I turned and jumped. He stood there, right behind me, with barely any room between us.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sidestepped him, thankful for the added distance between us as I returned to my seat.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then went to sit back down on the couch.
“Someday soon I’m going to be a father, and I want to be a good one, you know? What if I can’t do it? What if I let our child down?”
From the line of questioning, I took it to mean they were a step closer toward adoption.
“Then you’ll be like all the other parents out there.” I wanted to encourage him. “No one knows what they’re doing in the beginning. You’ll learn as you go, and I’m sure you’ll be a great father. What brought on this concern?”
The narrow ridge between his eyes was pronounced as a frown appeared.
“She’s getting restless.”
She. Would we ever get past her invading our sessions?
“What does that mean?”
“The need for a child is all she can focus on. It’s unhealthy.”
“Have you told her that?”
“I want her to know I support her. If I admit I’m worried, she’ll take it the wrong way. I don’t want her to think I’m not ready.”
“Are you?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m made out of father material, you know? I didn’t have the best role model, nor do I really remember much from being a kid.”
“Tell me what you remember about your childhood, Tyler,” I urged him.
“I remember living in a small town,” Tyler said. “I think we were on the outskirts because we had a big backyard. Not like the houses you find in town now, with barely a yard to play catch in. There was a shed and a tractor my dad jimmied up to work as a snowplow in the winter. Sometimes a friend of my dad’s would show up. There was a ton of drinking when he came around. He always offered me a sip.” A hint of a smile played on Tyler’s face at the memory. “My mom would lose her shit every time she found out too. But Dad . . . didn’t care. Said a real man learned how to hold his own early in life, and there was no time like the present to learn.”
He rubbed his hands over his face, then through his hair.
“Did you like this family friend?”
He groaned, wiping his mouth in a downward motion. “At the time I did. I thought he was cool. Sometimes he’d come around and watch me if my parents were out. Gave me more attention than my own father, that’s for sure.”
There was something in his voice that said more than he probably intended.
The words he used, how he said it, told me that the relationship between him and this man hadn’t been a healthy one.
There seemed to be a recurring theme with my patients. Sexual abuse. I didn’t seek out patients who needed help to process those memories, but . . .
“Did he abuse you, Tyler?” I had to ask.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he said yes. It would explain a lot about how Tyler viewed himself, how he felt ignored and unseen.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “If he did, I sure as hell don’t want to know.” He looked at me, his pupils dark and small. “Got it?”
My stomach clenched and twisted into a plethora of knots at the threat in those two words. Now it made sense why he didn’t have many memories of his past—he’d chosen to forget the painful ones.
“Sometimes we don’t need to know.” I spoke with a calmness I sure as hell didn’t feel. “Sometimes our brains hide events from us in order to protect us.”
His eyes, once dark and small, were now wide and alight with interest.
“Funny you should say that.” He cocked his head to the right and tapped his chin. “She says the same thing too.”
I wanted to prod, poke, and point out that it would be beneficial to know who she was.
“She says that my past is hidden from me because it’s too painful.”
That seemed to be one thing she got right. So the question, then, was whether it was more helpful to Tyler’s therapy to dive into that past and allow memories to resurface for healing to occur. Or would it only be more harmful to him?
“But don’t you think I would remember something? Even a small detail?” he asked.
I tried to think about my first memory. I had this picture in my head of sitting in front of my mother’s sewing cabinet. It was full of needles and pincushions and other things a child shouldn’t have access to. I remembered laughter and the click of a camera.
But then I also remembered seeing a photo of this exact scenario in a photo album.
So was the memory real or one that had been told to me? Was the laughter from that moment or from when my mother recounted it?
Another image played out in my head. Of a field full of dandelions, a tattered doll, a handmade blanket, and small pieces of wrapped candy.
A sudden sour taste filled my tongue.
I gulped my water, trying to get rid of the disgusting taste. I had no idea where that memory came from. I tore my focus from that image and turned it back to Tyler.
“Do you want to remember?” I asked.
Tyler rolled his thumbs around each other as he held his fists in his lap.
“A part of me does. But what if the memories destroy me? What if I’m not strong enough to handle them? She tells me I don’t need to remember, that the only memories I need are the ones with her, but . . .” His voice trailed off, and I found myself glad to hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“Whenever we make the decision to face our fears, we’ve already become stronger,” I said. “It may be hard, but you aren’t alone, Tyler.” There were more words on the tip of my tongue that I wasn’t sure I wanted to say. Words I knew he needed to hear.
“I’ll make sure you’re not alone.” I said them anyway. It was the right thing to do.
“I know.” The way he looked at me, the amazement along with relief, confirmed it. “I know I’m not alone, but she says—”
I let a small groan escape my lips. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m getting a little tired of hearing about what she says. Could it be possible she’s not always right? That she might have an ulterior motive for the verbal and emotional abuse?”
