Read Online Killer's Cousin by Nancy Werlin - Free Book Online Page A

was curious about what identity he’d choose. It was almost certain to be someone we hadn’t encountered in the background reading.
    It was. “Abulafia,” Frank said. His voice was very soft, close to inaudible. Oddly, he glanced over at me.
    â€œI don’t quite recall this Abulafia,” said Dr. Walpole. It did not appear to disturb her. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about this … it is a man, isn’t it? A real person?”
    â€œYes,” said Frank. “He was a kabbalist.”
    â€œWell, that helps,” muttered Stoph Khouri.
    â€œKabbalism,” Dr. Walpole said. “We didn’t cover that material. Jewish medieval mysticism, yes?”
    Frank nodded. “Kabbalists were mystics, yeah. They believed in all kinds of weird stuff. Magic. Astrology. Witches and demons. All the unexplainable stuff that medieval Christians believed in, but that most Jews, rational Jews like Maimonides”—again I got a glance—“didn’t. The other Jews thought the kabbalists were crazy. And Abulafia—they thought he was the craziest one of all.”
    There was a little silence. Then, unexpectedly, Justine Sinclair said, “Oh, I see. Kind of like a medieval Fox Mulder.” She added helpfully to Dr. Walpole, “
The X-Files
. On TV. Mulder and Scully investigate psychic phenomena. Mulder believes. Scully doesn’t. She’s the rational one.”
    Without thinking, I corrected her: “No, it’s more complicated than that. Mulder
needs
to believe. His whole identity depends on it; it’s what keeps him sane. It’s a little twisted, but very logical.”
    Frank turned to look at me intently. Justine scowled. “Well, when you compare him to Scully, Mulder is
not
rational—”
    I couldn’t help myself. “Yes, he is! You just don’t understand where he’s coming from—” I stopped. Everyone was looking at me. Dr. Walpole opened her mouth.
    Frank cut her off. “Yes?” he said to me.
    I came to my senses. I slouched down in my chair. “Nothing,” I said. “Off topic.”
    Dr. Walpole looked relieved. She nodded at Frank, who, astonishingly, had his mouth open again. “Fine,then, Mr. Delgado,” she said briskly. “You’ll research this Abulafia.” And she moved on, explaining how she expected our research to be conducted.
    I felt Frank’s curious eyes flick my way several times during the remainder of that class. I ignored him. I felt a little self-conscious, which was ridiculous.
    The fact was that in a minor way I was an X-Phile. A fanatic. I had tapes of every episode. Avidly I followed all the discussions on the Net.
    There was no reason to feel self-conscious about it. I was no different from hundreds—maybe thousands—of other fans. It was relaxing to go online and discuss the show anonymously. To spend hours dissecting its logical threads. To admire the courageous, analytical Scully. And, with Scully, to follow “Spooky” Mulder along his erratic, pain-filled path toward some elusive Truth that—you knew in your heart—would never restore his innocence even if he did find it.

CHAPTER 13
    B y the time I got home I felt terrible again. The mail didn’t improve matters. It held a packet called “E-Apply!” which I had actually sent for, by clicking a button somewhere up in cyberspace. I opened the packet, and the names of umpteen hundred different colleges and universities danced dizzily down the information page. At the top a header screamed: “Do it electronically! Cut and paste your essays! Fast, convenient!” A CD-ROM tumbled out and I barely caught it. I leaned my shoulder up against the house for a minute.
    My father had said that college applications were only permitted to ask if the applicant had ever been
convicted
of a felony. But it didn’t matter; the admissions offices would remember me. They