The Ninth Session

by Deborah Serani

  “John Perembrooke’s voice mail.”

  I didn’t know if Perembrooke had a voice mail. If he didn’t, the back-up plan was to leave an anonymous tip on the Crime-Stoppers Hotline.

  “Who’s this?” the receptionist asked.

  “It’s, uh, Victor Watson.”

  I was thinking on the fly, taking Victor from Victoria’s Sweet Shoppe across the street and the name of the bar—Watson’s.

  “I’ll patch you through,” she said, without hesitation.

  Thank God, I thought to myself.

  “This is Sheriff John Perembrooke. I'm either away from my desk or out in the field. Please leave a message or dial zero to return to the operator.”

  Here it was.

  The time to speak was now.

  “I have information on Donald Gallin.” I took in a deep breath and continued. “2.8 miles east of Club Camber. 143 steps, south side of the road. Wax Murtle Tree.”

  I pressed the end call button and stopped the scrambler.

  “Done,” I said, wiping the devices down with soap and water.

  I thought of Luke as I did that, remembering how he described cleaning off Donald Gallin’s car. Wiping away any trace of his presence. I dried everything with paper towels and swiped the soap dispenser, faucets, and lock. I stepped out of the bathroom, wiping the doorknob down on both sides as I left.

  I left the bar waiting for the door to open to slip myself out without touching anything—just as I did when I entered. I walked a few feet to the corner and dumped the phone in the trashcan. A few blocks later, I tossed the voice scrambler.

  The streets were full of activity, cars, trucks, people everywhere, but I really didn’t care. I was in my own mind. I actually thought I'd feel relief, but instead, I felt nothing.

  Just numbness again.

  I walked all the way back to Madison Square Garden and to 37th Street where the minivan was parked. I took the 59th Street Bridge to cross the East River, the same as I did on the trip in. No tickets, tolls, or cameras to catch me coming or going. But I don't remember if I stayed on the Long Island Expressway or veered onto the Northern State Parkway as I made my way back to Nicole’s.

  What I do know is I slept until noon the next day, hoping the nothingness would dissolve.

  It didn’t.

  Broomefield

  Wednesday, January 10

  O

  n my way home from the airport, I picked up Elvis at The Cat Cottage, a hotel for cats that operated just outside of Boulder. It was a clever business—a converted house that had a lobby, a grooming spa, a jungle gym, and fifteen private rooms for “guests.”

  The hotel director, Dr. Rachel Zadrozny, came up with the idea when she retired from veterinary medicine. It was a way to move into her golden years and still be around the animals she loved. Zadrozny employed a staff of ten, mostly pre-med college students, who tended to each cat with the utmost of care.

  “So, how’d my little guy do?”

  “He was a delight,” she said with a kind, wise smile. Zadrozny buzzed for one of the “bellhops” before talking with me again. “Got along with the other guests. Explored every nook and cranny. Ate heartily. Slept well.”

  “Sounds like he didn’t miss me.”

  “Oh, every baby misses his mama.”

  Just then, a squeaky sound off in the distance caught my attention. It was a customized bell cart, with a pet cage made of brass piping. The lower bottom half was a shelf of deep, plush red carpet for belongings—just like the ones used in hotels.

  I saw Elvis stretching across a velvet-tufted pillow. He looked so regal, narrowing his eyes and flapping his tail in rhythm with the turn of the wheels. As the afternoon sun gleamed against the polished brass of the carriage, I let out a long laugh.

  “Oh, man. They’ll be no living with him now.”

  “Well, Elvis is The King,” the bellhop said.

  “You know, back in my heyday, I used to have long, dark hair. Just like Priscilla—and that Ginger Alden,” Zadrozny said, touching her powder-white pixie haircut.

  “Back in my heyday, I had eighties mall hair. Nothing good about that,” I said.

  The bellhop got Elvis’ toys, food, and carrier from the lower shelves of the cart and set them on the lobby table. He opened a draw in the table and handed me a cellophane wrapped sachet.

