Pieces of Hate by Ray Garton

are a lot of things out there that the most accomplished doctors don’t understand. Some of them deny those things, or just ignore them. Others want to satisfy their curiosity. That’s me. I’m curious.”
    He sat there, silently chewing another bite of his cracker, staring at her. His eyes remained on hers, and he waited . . . for something.
    The giggles returned. They came out of her like bubbles, even though she pressed her hand over her mouth tightly.
    “I’m sorry, please just — ” She tried to bury the giggles with forced coughs, “ — just excuse me, I haven’t slept much and I’m — ” The coughs began to overcome the giggles, and she was finally able to speak clearly again. “ — I’m just feeling a little goofy from traveling and not sleeping, that’s all.”
    A few stray giggles found their way out, but she pressed her lips together tightly and forced them out her nose, muffling them.
    He didn’t move for a long moment, just watched her, studied her, almost if Margaret were a patient. Then he leaned forward and folded his arms on the table.
    “Are you sure that’s all it is?” he asked quietly. “I mean, could there be something about Lynda . . . something from her past, her childhood, maybe . . . that I don’t know about? Something you could share with me?”
    “Well, let’s see.” She belched up a few more renegade giggles. “I can tell you that, when she was a kid, Lynda was a cruel bitch. But we’ve decided to put that behind us now. Don’t you think that’s good?”
    “Yes, I think that’s wise. But what I was referring to was something a little more, how should I put this? Um . . . something about your sister that you might have kept . . . secret?” He looked embarrassed as he spoke.
    She let a few more giggles slip by before saying, “You mean all those bodies she’d buried in the basement’s dirt floor?” Then she laughed loudly, bowing her head and covering her mouth again as her shoulders quaked silently.
    “Are you sure you’re all right, Margaret?”
    She nodded without looking up. Then, she lifted her head slowly, in control again, and said, “Dr. Plummer, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing weird about my sister, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s never been psychic or telekinetic. She got through her entire senior prom without killing a single person with her mind, as far as I know.”
    “Then maybe I’m asking about the wrong person.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You seem to be doing an awful lot of giggling.”
    “Yeah, well — ” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a giggler.”
    Dr. Plummer leaned forward a little further, locking his fingers together beneath his chest. He smiled at her and said very quietly. “Maybe there’s something you’d like to tell me, Margaret?”
    She stared at him for a long moment, no longer feeling the urge to giggle or laugh. She realized then that she wanted to tell somebody. But she couldn’t believe that her story would be met with anything besides laughter.
    Almost as if reading her mind, Dr. Plummer said, “I’ve already told you how curious I am. Something has happened to your sister that is so far beyond explanation . . . well, I didn’t even see its dust. So, now that you know I’m open-minded and willing to listen . . . is there something you’d like to me?”
    She adjusted her position in the chair, sipped her coffee, patted her hair, rubbed an eye with a knuckle, all nervous gestures to buy time as she mustered her courage. Finally, she said, “Yes, actually there is something I’d like to tell you. As long as you promise me that, once you hear my story, you won’t try to have me put in some ward in the bowels of the hospital with lots of locks on the doors and bars on the windows.”
    He laughed, leaning back a little. “Not at all. We don’t even have bowels in this hospital. I promise you that — ”
    Dr. Plummer beeped three times, sharply.
    “Damn,” he