"Ty Drago - Bitter Reflections" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drago Ty)

of him and his crimes, and her fascination with his case. Slowly, she rose from the chair and
stood before him, the fire casting her shadow across his slumped form. "I'm happy to tell you
that the answer to your question is 'neither', Mr. Benedict. You're not insane, though its
obvious to me you have serious problems to resolve. But your reflection isn't engaged in an
attack upon your soul either. I can't give you a pat diagnosis after only one informal session.
That wouldn't be fair to you."

Benedict laughed humorlessly. "Then what can you do?"
"Do you trust me?"

He looked up at her, his expression cold. "I trust no one."

"Do you trust my skills, then?"
He frowned for a moment, and then nodded. Loretta offered him her hand. "Then come with
me to the window. It's dark outside. Even the moon is hidden behind the clouds. You should
cast an excellent reflection."

"No!"

Loretta leaned over him, placing her hands on the arms of his chair, and bringing her face
within inches of his. "A reflection is only that, Mr. Benedict. No depth, no spirit. Just an
optical image on glass. Take my hand, look at it with me. Prove to yourself that what you've
seen is a product of your mind. Once we've established that, then I can help you. Otherwise,
there's nothing I can do, and I'm afraid you're just going to have to ruin me."
Benedict stared at her for several moments, nervously chewing his lip. When he spoke, his
voice cracked, like a child's. "You'll hold my hand?"

"The entire time."

Loretta straightened. Slowly, Benedict placed his trembling fingers in hers and climbed
unsteadily to his feet. She smiled at him, still repulsed but at the same time fascinated by
this twisted, tragic man. Then she led him across the hearth to a pair of heavy velvet drapes.
Benedict looked like a man on death row. His steps were small and nervous. His lips moved
constantly, though no sound came out. His right hand dug deep into the pocket of his robe.

"I'm just going to pull one of the drapes aside," Loretta explained. "At the first sign of trouble
I'll drop them again. Fair enough?"
He nodded mutely.
Her free hand went to the split in the drapes. "Ready?"

He nodded again.

She drew the curtain aside.
The storm had reached a fevered pitch, its gusting wind splashing the rain again the high,
wide panes of glass. Loretta saw her reflection, and that of the man whose hand she held.
"Just relax," she soothed.

Then Benedict's reflection smiled wide.

"Hello, Larry."