  “Organic catnip. We grow it here, mix in other essential oils, and package it ourselves,” he said.

  “Our mint on the pillow, cat style,” Zadrozny said.

  I placed my nose near the ribbon’s knot and took in a whiff. “Mmm... Lemony.”

  “Lemon verbena mint, to be exact. My own recipe,” the bellhop said.

  “Hector aced medical botany,” Zadrozny said.

  “My best subject,” he replied.

  “Well, you guys have thought of everything. Makes me wish I was a cat.”

  “That’s what we like to hear. Don’t we, Hector?”

  “Yup. Sure do.”

  Zadrozny opened the cage and took Elvis out. She stroked his black fur as Hector readied the pet carrier. Elvis scurried in without a sound.

  “I hope you’ll think of us again when you head out of town, Dr. Reese.”

  “I certainly will,” I said, handing a tip to Hector.

  “Have a good rest of the day now,” Zadrozny said, walking away.

  “Wait. What about the bill?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s been paid in full already,” Zadrozny said.

  “No. That’s not right. I didn’t pay yet.”

  “You didn’t?” She wrinkled her brow and walked behind the desk. “I thought you did.”

  Zadrozny went to the computer and moved the mouse with gentle sweeps of her hand.

  “Lorraine did the transaction—she’s out to lunch now, but it says here, paid in full.”

  “Oh, that must have been my sister, Nicole’s, doing. We do that sometimes—pay for things when the other is away.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “She’s thoughtful like that,” I said on my way out.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed relay services as I walked to the car.

  “This is operator 1806 at New York Relay. What number do you want to call?”

  “I’d like to call 631-555-2080.”

  “I’ll be off the line until the TTY user connects,” she said, placing me on hold. “There’s no one picking up. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Yes. Please say, Hi Nic. It’s Ali. Thanks for taking care of Elvis. That was such a surprise to come home to.”

  Boulder

  Wednesday, January 10

  O

  nce I arrived home, I got Elvis settled back into the house and unpacked my things. It didn’t take long before thoughts of Luke churned in my mind again.

  I wondered how my phone call to Sheriff Perembrooke played out. Would it be considered real? Or a hoax? Would it be given high priority?

  I bet they had to check it out, I thought to myself.

  As my thoughts drifted, I walked into the kitchen to brew some tea. I reminded myself that it'd be risky to search for news updates online. I had no friends or family in Florida to call and chat with—no way to direct a conversation to the case.

  While I was in New York, I thought about phoning one of the papers in Florida to verify if there was anything going on with the Gallin case. But I didn’t because that wouldn’t have been a smart move either. I’d have to let time take its course.

  While the chamomile was steeping, I opened the curtains that were closed during my trip to New York. It snowed ten inches while I was gone, which covered the mountains in a veil of icy white. It was beautiful—and the view was breathtaking.

  Stepping back from the window, I turned my attention to the computer. I sat down, turned it on, and waited for it to boot up. I clicked on the icon of my Yahoo homepage ready to check my email. But I saw it out of the corner of my e
ye. Down where the news of the day gets listed on the webpage.

  It was the result of my call to Perembrooke.

  Anonymous Tip Uncovers Body of Missing Florida Man

  “They found him.”

  I moved the cursor over the link and nearly clicked it.

  No, don’t, I thought to myself. Could be tracked.

  I sat back in my chair and considered what Perembrooke’s discovery of Gallin’s body meant for Luke. If it might free him from the anguish he expressed about leaving him there. I wondered about the work we did in the past. The symbolic and the literal meanings we covered in the analysis.

  I wondered if he'd realize he let the last spider go.

  I was quiet for some time before I returned to my thoughts. As I opened my eyes, I wondered if Luke sent me out to complete this last task not only to bring him relief and to offer closure to the Gallin family, but to allow me to know that in some small way he understood the point of it all.

