by David Beers
“Nearing twenty. Hilt was in his late teens.”
“You didn’t talk to anyone that knew him during that time, did you? Teachers, administrators, anyone like that?”
“No; all of my searches were from old newspapers,” Susan said.
“Okay, that’s fine. Send me what you have.”
“I will, stopping somewhere first.”
“Sounds suspicious,” Alan said though Susan heard his smile coming over the phone. “Where ya at?”
“I’m stopping by that Starbucks. I want to check on the girl.”
“Check on her? What do you mean?”
“No one’s spoken to her since we finished the sketch. I want to see if she’s okay.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t have other things to be doing?”
Susan paused for a second, feeling anger rising inside. His obsessiveness was his, but it wouldn’t be hers. “No, I don’t. This is the most important thing on my list today.”
“Hey, sorry,” he said. “I just want to catch this guy.”
“I know, but there are other things in life to worry about.”
Susan hung up, still pissed even though he apologized. Alan was a great partner, but he wasn’t her boss and wouldn’t dictate how she spent her days. If he wanted to be up all night looking over old pictures, and calling people from England now in their sixties—fine. She wouldn’t try to stop him. But she’d be damned if he tried to make her do it.
She pocketed her cell and walked into the Starbucks, the smell of roasting coffee immediately assaulting her senses. She needed to shake this anger before she spoke to the girl. Susan stood in line, letting her thoughts settle some, and when she reached the counter, she ordered.
“Could I speak to Kaitlin for a second, please?” she said as the cashier rang up her order.
“Sure … Hey, Kaitlin, this guest would like to talk to you,” the man said, leaning back and shouting a bit so that his voice carried across the working line.
Susan followed his voice and saw the tattooed, thin, nearly-a-girl-woman pouring milk into a cup. Rickiment (call her Kaitlin, Susan) looked back down the line and found Susan’s eyes. Immediately Rickiment’s face grew guarded and Susan couldn’t help but notice.
She doesn’t trust me. Might not even like me, she thought.
The woman put the milk down and walked over to the register.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“I was just wanting to know if you had a minute to speak with me.”
“Do I have a choice?” Rickiment said.
“Yes, of course. This isn’t official business. I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Susan said.
Rickiment hesitated, appearing unsure if Susan was serious.
“I promise, just a few minutes,” Susan said.
“Okay.” Rickiment nodded. “Give me just a second to finish up.”
Susan smiled and took her coffee to a small table against the glass. Even though she smiled, she realized the entire conversation she only thought of the girl using her last name.
Good luck helping her if you can't even call her Kaitlin. Definitely inspires trust.
She sipped her coffee slowly, looking at the people around her. Almost every one of them had something in front of their faces, either a phone or laptop. She couldn’t see anyone who sat like her, watching the world around them. They were all lost in their own heads, not realizing a world existed outside of their thoughts.
Is Alan like that now, only instead of a phone keeping him busy, it’s this murder? Does he realize there is still a world outside of it?
Susan didn’t think so. Susan thought he might have the worst case of whatever afflicted all these people around her.
After another few minutes, Kaitlin Rickiment left the counter and sat down in front of Susan.
“Why’d you come here?” Rickiment (Kaitlin, Susan!) said. The pretense of politeness gone.
“I seriously just wanted to see how you were doing. The whole series of events weren’t easy.”
Kaitlin was quiet for a second, looking straight into Susan’s eyes—as if searching for truth somewhere inside them. Susan couldn’t read minds, but Kaitlin looked like she wanted to trust her, wanted to have someone to speak to—but something about Susan scared her.
“I’m a cop,” she said. “A lot of people love us and a lot of people don’t. There isn’t much middle ground on feelings about my profession. I’m not here as a cop right now, though. I go home just like you do and my job doesn’t define me, just like I’m sure this shop doesn’t define you.”
The girl looked away, down at the table.
“I can’t stand Starbucks’ coffee anymore,” she said.
Susan smiled though she heard the tears in the girl’s voice.
“Not as good as advertised?” Susan asked.
“Not after your millionth cup.” Kaitlin laughed, reaching for a napkin and dabbing at her eyes.
“So what’s been going on, Kaitlin? I promise, whatever you tell me is between the two of us. I’m not on the clock. No badge anywhere on me.”
“I’m scared,” she said, still not looking up. “I feel like someone is following me all the time. I feel like I’m being watched at night. Like someone knows what I told you.”
Susan was quiet for a second, letting Kaitlin’s thoughts settle and trying to gather her own. She didn’t want to go at this like a cop, asking for evidence and statements. “What makes you feel like that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve always had feelings, about all kinds of shit. My mom calls it intuition. She has it too. We just seem to know things that we shouldn’t know. I don’t have any idea if it’s supernatural, or if our senses just pick up on tiny details that other people can’t, but it all comes to the same.” She looked up. “I was driving a couple of my friends a few years ago. We were heading to Panama City for the weekend. All of a sudden I got this strange feeling that I was going to be pulled over. I didn’t question it, I just said I was tired of driving and asked if one of them would take over. Now, I didn’t think anything would happen to them, only that I would be pulled over if I kept driving.” She smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Erica ended up getting pulled over five minutes later.”
