Finding Forever (20 page)

She sat up, pressed her back against the wall, and buried her face in her hands. If she had any hair left, she certainly would have pulled it out. Instead, she just howled and moaned and wept until her eyes dried out.

When the door opened at least an hour later, Taylor, now in the fetal position, didn't even bother to get up.

Just kill me.

In walked an elf of a man with a shade of blond hair that could never have occurred naturally. He was overly tan with a smooth-shaven face and wore a white button-down shirt, white seersucker pants, and a canary sport coat with a green silk handkerchief tucked in the chest pocket that made him look like an Easter egg come to life.

“Congratulations, Ms. Prince.” He spoke precisely and in a high-pitched voice more boy than man. Beaming, he handed her a bottle of coconut water.

Taylor pressed herself to standing, took the water and gulped from it.

“You're the first female patient to receive the White Room treatment,” he said. “That's quite an achievement, though a dubious one at that.”

Taylor guzzled the rest of the bottle.

“Now that you've calmed down, let's go get some fresh air, eh? Let's say we go for a little stroll across the courtyard to my place.”

Taylor slowly walked toward him, dragging her slippers along the white tile.

As he opened the door, Taylor asked, “Where are Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

The man chuckled. “Oh yes, they're right outside your door. I left them out there because I'm not afraid of you. In fact, there is no bigger fan of Taylor Prince than myself. And I have been a big fan for quite some time. I'm Dr. Peter Kensington.”

Dr. Kensington reached out his hand, and it felt smooth to the touch, as if from a lifetime of moisturizering. “Call me Peter.”

The doctor clutched two straw hats. He handed the wide-brimmed, floppier one to Taylor, and placed the smaller men's style hat on his own head. The black chinstrap dangling below his angular chin made him look like a little boy on a pony ride.

Taylor followed the doctor into the hallway and past her 200-pound-plus tacklers.

Losers.

The doctor, whom she stood over by at least two inches, strolled with arrogant ease through the automatic sliding glass front door. He pulled a pair of thick-framed sunglasses from his pants pocket. He held a rigid posture, chin up and chest out, like a lord in his manor. A Napoleon complex, Taylor diagnosed.

The palm-lined stone pathway was surrounded by a lawn that extended a hundred yards on both sides to a wall circling the property. “Five hundred acres,” Dr. Kensington boasted. “I bought this land a long time ago, back in the nineties. It used to be a Cabazon tribal burial ground.”

Taylor squinted in the harsh sunlight. A pack of four German shepherds darted across the lawn at full speed in her direction. “
Nein, nein
!” Peter held his right arm high above his head. “
Nein
!”

The frothing dogs stopped abruptly, panting, staring at the stranger beside their master. Their tongues fell out of their mouths in a pant. “They will only listen to me in German. That's how they're trained. Oh, and if you ever touch the perimeter wall, they are trained to attack to the death. I wouldn't test them.”

Taylor nodded and sucked in the dry air.

“You must have a lot of questions,” Dr. Kensington said.

Taylor was just happy not to be locked in the “White Room” anymore. She had not been outside in three days, and she had yet to see a single other patient at the rehab center.

Taylor and Dr. Kensington made their way 100 yards or so down the pathway to the wall's black metal gate. A winding roll of silver barbed wire lined the top and extended across the entire wall, topped by three parallel strings of prisonlike razor wire that reflected the sun. Dr. Kensington punched in a code. He held open the gate, allowing Taylor to enter first. She sensed his eyes tracking her body as she passed him, making her feel as if he was anything but a gentleman.

“Welcome to Casa Bell,” Dr. Kensington said.

Neatly aligned squares of sandstone led the way to the front porch of the white stucco home. It was a cross between the opulent casas in the richest of her native Phoenix's old-money suburbs and that of historical Spanish-style missions. A bowling ball–sized bell dangled in a miniature tower that rose up from the center of the red-tile rooftop.

“Casa Bell is my residence, my sanctuary, and my laboratory.” Dr. Kensington beamed. “That bell there, I take it you've heard it ringing.”

