The Ninth Session

by Deborah Serani

  It never occurred to me that Luke’s mother knew what happened to Penny. I thought her arrogance would’ve blunted the ability to see beyond her own self. I was learning not to underestimate her.

  “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” she asked.

  “No.” I said, lying.

  Ferro stopped petting Elvis and locked her eyes back onto mine. I felt them trace an icy outline as they moved along my face. “Mmmm... I think he did tell you,” she said, studying me.

  “It doesn’t really matter now. Does it?”

  “But it does help explain things,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, most serial killers start off murdering animals, don’t they?”

  I said nothing, remaining still, but I was overwhelmed with a flood of thoughts. I tried to ground myself by focusing on my breathing as Penny Ferro began talking about herself.

  “I inherited everything from my father, but that wasn’t my true destiny,” she said. “I had younger brothers, who, of course, were groomed to take over the business. I was the debutante daughter trained for other things. The best schools to learn English, French, and Latin. How to cook, sew, dance. Even how to arrange flowers. Diction and dress, poise and posture. You know, groomed to be someone’s husband. But that wasn’t for me. I knew I had to change things.”

  Ferro paused as if to create more tension than there already was in the air.

  “My middle brother, Dean, was in a terrible accident skiing in Vermont when he was 22. The binding in his left ski snapped off and he lost control. Poor thing hit a tree and rolled down the hillside. Suffered a life-changing head injury.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Oh, he isn’t dead,” Ferro replied. “I could never, ever do that. Dean’s been in a wheelchair since I rigged the binding. But, he’s well taken care of. Even to this day.”

  My lips trembled as my mouth fell open. Oh my god. She just told me it wasn’t an accident.

  “My younger brother, Andrew—that was easier. A running supply of liquor got him hooked in high school—and later in and out of treatment centers,” Ferro continued. “By the time he graduated college, he was a full time drunk.”

  Holy hell, I thought to myself. She’s soulless.

  “When everyone lectured that he had a disease, I told him he didn’t.”

  Ferro eased her stare and looked back at Elvis. She began running her fingers again through his fur.

  “And when mother and father forbid Andrew to live in the house if he was drinking, I’d visit him wherever he was and bring him whatever he wanted. Vodka. Tequila. Beer.”

  “So thoughtful of you,” I said, finally finding the strength to speak again.

  “Yes. I was a very thoughtful enabler,” she replied.

  All of a sudden, Ferro stopped talking. And moving. She looked at me stone-faced, her eyes narrowing as she spoke again.

  “I never killed anyone to get what I needed. But the thought crossed my mind many, many times,” she said. “To know Lucas did–well, maybe I wrote the boy off too soon.”

  I suddenly thought of the psychological theory, intergenerational trauma, which explains how some children inherit their parent’s pains, traumas, and wishes. How Penny Ferro’s unspoken desires for murder and annihilation found a way into Luke’s mind, body, and soul. That Luke, himself, was groomed to become a violent offender by his own mother’s unfulfilled urges.

  I was back into a full-clinical mode of thinking–the place where I was always strong and confident. I was no longer overwhelmed by Penny Ferro’s sudden presence.

  “What is it you want?” I asked finally.

  “You know, I have always been the most important woman in Lucas’ life. He may have hated me, but hate is a form of devotion. When I died, he really fell apart. I had my people keep an eye on all of my sons, and to my delight, I heard that he was a mess.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” I asked her.

  “Well, he has been to therapy before, but it was always a fickle endeavor. When I was informed that he’d been visiting your home, I just had to find out more about my competition.”

  “Your competition?”

  “Why yes, dear. His hate for me was an obsession, and it seems that you became his new obsession.”

  She’s right. Luke is obsessed with me, I thought to myself. I was about to speak again, but Ferro waved me off with her hand.

  “Look, I was following the news stories about Lucas. Hoping for a long trial. But he got locked away without one, and I was so disappointed. I was hoping you’d tell me what happened—the details I can’t read about in the press.”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Your mommy’s lying,” Ferro said looking at Elvis.

  “And how do you know that?”

  “I know your mommy went to see Lucas at the jail in East Meadow—and she threatened him with something. There was a big fight there, Elvis. Didn’t she tell you?”

  “Your payroll is bigger than you let on.”

  Ferro looked at me with a sidelong glance. “The guards didn’t hear the specifics though,” she said.

  “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied.

  “That job is so dreadful. I don’t know how they do it, quite frankly. It’s even worse in Ossining.”

  Her reach is immense and her poison is everywhere, I said to myself.

  “Sheridan wasn’t his first kill, I imagine,” Ferro continued. “I’ve had my suspicions over the years that there were others. I just want to know more.”

  I tried to stay calm but couldn’t hold things together anymore. My anger boiled out of control. “Listen, Penny or whatever you’re calling yourself now, I’m not telling you a goddam thing.”