  That the hard thing to do and the right thing to do were one and the same.

  Just as I was taking it all in, my cell phone rang.

  “Hello?” I said, seeing on the caller ID that it was The Cat Cottage.

  “Hi, Dr. Reese. This is Lorraine, from The Cat Cottage.”

  “Hello Lorraine.”

  “I was hoping to catch you before you called your sister.”

  “Oh, I already did. Why’s that?”

  “Well, Dr. Zadrozny told me about your conversation, and I didn’t want you to find yourself in an awkward situation. You see, it wasn’t your sister who paid the bill. It was a friend of yours.”

  “Friend?”

  “Penny.”

  “Kenny?” I said, not recognizing the name.

  “No, Dr. Reese. Penny. Penny Kingston.”

  I said nothing but felt a familiarity with the name. First, it started as a numb awareness, gnawing at my faulty recall.

  “She said you might recognize her married name better.” Lorraine shuffled papers before she spoke again. “Oh, here it is. Penny Ferro.”

  Every one of my senses dimmed. I felt myself disappear to a faraway place —like standing helplessly at the end of an ever-expanding hallway.

  Oh God, why would Luke do this? What does this mean? I thought to myself.

  I dropped the phone and stood for a moment, frozen in fear. I knew there’d come a time when he’d try to find me. I just didn’t think it would happen this fast.

  I bent down and picked up the phone. I heard Lorraine’s muffled voice calling out. “Hello? Dr. Reese? Are you still there?”

  “Sorry, I dropped the phone for a second.”

  “Oh good, I thought I lost you.”

  “Lorraine, when did the call come in?”

  “Oh, there wasn’t a call, Dr. Reese. She came in yesterday. Around four o’clock.”

  My mind couldn’t make sense of it. “Did you say she?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “In person?”

  “Yes. Said you took care of her baby, and now she was going to take care of yours. Something like that.”

  “What?”

  “She said you’d be surprised. Guess she was right.”

  I wasn’t surprised. I was confused. I was terrified.

  But as a shadow moved into the light by the front door, it all began to make sense.

  “Lorraine...” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “I have to go now. Penny Ferro is at my door.”

  Boulder

  Wednesday, January 10

  L

  uke had dark blue eyes and facial features like his mother.

  And as Penny Ferro stood on the landing by the front storm door, I witnessed the same impatient traits they shared. The disdainful gaze. The hand tapping. The heavy breathing.

  “You really need someone to clear your walkway while you’re gone,” she said.

  “Yes, I guess I should.”

  “Good thing my driver had a shovel,” she remarked with a head nod.

  I looked beyond the front porch and saw a thick-set man in a bank of snow. His coat whipped in the wind as he cleared a path through the knee-high layers.

  Behind him chugged a black stretch limousine. I watched its windshield wipers flap across the glass like a metronome on double time. I couldn’t help but notice how my heartbeat matched its rhythmic strokes.

  “A Cadillac?” I asked, recognizing the chassis.

  “Yes. Only car I ever step into.” Ferro moved inside the house and pulled a self-satisfied smile across her lips. “I enjoy driving around in a well-appointed vehicle. It’s a splendid way to get to see things. Get to know people.”

  I looked at her and then to the car outside. I instantly realized that Luke hadn’t been in the Black Cadillac that followed me back in New York.

  It was Penny Ferro.

  My mouth hung open as I connected the dots.

  “You’re surprised,” Ferro said, fascinated by my discomfort.

  I said nothing.

  Ferro brushed the wet snow from her white fur coat in long strokes, sending heavy droplets of water to the floor without concern. Then she removed her gloves, pulling off each finger with a theatrical tug.

  I never met Penny Ferro, but I knew her. From the way she carried herself and who she revealed herself to be. Ferro was a narcissist, a malignant narcissist—and a psychopath in her own right.

  But she was also a cliché.

