The Song of David

“HELLO, DOC? IT’S Moses Wright.”

“Moses! It’s so good to hear from you.” Dr. Andelin’s voice was deep and butter warm, the way it always was, and I marveled at his ability to make people feel instantly safer, better, heard. He’d been a squeaky new psychologist when I first met him at Montlake—maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven years old—but he had that way about him that made you feel like his soul had lived a million lives. He was wise and kind, and Tag and I were both pretty fond of him. But I pushed through the niceties that Tag was so much better at, interrupting Noah Andelin even though I knew it was rude and he would think I’d lost all the ground I’d gained since being a surly eighteen-year-old in his care at Montlake.

“Doctor Andelin, I know Tag’s seen you on a fairly regular basis since we came back to Utah. And I know you can’t tell me what you talked about. I get that. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that stuff. I don’t need to know what Tag’s said to you or what you’ve said to him. But he’s gone, Doctor Andelin. He just split suddenly. He’s in love with a great girl who loves him back, but I keep seeing his sister. I keep seeing his sister, Doc, and I don’t have to tell you why that scares me to death.”

I wasn’t connecting my thoughts very well, but the swift intake of breath on the end of the line confirmed that Noah Andelin was keeping up with me.

“In your professional opinion, would he hurt himself? I mean. He’s not suicidal,” I stopped suddenly, because I realized I didn’t know if that was true. Listening to Tag, I had no idea if he was emotionally back in the corridors of Montlake, wanting to escape himself. I amended my statement. “I mean, he’s not suicidal like he was. In some ways, Tag is the healthiest guy I know. But he has a crazy streak, and he’s great at saving everyone else and not always very good at taking care of himself. He just took off so suddenly. Where do you think he’d go? Do you have any advice that could help me find him?”

Dr. Andelin didn’t answer immediately, and I could picture him with his hand against his face, his head tilted, just thinking.

“How do you know he isn’t just . . . taking a break?” Dr. Andelin finished inanely, as if trying to come up with a viable alternative.

“He’s left us some cassettes. The girl he’s been seeing is blind. So he’s recorded himself, talking to her, basically.”

“Amelie,” Dr. Andelin supplied, and I realized Tag had consulted with him on something.

“So you know about her.”

“Yes. I saw him a month ago. He was—” Dr. Andelin stopped, as if trying to carefully negotiate confidentiality. “He was happier than I have ever seen him. This is . . . unexpected.”

“Would it help you to hear the tapes?” I was desperate. I hoped Millie wouldn’t object.

“Has he given you any reason to believe there is anything you can do?” Dr. Andelin asked quietly.

“What?” I felt the anger surge through my veins, and I wanted to throw my phone against the wall.

“How long has it been since anyone has seen him?” Dr. Andelin’s voice was unbearably gentle.

“More than two weeks,” I whispered.





“TAG?” LISA LOOKED a little harried, her eyes wide, her hands shaking. “Uh, I think we’ve got a problem. Morgan . . . Morgan is in the lounge. He’s been drinking for the last few hours, and he’s starting to get abusive. I didn’t want to get him in trouble. Morg’s my friend. I don’t know what happened with his job, but, well—” I was around the bar, tossing instructions at Vince and moving down the hall and into the lounge with Lisa trotting after me, making all kinds of excuses for Morgan.

The music was thumping—something guttural and earthy, and Amelie was in the octagon, twirling and swaying around the tall pole, a determined smile pinned to her face. But unlike the first time I’d seen her dance, and every time I’d watched her dance since, her eyes were open, and her movements seemed stiff. She clearly wasn’t enjoying herself.

“I’m not liking what I see!” a voice bellowed out. “Are you liking what you see, princess?” Laughter. “Get Danielle back out here!”

The other patrons had stopped watching Amelie and were peering, hands over their eyes in the direction of the corner booth. The dim lighting made it hard to make him out, and the loud bass camouflaged his taunts, but Morgan was doing his best to be heard, and the charged atmosphere in the room had nothing to do with sexual tension or the scantily clad dancer performing a seductive routine under a spotlight.