  “It’d be nice to know Lucas’ real story. That’s all. No need to be so defensive.” Ferro released Elvis gently to the floor and watched as he trotted away to his bed.

  Get out! Get out! Get out of my house! I wanted to scream aloud, but I refused to let Ferro see how raw and angry I was. Instead, I moved toward the storm door and pressed the handle down.

  “It’s time for you to leave,” I said.

  “So, my money can’t entice you to tell me what happened?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you won’t share anything out of the goodness of your heart either?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Ferro tried one more time. “I’ve traveled so far to come and see you.”

  “Please go.”

  “Well, then, I’ll just thank you and...”

  “And be on your way,” I said, finishing the sentence.

  “Yes,” Ferro said, wanting to have the last word.

  I watched as she knotted her silk scarf around her neck and slipped the gloves back on.

  “I’m untraceable,” Ferro said over her shoulder as she passed by.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “The payment to The Cat Cottage was an American Express wire transfer. The limousine was paid for in cash. And by the time you call someone to follow me, I’ll be long gone.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said, realizing the scope of her intellect and power.

  “He isn’t done with you, Alicia.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You are his new obsession. And even though he gave you a little punch in the face, he hasn’t written you off. So when you talk with Lucas, which I’m sure you will, tell him, I’m so very proud of him.”

  As the door closed, Elvis jumped up and pressed his front paws on the glass. He made little patches of steamy circles with each meow he cried, calling after her.

  Together we watched as Penelope Kingston Ferro commanded the driver to open the car door with a swing of her arm and then made him wait as she opened her purse. I cringed as he stood in pathetic subservience, waiting in the bitter cold as Ferro brought out her thorns.

  She lingered a moment, took out a compact, and p
owdered her nose—something she could've done after she entered the limousine.

  But where’s the amusement in that?

  Make me mad, you’ll pay in spades.

  I thought about how we're born into this world. How nature, our genetic wiring, predispositions and tendencies—and nurture, how we’re loved and cared for, shape who we are.

  My heart sank realizing when I stood in front of Penny Ferro, it was nature and nurture at its worst.

  Luke never had a chance, I thought to myself as I pressed the video button on my cell phone off.

  Tenth Session

  Friday, January 12

  “

  I wasn’t expecting anyone today,” Luke said.

  “You didn’t get my letter?”

  “No.” Luke closed his eyes slowly and spoke again. “When did you send it?”

  “Wednesday. Overnight express.”

  “Well, the mail’s slow here. I’ll probably get it tomorrow.”

  “I wanted you to know I was coming.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  I changed the course of Luke’s life in so many ways. Now I was going to pull the rug out from under him again. My letter would have made our meeting so much easier. He would’ve been prepared for things. Worry swelled within me. I stared at him blankly, not knowing where to start.

  “Really, Dr. Reese, it’s fine.”

  He seems okay, Alicia. Keep going, I said to myself.

  I turned away for a moment to settle my nerves by taking in a deep breath. What a sudden contradiction it was as Luke watched me work the anxiety-reducing technique.

  “What’s going on?” Luke asked.

  “This place—it's tough.”

  “You get used to it,” he said with a sway of his hand.

  Luke’s words had a slight slur to them, and now I noticed how unsteady his movements were. He looked slightly heavier than when I last saw him.

  “Got me on brake fluid,” he said, sensing my awareness.

  “Which one?”

  “Depakote. It helps.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I offered, not really knowing what else to say.

  “I don’t get visitors much. It’s good getting out of the cell block.”

  “Your family doesn’t come?”

  “My brothers do—every now and then.”

  “What about your father?”

  “If it’s on his way to something,” he scoffed. “Some things don’t change.”

  “That’s disappointing to hear.”

  Luke said nothing and drifted away. I followed his eyes as he glanced at the inmates. The visiting room was full and busy with activity. But it was easy to see the broken lives. The fractured families. It was a hard sight to take in. Even harder to be part of it.

  “I wanted to tell you that what you did—in your letter for Perembrooke—it all worked out,” I said, starting the conversation again.

  “I know. Saw it online.”

  “That was really something, Luke.”

  “Well, you spend a lot of time thinking here. It gets to you.”

  I nodded quietly, feeling responsible for a great deal of his misery. “Has it helped?”

  “You mean taking away the panic attacks?”

  “Yes.”

  “They stopped the minute I mailed it.”

  “I’m glad about that.”

  “I knew you’d take care of things.” Luke blinked, his eyes heavy lidded from the medication. “Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”

  “Well, yes. But, I have something else to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s—it’s about your mother.”

  “What about her?”

  “This is going to be hard to hear.” I leaned closer to him. “She’s not dead.”

  Every aspect of his face stretched out in shock. His eyes widened, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth dropped open. “She’s not?”

  “No. She’s alive, Luke.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “She came to see me in Colorado. She showed up at my house.”

  Luke became motionless, connected to me, but barely. There was so much more to say, but I waited for him to be ready.

  After a while, he drifted back.