Tyler bolted from the seat the moment I said the word abuse.
“Don’t you dare.” His voice rose like a kite caught in a violent wind, the inflections unsteady, his pitch similar to that of a teenage boy. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he shouted.
I sat back, unprepared for his anger.
“She’s not abusive. She loves me and is only trying to protect me.” He headed to the window and looked out into the night, his body stiff, his hands fisted. “It’s no different than you. You have no idea . . .” He looked back at me with tightened lips.
“No different? No idea? Of what, Tyler? What is it you’ve been wanting to say to me but haven’t?”
For the longest time he was silent. Just staring at me with a look I couldn’t understand.
“Tyler?”
“Have you thought about who is behind the murders?” he asked.
Why was he bringing up the murders? Why now?
“I mean, have you thought about who the killer is? How it could be someone you know?” He leaned toward me, invading my personal space.
Was Tyler the one who’d left me the notes?
“What are you trying to tell me, Tyler?” I didn’t want to show how his words affected me, but I clutched the pen in my hand tighter.
“You don’t know?” He stood and towered over me. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Without another look at me, he turned and walked out of my office.
I’d find out soon enough?
Find what out? What the hell was he talking about? Tami wanted me to stop seeing him, and to be honest, I was starting to feel the same way.
He knew something he wasn’t telling me. Something about the killer. Which
was why I followed him.
The sky was dark, but the streetlights cast enough of a glow that I watched Tyler cross the street and head into the park. I rushed after him, not wanting to lose him through the darkened pathways and the crowds.
He zigzagged through groups of people who walked along the main pathway that headed into the park. Not once did he look over his shoulder as I rushed to catch up.
Where was he going? Normally he walked down the street and around the corner whenever I’d noticed him from the window, never into the park.
Why had he left as suddenly as he did? And what did he mean when he said I’d find out soon enough?
My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts until I became too preoccupied and I lost him.
One minute he was there, ahead of me, and the next minute he was gone.
My pace quickened as I searched for him. We were past the music venue, past the crowded areas, past other pathways he could have taken. The one we were on was straight with no curves. I should have been able to see him up ahead.
But there was no one. Not one single person.
How could I have lost him?
Where had he gone?
I stopped and pulled out my phone. Tami had wanted me to call her the next time Tyler said anything remotely threatening. While I had thought she might be overreacting, I couldn’t shake off the fear I’d felt earlier.
“How did your session go?” she asked the moment she answered my call.
“Not as well as I’d hoped.”
“Did he say anything more?”
I thought about his words, that I’d soon find out. Was that worth mentioning to her? Especially since I had no idea what he was talking about?
“Danielle, listen. I really don’t like the looks of him. There’s nothing in the system about him. Nothing. You need to be careful.”
A chill settled over me.
“What do you mean, be careful?”
“I can’t find anything about him. He could be anyone or no one. He could be dangerous or . . . Has he ever given you any indication he’s not who you think he is?”
I headed back to my house, pushing my way through the crowded pathway.
“He thought he was invisible, once.”
“Invisible? Is he mentally unstable? Danielle.” Her voice was more demanding. “Do you feel threatened in any way? Where are you? Has he left? Are you sure he’s gone?”
Unstable? Check.
Threatened? Double check.
Did I know what to do about this? Not a clue.
“I’m in the park, surrounded by people, and he’s gone. I followed him—”
“You what?” she yelled. “Are you crazy? Have I not taught you anything? That’s it. I’m on my way over.”
“He’s gone, Tami. I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to go home. But I wasn’t going to admit that. I was tempted to sit on the grass, become one with the crowd, and lose myself in the music being played.
“I’m coming over.”
I smiled into the phone, thankful for such a friend.
I decided not to tell her about his warning.
“Don’t worry about me if you’re busy,” I said instead.
She hemmed and hawed. “Just waiting for the latest crime scene reports. They think they found some viable fingerprints from the last murders.”
That could only mean one thing.
“You’re close to catching the killer, aren’t you?”
“Close,” she admitted. “I just hope it’s in time.”
“In time for what?”
“Before they move on.” She paused. “We connected a few more murders, and there’s a pattern.”
My shoulder muscles tensed as I found an empty bench off the path and sat. I was near enough I could still hear the music but far enough away that I didn’t have to yell into the phone.
“Can I ask what kind of pattern?” I knew Tami had told me more than she should have, that this went beyond the line of consulting, especially since my role wasn’t official.
By the silence, I knew she’d thought the same thing.
“You have a copy of Alice in Wonderland at your house, don’t you?” she asked.
“I have several copies, actually. Even a few rare editions.”
“Rare?”
