Which means I need to find a new publisher. Any ideas?
In the meantime, here's another section of the book:
Testimony (3)
Lola gave me a
list of the references she'd checked on with Ms. Regland. She gave me
the list of people who vouched for her. Normally, that's not
something she would do. It's important not to compromise people's
privacy. But, given Ms. Regland's death, Lola decided this was a
special circumstance. Besides, I think I might have been the only
person who believed her innocence. Yes, her lawyer would argue for it
and would support that innocence, but I didn't think, at the time,
that he believed her. And who cares if he did? That's not his job.
Anyway. I went to
the first name on Lola's list. It wasn't all that useful. His name
was Walter, and while he was a professional Dom, he didn't have
anything to tell me that I hadn't heard already. Ms. Regland was a
masochist, she loved being tied up, and she wanted to be beaten more
and more severely. He was careful with her, but there were levels of
play he didn't want to do. He told me that he wasn't an abusive man,
and really wasn't much of a sadist. He was a rigger, and that was
where he spent most of his effort.
Let me explain
what a rigger is. Every once in a while, you see a picture of
someone, usually a woman, bound beautifully in very intricate rope
work, knots and webbing. The rope work is called Shibari; it's a
Japanese art. It takes a lot of training, and a lot of practice.
In some of those
pictures, what you'll see is someone suspended, their bodies
contorted into strange positions that could not, by any stretch of
the imagination, be comfortable. But those positions are very
carefully designed, and very carefully maintained. The master of
Shibari makes sure that the ropes are only as tight as they need to
be, no tighter. He makes certain that the rope is balanced, that the
weight is well distributed, and that circulation is maintained. It
may look uncomfortable, and many times it is. But when it is done
well, Shibari can also do amazingly helpful things.
It can take
pressure off of joints, it can lessen pain and even help blood
pressure.
But that's not
what Lena Regland wanted. She wanted Scott to turn his abilities down
a darker path.
I'm just saying
that to be dramatic; it should be pretty obvious that if Shibari can
lighten loads, it can also tighten them. Scott knows his business,
and he knows how to place a knot so that it presses against a cluster
of nerves. He knows how to stretch the joints just enough to cause
incredible agony, without causing any kind of lasting damage.
That kind of pain,
Scott was willing to give her. The kind that made her feel like he
was putting all the pressure of the world on a single joint in her
body, the kind of pain that let loose a flood of endorphins, that he
could do.
But she wanted
more. And he didn't want to give it to her.
Scott chooses his
clients very carefully. He is paid, and paid well, for what he does.
But he still only works with the people he wants to work with. He has
the amazing luxury of not only enjoying his work, but also only
working with those he enjoys.
It wasn't that Ms.
Regland wanted anything unsafe. He was very clear to tell me that.
She was still being safe, she just wanted someone more sadistic than
him. So when Lola called him, he told her the truth: nothing about
Lena Regland was strange; she was a good client, safe and
intelligent. Friendly. And she was a pretty serious masochist, which
is why Scotty sent her Lola's way.
The next name down
the list gave me, probably, the most help. Because the next name
wasn't someone in the kink scene. The next name was a doctor.
Doctor Patrick
Finnegan. He wouldn't talk to me on the phone, so I had to go to his
office.
Which is also how
I found out that he was a psychiatrist.
“I can't talk
about my patients with you.” It was the first thing he said to me
when I explained why I was there.
“She's not a
patient anymore.”
He shook his head.
“That doesn't matter. Her records are still protected by
doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“There's no way
you could give them to me?”
“Not without a
warrant or consent directly from her.”
“She's dead.”
He didn't bat an
eye. I was hoping he would, that he'd have some sort of reaction. I
was hoping he would let slip that he knew she was dead, or that he
was surprised, or that he wasn't. But there was nothing. “That
doesn't change anything,” he said. “Except that I need a court
order now, as she won't be able to sign any kind of consent form.”
I ran my hand
through my hair. It's a nervous habit I have. “I can't do that,”
I said. “I'm not here in a legal capacity. I'm just trying to help
a friend.”
He shook his head.
“I'm not going to fall for that,” he said. “Lena didn't have
any friends.”
“Not her,” I
said. I didn't realize at the time how much he had let slip. “Someone
else.”
“Did she hurt
someone?”
I shook my head.
“Not exactly. At least, I don't think she did.”
“I admit you've
made me very curious, Mr. Marsh. But I can't talk to you about her.
I'm sorry.”
I took a deep
breath, and had an idea. “I'm going to take a shot in the dark,”
I said, “And guess that you're kink friendly. You can tell me that
without compromising anything, right?”
He nodded.
“And if I were
your client, we could keep talking, and anything I said would then be
sealed the same way as Lena's records?”
He nodded again.
“But I warn you,” he said. “I can't tell you anything about
her, what she said, or what happened during our sessions.”
“Did anything
unethical happen?”
“No, of course
not.”
“Then I have no
problems. Are you free right now?”
He looked a little
bit taken aback by that. “I don't usually take clients off the
street,” he said.
I gave him my most
charming smile, backed by the willingness to use every dime at my
disposal to try to prove Lola's innocence.
So it didn't take
long to convince him to take a client in off the street. So long as I
promised not to ask him anything about other patients, he would talk
to me about my own issues, my own desires, and my own experiences.
“Would you
consider hypotheticals?”
“As long as they
aren't thinly veiled attempts to get me to reveal details about my
other patients, Mr. Marsh.”
“I promise,” I
said. “And please, call me Ian.”
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