  Her behaviors were right out of an abnormal psychology book. Typical in every way. Classic in their breadth and depth.

  I realized to beat her at her own game, I needed to stop reacting emotionally. The way to get the upper hand now was to see her through an analytic lens. If I approached things clinically, I’d see her pathology, and maybe, find my balance.

  I struggled to calm myself. I tried slowing my thoughts and getting control of my racing heart, but all I did was stumble on my words when I finally spoke.

  “H-how did you…?” I asked.

  “Now, come on, Alicia. Spit it out,” Ferro said, dipping her chin.

  Stay focused. Don’t lose it, I told myself. She’s trying to intimidate you. Don’t let that happen. Don’t fall into the trap of her condescending manner by getting angry. That’s what she wants.

  “You must’ve spent a lot of money on your disappearing act,” I finally said.

  “Oh yes. And a lot of time planning once I made the decision.”

  “And when did you make that?” I asked.

  “Some years ago,” she replied with a smile.

  “What was the final straw?”

  “I know you’d like to hear that it was something really big. Or a specific event. But it was just a simple realization.”

  Ferro licked her lips and waited for the right moment to continue. Like a musical conductor, she set the tone as well as the downbeat.

  “If I wasn’t going to be everything to them, I’d rather be nothing to them. I’d go away. And when someone dies, it’s almost like their memory intensifies, haunting you. Wouldn’t you say that’s the case for you, Alicia?”

  I ignored her question. Instead, I asked, “So, you leave behind everything and everyone you know? Just like that?”

  “Just like that,” she said repeating my words.

  “Even your grandchildren?” I asked.

  “Come on. You’re smart enough to realize that I don't give them a second thought.”

  It was true. I knew that now. But on another level, I couldn’t believe the magnitude of her narcissism. How cold she truly was. I was beginning to understand what kind of mother she must have really been to Luke. I stood quiet and still, realizing she lived entirely by and for herself.

  Distracted by my silence, Ferro sought her reflection in a nearby mirror. She noticed her hair was untidy and windblown. She fixed it with a few sweeps of her manicured hands—tending to each strand, smoothing it into place. And just like Narc
issus in Greek mythology, Ferro got lost in her own reflection. Only the sound of Elvis bounding into the room broke the mirror’s spell.

  “It took a few years to funnel money to an offshore account in the Cayman’s. Then there was enticing the emergency room doctor and the medical examiner.”

  I nodded, examining her every move.

  “Oh, and the funeral director,” Ferro said as Elvis nosed his way toward her. “Everyone has a price.”

  “They do?”

  “Of course. Don’t you ever wonder what yours is?”

  “No amount of money in the world could give me what I want.”

  “Yes. Your dead husband.” Ferro arched her brows. “Isn’t there more you want?”

  I wanted Ryan here. But I also wanted intangible things Ferro would never understand. Integrity. Self-respect.

  “No. Nothing more,” I said.

  “You know what your problem is?” she asked.

  “I have many problems. And I know what they all are, thank you.”

  Elvis began lapping up the little pools of water around Ferro’s feet. Before he could finish, she bent over and picked him up. “I had a beautiful cat once. Named her Penny.”

  Ferro stopped talking to delight in touching Elvis. She raked her fingers through his fur, causing him to purr loudly. Elvis thanked her by nuzzling her neck.

  I wanted to yank him away but didn’t.

  Stay calm, Alicia.

  “Your cat’s name is Elvis? Isn’t that right?” she asked, still stroking Elvis.

  “Yes,” I said, irritated she knew so much about me.

  “Funny how we name our pets after things we love.” Ferro kept petting Elvis but returned her gaze toward me. “So, you must be an Elvis Presley fan.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Well, I named my cat after what I loved most in this world.”

  “Yourself?”

  “No.” Ferro laughed and looked away. “Money. Her full name was Every Little Penny.”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “You know, that little shit son of mine drowned her in the pool. He never admitted it, but I knew it was him.”