  “Luke, I have something to show you.”

  I pulled an envelope from my pocket. The movement caught the eye of a nearby corrections officer. “Whattya got there?” he said, grabbing my arm.

  “Just some photos.”

  The officer was a muscular man with a timeworn face. He was well into his fifties and reminded me of a tugboat—on the small side, but strong and powerful. He released my arm, took the envelope in his hands, and looked at its contents.

  “You’re not supposed to give anything directly to the inmate.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “Got anything else on you?” He glared at me as he rifled through the pictures.

  “No. Just that.”

  “Good,” the officer said. “Here, take this Ferro.”

  Luke didn’t move and didn’t even look up.

  The corrections officer snapped his fingers in front of Luke’s face.

  “Can you just put them in front of him?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “So he can look at them when he’s ready.”

  “What’s to get ready for? It’s just some lady in a full-on fur coat.”

  “Is it white?” Luke turned his head toward the officer and stared.

  “It’s white,” he said. “Like fucking snow.”

  Luke took the envelope and waited for the officer to leave. He pressed his lips together and jutted his chin out. With a grim-set look on his face, he opened it and looked at the pictures. He stared at the first one. Then the second. His eyes glossed over by the time he reached the third one.

  “Y’know, my brothers said they never saw her in the hospital.”

  “Not even to identify the body?”

  “Nope.”

  “Who did then?”

  “My father. Through some window in the morgue there.”

  “Did you see her after the accident?”

  “No. When I came up the next day she was already cremated.”

  “Your mother had everything play out quickly.”

  “Well, everything did happen fast,” Luke said.

  “She was counting on the chaos.”

  “The art of distraction. Her specialty.”

  Luke remained quiet for a while. And so did I, sitting back in the metal chair. I waited for him to speak again.

  “So, who’s in her pocket?” Luke asked.

  “The hospital staff, the M.E., and the funeral director.” I lowered my voice to a hush. “And the guards.”

  We both stopped talking and looked at the team of corrections officers that lined the room’s perimeter.

  “She knew about our fight in East Meadow. She wanted to know what I had on you. Why there wasn’t a trial.”

  Luke clenched his fists. The blood rushed away from his knuckles, leaving them a mottled white color. “Did you tell her about Gallin?”

  “No, why would I?”

  Weakened and devastated, he slumped forward.

  “How’d she find you?” he asked after a few moments.

  “Not exactly sure. She showed up at my door two days ago.”

  “She wasn’t really worried about me, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah, well, that’s not a surprise. She was just sniffing around.”

  “Well, I didn’t tell her anything.”

  “Where’d these pictures come from?”

  “My cell. Your mother didn’t know I used it to record her visit.”

  “Smart.”

  “It was luck, really. I was on the phone when she showed up.”

  “Still, that’s a smooth move. And it’ll chap her ass when she finds out.”
r />   I looked away and smiled, realizing he was right.

  “Does anyone else know?” he asked.

  “You mean, your brothers? Your father?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. I came here first. I couldn’t bring my phone in for you to see the video. But I can send them a copy if you want.”

  “Yeah, they should know. Could you get in touch with them for me?”

  “Sure. I’ll reach out.

  “Uncle Dean and Uncle Drew – her brothers. They should know too.”

  Luke mentioning his uncles made me wonder if I should tell him what his mother did to them.

  Would it be too much to add at this time?

  Would it send him over the edge?

  As I reflected further, a painful awareness surfaced in Luke’s face.

  “You know, she never wanted me,” he said.

  “Your mother?”

  “Yeah. She was almost six months when she realized she was pregnant.”

  “Six months? How could she not know she was pregnant?”

  Luke hiked his shoulders. “She tried to get an abortion, but, you know, she was too far along. No doctor would touch her.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “She told me. Many times, in fact. Right up till the day she died. Or should I say, disappeared.”

  “Jesus,” I said, shrinking back in my seat.

  “Once, my father heard her telling me, and he blew a fucking gasket. Said he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore.”

  “How old were you when this happened?”

  “Five. Maybe six,” Luke said, rubbing his brows with the heels of his hands.

  I struggled to find something to say but found my thoughts swimming in analytic phrases like Dead Mother and Black Milk. Terms that characterized severe psychological dysfunction between a mother and a child.

  Before I let my associations deepen, Luke rose from his chair. He took one photo from the set on the table, waved it in the air for the nearest corrections officer to see, and tucked it in his jumpsuit pocket.

  There was so much more I wanted to talk to him about, but Luke walked away from me.

  And never looked back to say goodbye.

  Maybe Mommy Dearest was wrong. Maybe this is the end, and now we can both move on, I thought to myself.

  I gathered the leftover photos and went to the rented locker in the visiting area to retrieve my belongings. I looked at the rugged cliffs of the Palisades and the frosty banks of the Hudson River as I left the dreary prison grounds. I wondered how such beauty and sorrow could exist simultaneously in this place called Ossining.