by Mary Stone
“Yes! Evelyn’s always happy!” Murphy’s smile slid away and melted into pure sadness. “I miss her. When is she coming back?”
Autumn swallowed the lump in her throat. “Well…” She hadn’t even decided what answer to give him, but that didn’t matter.
Murphy burst into sobs. “What happened? Tell me. Tell me!” He banged his man hands against the table. “Where’s Evelyn? I want Evelyn! Tell me what happened to my nurse!”
The guards approached the table, and Autumn turned to assure them she was fine. But in that one moment of inattention, Murphy scurried up onto the table, his teeth bared like an animal.
An instant before the big man flung himself at her, his hands aiming for her neck, Autumn jumped out of her chair and backed against the wall. Murphy face-planted on the tile floor, and the guards moved in with lightning speed.
“Evelyn!” he wailed, fighting his holders with all his strength.
Autumn stood in silence while the guards held him down and a nurse rushed into the room to administer sedation.
Murphy no longer cared that Autumn was in the room. He screamed Evelyn’s name repeatedly as they carried him out the door and down the hallway.
She breathed deeply as a pang of woe throbbed in her chest. The man’s crimes were horrific, but his life story was tragic. Murphy would never go to a beach. He would never fall in love, tour Europe, or climb Mt. Everest. After today, he might not even talk or wipe his own ass again.
His “bedroom” would always have bars on the windows and a lock on the door.
But never a closet.
Though she knew the next patient was just as troubled, Autumn was relieved to start her second interview. The guards assured her that Walter Weber at least knew his own age.
But Walter had a different set of problems.
He presented with extreme ommatophobia, the fear of eyes, and severe chaetophobia, the fear of hair. These conditions, added to his lifelong struggle with schizophrenia, had eventually caused Walter to crack in a catastrophic way.
On a cold December evening five years ago, Walter had simply tied his family to their dinner chairs with rope, cut their eyes out one by one with an ice cream scooper, and yanked out every last hair on their heads with his bare hands.
His wife had survived the assault, though she was legally blind afterward. His two young daughters had not been so lucky…or unlucky, depending on how one chose to look at it. The six-year-old died from blood loss—he’d gone too deeply into one of her eye sockets—and the four-year-old’s neck broke with one of Walter’s hair yanks.
Walter had dropped each of the six eyeballs into a margarita glass and hid the “cocktail” behind a gallon of milk inside the family’s refrigerator. Then he went to bed, while his wife struggled to find her phone and dial 911.
Doctors and nurses alike had emphasized repeatedly in his chart that Walter found his crimes entertaining. Whatever break he’d experienced had wiped away his ability to empathize.
Autumn conceded to let Walter be shackled. She appreciated her eyes and hair, and preferred they stay attached to her body.
Walter plunked down in the seat across from her. He appeared annoyed. His shaved head glistened in the glare of overhead fluorescent lights, and ironically, his own eyes were unharmed.
“Hi, Walter. I’m Dr. Trent. I’m here to ask you a few questions about—”
“The dead nurse in the elevator shaft,” Walter growled before she could finish. “I didn’t do it. Can I go now?”
“Not yet, Walter. I’m not here to accuse you of anything, I promise. But Evelyn did visit your room yesterday. I hoped you could give me some insight as to her mood.” Autumn calmly crossed her hands on the table.
“Aren’t you scared I’m gonna scoop out your eyes? Tear out your hair? You do know what kind of hospital you’re in, right, Doc?” Walter asked the questions as though he were inquiring about the weather.
Autumn considered his queries. She was slightly uneasy, but that’s what the chains were for. “I’m not worried about that at all.”
He gave her a wink. “Good. They’ve got me on so many medications, I couldn’t take those suckers out with a battle ax. Although I do hate them.”
This was so interesting. She couldn’t help but lean forward a bit. “Hate them?”
“Your eyes. They’re green.” Walter shuddered, his entire body trembling with the movement.