“I’ll show you tonight if you’d like. I even managed to find leaflets that were inserted into the books for young readers. Those were hard to find, let me tell you.” I’d never thought to show Tami all my copies. Everyone had their own idiosyncrasies, and this was mine.
A crowd of teenagers passed by me as Tami mumbled something into the phone.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked, but there was no response.
Just a dial tone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
TUESDAY, AUGUST 27
PATIENT SESSION: ELLA
Ella sat on my couch, hands clenched tightly in her lap, and for the past fifteen minutes, she hadn’t said a word.
I’d read two chapters from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I’d fixed tea. I’d waited. And waited. Waited until the silence stretched too long and too wide.
I was on edge. The fact that Ella had actually shown up today was the only good spot in my day.
Tami hadn’t come to the house last night like she’d said she would. I’d called and called and called, and she’d never picked up. I worried that meant there’d been another murder.
I’d hoped she’d come over this morning. I’d even made muffins for her, but she was a no-show.
“Ella, would you like a fresh cup?” I realized we’d sat in silence for way too long. She gave a small shake of her head but didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look up at me.
I refilled my cup and thought about waiting her out or pushing the subject.
Pushing never worked with Ella, but I didn’t want to just sit there either.
Nor did I want to read another chapter.
What I wanted were answers.
“Ella, where did you go the other day? When I came to see you at the library?”
Various scenarios played over in my head of why she’d disappeared.
She was late getting back to work.
She didn’t want to be seen with me.
I’d said something she didn’t want to face.
Or maybe, just maybe, she was the serial killer and didn’t want to get caught.
That one was foolish, I knew it. Yet I attempted to connect the dots, minute as they were.
Earlier this morning, as I’d grabbed coffee from a local shop, there had been whispered rumors about the serial killer being in the library, how the librarian had recognized someone she’d deemed suspicious and called the police.
“Do you remember?” I prodded. “We were sitting on the bench together when the police showed up? One minute you were there beside me, and the next you were gone.”
She mumbled something under her breath.
“I’m sorry?” I leaned forward, hoping she’d raise her voice enough that I could hear her.
“I don’t like the police,” she said and coughed, her voice rough like a broken boulder.
I sat back, annoyed at myself. Not once had I thought of that being the reason she’d disappeared on me.
Of course she wouldn’t have liked the police presence.
Of course she’d felt uncomfortable.
Of course she’d rushed away. I would have too, in her shoes.
“No, obviously. I should have realized that. I’m sorry,” I apologized, shamefaced.
I was incredibly uncomfortable as we sat there in silence.
“Where did you go?” I could have kicked myself for asking. Why couldn’t I just leave it alone? Why couldn’t I just wait for her to speak?
“Home.”
I played with the cross at my neck. That made sense. More sense than going back to work or just disappearing into thin air.
I wanted to smack myself for letting my imagination run wild with scenarios that co
uldn’t possibly be true.
I knew better.
“I shouldn’t have run—I know that. Ava reminded me that I’m stronger than I used to be, and they can’t hurt me anymore, but . . . it’s still there. That fear. I knew what would happen if I ran into the police, and I couldn’t . . .” She didn’t finish, just played with a loose thread on her skirt.
“You couldn’t . . .” I prodded. “It’s always better to finish the sentence, to put the words out there so we can work on facing them together, Ella. You’re safe here.”
She nodded, her chin bobbing like apples in a water barrel.
“What do you think will happen if people find out about your past?” I asked her.
She looked up at me then. She let go of the thread she’d been pulling at and flexed her fingers, the knuckles cracking as she did so.
“We both know what will happen, Dr. Rycroft. They’ll assume that I’m the killer. I’m automatically guilty because of my past. There’s no forgiveness once the truth comes out. People are hypocritical that way, you know? They talk about God and Jesus and salvation as if it were simple. Their grace only works for little white lies, not the real black ones. As soon as they know the truth, it doesn’t matter anymore what they once thought of you. They’ll turn their backs faster than a bee will sting.” Her voice filled with cynicism and bitterness.
“This has happened before, I take it.”
She snarled, a sound I’d never heard from her before.
“Every single time. Every town. Every job. Every place I attempt to create a life.”
I sipped my tea, gave myself time to think about where to take this discussion. The fact that she felt free to let down her walls and express her anger was good, healthy, and a step in the right direction.
“What if it happens here again?” I asked. It would be good to have a plan in place on how to deal with the inevitable.
She’d be judged. She’d be condemned. And one day it would be too much.
“I’d move. It’s what we’ve always done. It’s what we’ll continue to do.” She hugged herself hard, and the anger on her face slowly dripped away until she was an ugly mess of self-hatred and loathing.
“When you say we, you mean you and Ava, right?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and she nodded.
The Patient Page 21
