reflected David's own exhaustion. Their exchange was wordless. David watched Yale striding to his car, his impeccable posture undiminished by fatigue or the late hour. David waited for him to drive away, then dropped the copy of the tape in his mailbox for Ed.

When he got back inside, he double-locked the door. After inserting a new tape into the answering machine, he slid beneath the covers, but only stared at the ceiling again, his heart pounding as the early light of morning spilled through the window. The phone rang at 6 a.m. and he readied his hand over the answering machine record button before answering. His voice sounded weak and shaky, even to himself. "Hello?"

"Don't worry about it," Ed said. "Clyde's not holding any captives. He played you a bootleg copy of the Bittaker-Norris torture tapes."

"I… I'm sorry?"