“What’s so bad about green?” Autumn wished she had more time to pick through Walter’s mind. She’d never met any patient with his combination of phobias and disorders.
“Green is too bright. Green is offensive.” Walter spat on the floor to his left. “I’ve tried explaining that a million times to every shrink they slap me with. Green is asking to be removed.”
Fascinating.
“Okay, Walter. I apologize for my green eyes, but I do believe we’ve gotten a bit off topic.” Autumn attempted to rein the conversation in. “Evelyn Walker. Did you like her?”
“I don’t like anyone.” Walter’s robot voice was back.
“Was she kind to you? In comparison to the other employees?” Autumn was determined to drag a real answer out of this man.
Walter rolled his eyes. “Yes. She was too kind. She was the most obnoxious nurse I’ve ever endured.” He twiddled his thumbs in a circle, causing the chains around his wrists to rattle.
“Was she the nicest nurse you’ve ever endured?” Autumn knew she was borderline leading him with the question, but Walter was purposely being difficult.
“Sure. Nicest. Most obnoxious. She wanted to be everyone’s friend. Like we were all gathered around a Girl Scout campfire. Naïve.” He scanned the ceiling absently. “My oldest daughter was in Girl Scouts. The uniforms were hideous, but damn…the cookies. Is there anything more enjoyable than a Thin Mint binge session?”
Autumn was intrigued by the man’s ability to speak of his daughter with such loftiness, but she tried to focus on Evelyn. This conversation was the verbal equivalent of treading water.
“Did Evelyn’s excessive friendliness ever set you off? Was she ever just too much to handle?”
Walter emitted an echoing belly laugh. “Dr. Trent…it was Trent, right? I never denied my crimes. If I’d killed Evelyn, I wouldn’t deny that either. But I had no reason to. Her eyes weren’t even green, and she always put her hair up when she was in my room.”
“How thoughtful of her,” Autumn murmured in apt attention.
“Thoughtful?” Walter leaned forward, spittle flying from his mouth as he scoffed. “She was ridiculous. A ridiculous woman with ridiculous ideas.”
“Some would say that obsessing over green eyes is a ridiculous idea.” She blinked a few times for good measure. She was interested in how much it would take to set him off. “I wouldn’t say that, of course, but some would.”
“You’re pushing your luck, Doc. You’ll want to avoid that around me.” Walter’s eyes narrowed with hate and distrust, and Autumn saw the monster encased in medication that operated behind that stare.
She lifted her shoulders and dropped them indifferently. “Evelyn was her normal friendly and obnoxious self when you saw her yesterday?”
“Yep.” Walter stopped his continuous thumb play, the good humor drained from his voice. “Your hair is red. One of my daughters had red hair. Dark red hair. Hard to tell where the hair stopped and the blood started.” He threw back his head and laughed.
Autumn wasn’t making much progress. The man had only confirmed what she already knew. Evelyn was a happy-go-lucky woman who cared about her patients—maybe too much. And Walter Weber displayed no particular interest in the murdered nurse’s life or death.
Walter leaned in as far as his chains would allow. “You dye your hair, and not very well because it’s obvious. Why don’t you get colored contacts too? Do the world a favor?”
“We’re done here.” Autumn gave the guards a nod and turned her attention to the next patient chart. “Thank you for your tim
e.”
She knew Walter was bound and unable to hurt her. She also saw no particular reason to consider him a suspect in Evelyn’s demise.
But he was one of the scariest sons of bitches she’d ever come across in her entire life.
“I’d do it again, Doctor.” Walter chuckled just before the guards pulled him from his chair. The sound was a low grumble that might have come straight from the depths of hell.
“Excuse me?” Autumn met his vacant yet horribly coherent stare.
“Take out their eyes. I wasn’t trying to kill them, but I’d do it again. They all had green eyes just asking to be removed.”
Autumn tensed as Walter grinned at her over his shoulder.