“I have.”

“Every hour on the hour—except for rest time. When you hear that bell at nine at night it's rest time. When it chimes at six it's work time.”

Kee-kee-kee-kee! Kee-kee-kee-kee!

Taylor threw her hands in front of her face for protection as a creature rushed down the porch and charged at her.

“Rafferty! Settle down!” Dr. Kensington barked. He turned to Taylor. “Don't be afraid. That's just Rafferty.”

The furry brown beast slid to a stop about six feet from
Taylor and let out a series of yelping barks. She now clearly saw it was a monkey wearing a human baby diaper.

“Get back here, you bad boy!” Dr, Kensington scolded.

He picked up the primate and carried him like a baby to the porch, grabbing a baby bottle filled with what looked like apple juice off the railing. When Dr. Kensington shook the bottle, Rafferty grabbed it violently and sucked the nipple. “You silly, silly boy. You need to listen to your daddy.”

“How old is Rafferty, Dr. Kensington?” Taylor asked.

“Call me Peter.”

“Okay, Peter . . .”

“Less than a year old. Rafferty is owned by one of our past Kensington patients. I'm, shall we say, monkey-sitting until he gets back from his, uh, time away. You have seen Rafferty in the media, I'm sure.”

The only thing Taylor felt sure about was that this doctor gave her the creeps.

“Jason Wild, the pop singer, held him here as a pet,” Peter said. “But as you have probably heard, it has been a rather tough year for Jason. Until he gets out of state prison, we are keeping Rafferty at Kensington.”

“Jason was treated here?”

“Yes, but he was constantly resisting the Program, unfortunately. He's quite an intelligent and talented young man, so I expect him to come around in due time.”

Due time.
How much time she would be given before she was freed . . . or sent to prison, like Jason Wild? Either way, she needed to keep Peter on her good side.

Still holding the monkey, Peter settled into a rocking chair on the porch and gazed at her through his dark sunglasses.

“Why don't you join me?” Peter gestured to the empty rocking chair next to his. “I even have your favorite drink waiting for you.”

Taylor took a seat and sipped from the glass of lemonade perched on the side table.

“You know, Taylor, we can learn a lot from primates,” Peter said, stroking the monkey. “Chimps, monkeys, they are the closest species to human beings. Like humans, monkeys crave structure, order in their lives. They work best when there is a hierarchy in place. They like routine. They need to know who the alpha is, their leader.”

Taylor put down her glass and wiggled in her chair, trying to get comfortable. She had spent so much time in bed over the last few days she couldn't twist her stiff neck without wincing.

“One thing you have to understand about monkeys is that your relationship with them is built totally on trust and respect,” Peter continued. “Without that, they will reject your authority. For example, you can never hit a monkey. They will fear you and see you as a threat, not as their leader who will take care of them and protect them. The trick is winning their respect through discipline and punishment—without turning them against you.”

Rafferty finished off the bottle and chucked it across the porch. It rolled off the ledge and into the yard. The monkey leaped off Peter's lap, straight onto the railing in front of Taylor, digging in the fingernails of his surprisingly humanlike black hands. Taylor gripped her chair. Rafferty belched a series of squeaks.

“Monkeys can smell fear. He's assessing you right now. That's why he's looking you straight in the eyes. You might want to stare back at him because if you look away, he might think you're submitting.”

“Then what would happen?” Taylor locked eyes with the primate in front of her face.

“In the wild, he might gouge your eyes out.” Peter laughed. “But luckily for you, this isn't the jungle. So he would probably just steal your glass of lemonade.”

Act strong.

Peter laughed again, but Taylor did not. He went on, “The key is to assert your dominance through a simple system. When they do what you ask, you reward them. But when they don't, you punish them. It's really the natural order of things. Unfortunately, too many human parents forget this fundamental rule and that's partly why we have so many young children running wild. They do what they want, say what they want, act is if life is one big party. They reject authority. They don't respect order. Especially Hollywood kids.”