“Someday, I’m gonna find you, fuck you, scoop out your eyes, then fuck you again.”
She turned back to her next chart, refusing to acknowledge him.
“Green is asking for it. Green is asking for it. Green is…” Walter’s voice faded away as he was guided down the hall.
She rolled her head, trying to work out the tension building in her neck and shoulders.
One more. Just one more of these conversations today.
Autumn had saved the best…or worst…for last. Perspective was everything.
Gerard Helmsey. Forty-six. This patient had been physically and sexually abused as a child by his uncle, who gained custody of Gerard when his parents perished in a car wreck.
His uncle had forced him to perform acts of beastiality with various farm animals. Every day. For seven years. His hell had only ceased when his uncle passed away from a heart attack.
But the mental effect of such abuse would never cease.
As an adult, Gerard—undoubtedly warped and scarred beyond repair—had gone on to force three female victims to perform the same atrocity. He’d made them screw goats and thrown the women into a meat grinder immediately after.
His chart warned that he rarely spoke. And if you were lucky enough to drag any words out of him, he seemed to have only two catch phrases.
“Don’t look at me,” and “Screw a goat.”
Autumn massaged her temples. All of these people in the same building.
How did anyone work here five days a week?
When he arrived, Gerard sat his lanky body cautiously down and avoided eye contact altogether.
“You’re not gonna get anything outta this guy, Doc,” one of the guards whispered as he returned to his post by the door.
Autumn straightened in her chair.
That remains to be seen.
“Hello, Gerard. I’m Dr. Trent. How are you doing today?”
“Don’t look at me.” He swiveled sideways in his chair.
“Okay. I’ll stare out the window if you’d like. I’m only here to ask you a few quest—”
“Screw a goat.”
Autumn battled a wave of frustration. Gerard had been one of Evelyn’s last patients of the day. Considering his constant state of reclusive silence, he wasn’t at the top of the suspect list. But he was one of the last residents known to have seen Evelyn before her fateful evening came to its conclusion.
He could confirm if anything had been off with the nurse. Maybe something had changed in her demeanor by the time she made it to Gerard’s room. An argument, an altercation, a phone call…something significant may have happened shortly before her murder that could lead them to the killer.
But if she couldn’t get Gerard to speak to her, what he knew or didn’t know would remain a mystery.
“I know you have no reason to like or trust me, but I promise I’m only here because I want to help bring justice to a woman who helped take care of you. A woman I’ve been told was good to everyone…including you.”
Gerard’s chin sank slowly, not stopping until it rested on his chest.
Autumn licked her lips. “I’m talking about Evelyn. Will you talk to me for just a few minutes? Help me discover who wanted to hurt her?”
To her enormous relief and surprise, Gerard began to move, turning back to face her as if moving through quicksand mixed with molasses.
Good. Yes. Any reaction is better than no reaction.
“Did you like Evelyn, Gerard?”
He lifted his head, then let it drop. A single nod.
Autumn’s heart raced. He was responding. “Was she kind to you?”
He lifted his head. “Friend.” He said the word and lowered his chin.
He’s sad. He knows she’s not okay. They’ve all written him off as completely gone, but he isn’t. He liked Evelyn.
The irony that she might get the most information out of a convict who had nearly been declared mute was astonishing.
“Was Evelyn happy yesterday, Gerard?”
He nodded again, a single dip of his chin.
“Did you ever see Evelyn upset? Perhaps there was a patient or nurse she didn’t particularly get along with or—”
Gerard raised his head and stared straight into Autumn’s eyes. Seconds passed as she felt him look straight into her soul.
Tell me. Please, just tell me.
“Baldwin.”
Relief and disbelief swamped through Autumn’s body. She leaned forward, feeling herself on the edge of a breakthrough. The only breakthrough of the day, to be exact.
“Baldwin? Dr. Philip Baldwin, the medical director? What about him, Gerard?”
“Bad,” his brow furrowed, hatred coming alive in his expression, “man.”
Her heart was like a rabbit in her chest. “Bad man…how?”
She waited for an answer. And waited. And waited. Silence was usually her friend during any interview or interrogation, but not this time. As the clock ticked on the wall behind her, Gerard’s eyes glazed over, and his jaw became as slack as raw dough.
He began to rock slowly in his chair. “Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.” It was a chant. A prayer. A little boy muttering his most fervent wishes.
Deciding not to push, Autumn gave the man a gentle smile. She was thrilled that there had been any dialogue to begin with. The guards were probably pissing their pants.
Her first piece of patient-shared insight pointed in one clear direction.
Baldwin. Bad man.
10
Autumn exited the hospital stairwell and closed the door with a firm thud. She was beyond grateful that the interviews were over. Her head ached and she was starving. She spotted Aiden in the hospital lobby and walked toward him at a brisk pace.
The SSA appeared entirely tranquil.
Not fair, Aiden. Not fair at all.
But the situation was fair. She specialized in this branch of psychology. Aiden didn’t. And rattled as she was, she was also deeply intrigued by the three men he’d assigned her. The backstories, the pivotal moments and breaking points that had brought them to be locked away in this hospital, the—
“Ready to grab lunch? Mia and Chris already headed to the visitor’s cafeteria. I figured you might prefer a change of scenery.” Aiden’s cool blue eyes divulged nothing.
I might prefer a change of memory.
The myriad of emotions currently spiraling through her psyche threatened to overwhelm her composure. Sadness mixed with fascination, added to empathy, and topped with horror.
She took a deep breath, allowing all the feelings to run through her.
Murderers were human beings. That was a fact that the general public happily ignored, and Autumn understood the reason why most did so. Discerning the humanity and light in the same souls whose actions proved he or she was capable of brutal villainy and darkness was, at times, nearly unbearable.
Despite the avalanche of activity taking place in her brain, Autumn refused to give Aiden anything less than a calm smile. “You’re correct. I’m not eating here.”
Aiden’s eyebrows shot up. “Rough morning, Dr. Trent?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Let’s go.”
Aiden led the way out of the hospital and straight to his vehicle just inside the p
arking garage. Autumn climbed into the passenger’s seat and drew a deep breath.
The toxicity inside of that building was unbelievable. Autumn wanted a long, hot shower and three days of laying on the couch with Toad and Peach. An entire weekend off to rewatch the Lord of the Rings trilogy with her sweet dog and sometimes grumpy cat.
Maybe that’ll do the trick.
But she was more than aware there was no “trick.” No magic potion. She wasn’t Gandalf.
Those interviews…the patients and their backgrounds…were a part of her now.
Forever.
And instead of taking some downtime to distance her psyche from these patients, Autumn found herself enticed and wishing she could devote considerable chunks of time to studying each murderer’s life experiences individually. Birth to present day.
There had to be a key moment in each of their paths where intervention could have stopped the madness. Or at least helped manage it before such dire crimes were committed.
Murphy had lost his father, and the trauma changed the course of his life. Autumn couldn’t help but think of being forcefully separated from her sister. The loss still tore at her insides, and in many ways, she felt as though Sarah had died when they parted.
What turned Murphy into a killer while Autumn went on to study men like him?
What part of his brain was different from hers? How close had she come to being just like him? Were her loving adoptive parents the only difference?
Nature and nurture.
There had to be more, she just knew it. And she was determined to learn what that something was…and use it to steer at-risk children away from the path these men had gone.
These criminals were once innocent, squalling babes. What turned them into living monsters?
Any of these stories could have played out so very differently. The random injustice ate away at Autumn’s heart.
Who would Murphy be if his father were still alive today? Or perhaps if he had received mental care the first time he smothered a mouse rather than being gifted with his mother’s denial…
Would improved healthcare and treatment have kept Walter’s schizophrenia under control and his daughters alive? He must have loved them before his break.