Susan smiled. “That’s true?”
“Yeah, it’s true,” Kaitlin said as her own grin died. “I’ve got a million things like that, and each one can probably be dismissed, but cumulatively—well, I trust my feelings. And I’m feeling that someone is watching me because I helped you. Did you find the guy who did this yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“He’s going to try to kill me.”
Susan leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “Where do you feel like you’re being watched?”
“At my apartment. I live alone.”
“When?”
“Late at night. I look out my window but I never see anything.”
“I can help if you want me to,” Susan said.
“You guys put me in this situation. How can you help?”
“I can offer protection,” she said. “We can put someone outside your apartment until this is over.”
“And what if they just start following me when I go somewhere else? What if they follow me to work or out one weekend, your guys are going to be there too?”
“They can,” Susan said. “If you’re in danger, it’s our job to make sure you’re safe.”
“He’ll wait, whoever it is. He’ll wait until there’s an opening.”
“Kaitlin, he doesn’t have forever. We’re tracking him down. Right now my partner is working toward catching him. If he hangs around you, and we’re watching, he’s done. Completely.”
“Can I think about it?” Kaitlin said.
“Of course. Here ….” Susan reached into her purse and pulled out one of her cards. “I’m writing my cell on the back. Call that whenever you want.”
The girl reached across the table and took it. “Thanks,” she said.
16
A Portrait of a Young Man
Years Earlier
“Two years, huh, John?” Dr. Vondi said.
“What do you mean?”
“Two years ago you came in here for the first time. You were thirteen.”
“Has it been that long?” John said.
Dr. Vondi nodded. “A little longer for your mom … What do you think you’re getting out of this?”
“Like, from talking to you?”
“Yeah.”
John paused, thinking, and Dr. Vondi thought too. He hadn’t stopped thinking since last night, knowing that John was coming. Two years was a long time, a long goddamn time when you considered the patient was John Hilt. Vondi didn’t know if he could go on any longer, because he knew what they were doing here. Toying with each other. No one giving all their thoughts and so they danced instead of fucking.
“I guess it’s good to talk about school. I don’t really talk to anyone else about it.”
“I’m just wondering, John, if you think it’s a good idea to keep coming here?” Vondi said.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Delicate. Be delicate.
“I’m not seeing a lot of growth. I’m not sure that I can help anymore.”
“What were you trying to help me with?”
The kid was smart, which was part of the problem. He always had questions that Vondi hadn’t thought of, and wasn’t prepared to answer. Which made any conversation tough and potentially full of landmines. Therapy wasn’t supposed to be like this. A war with landmines littered across the field.
“I wanted to understand you better and I thought when that happened, I could help both you and your mom.”
“You mean the fact she thinks I killed Harry, right?”
“I mean your relationship overall,” Vondi said.
“And you haven’t helped it? She doesn’t ever even think about Harry anymore,” John said.
“You’re sure of that?”
“She doesn’t talk to me about it.”
Dr. Vondi sighed. “What I’m getting at here, John, is whether or not you want to continue seeing me. Do you? Do you think there’s any value in this for you?”
John looked out the window and was quiet. Finally, after perhaps a full minute, he looked back to Vondi. “Yes, I want to keep seeing you. I don’t think you’re helping me any, Dr. Vondi, nor my mother, because you’re lying to yourself. Which is fine. Necessary, maybe. I want to keep seeing you because I don’t think you’ll stop thinking about me one way or another, and I don’t want you … investigating anymore, like you did a year ago.”
“He told me that I won’t be able to stop thinking about him, and that he wants to make sure he can monitor that.”
Vondi looked at Lori from his chair. This was the first time he had ever revealed any of the conversations he held with John. Hell, the first time he revealed a single therapy conversation to anyone.
“What did he mean by monitor?” Lori said.
“He meant keep tabs on me. He meant make sure that I don’t dig too much into his life.”
“Why would you do that?” Lori said.
“Because … because there’s something to him that I can’t uncover. I don’t know what it is; I don’t think he’s Clara, like you do, but he’s different than any other person I’ve met, Lori, and I want to know what makes him tick.”
Lori nodded slowly. “I see.”
“I almost stopped seeing him, that’s how the conversation came up. I told him that I wasn’t sure I could help him anymore, and I don’t think I can.”
“I didn’t think you saw him to help him, I thought you were seeing him to help me understand he isn’t Clara,” Lori said.
“I was. In the beginning. But I can’t do that either. I can’t understand him, Lori. Do you? Do you know your son? I’m not asking whether you think he’s a killer; I don’t want to go down that path right now, but I’m asking if you actually feel like you know him.”
Lori shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never known him or understood him. It’s not just that he keeps his own counsel, it’s like he knows that if he were to open up, everyone would see what’s inside him. Everyone would see—and I know you don’t want to talk about it—that he’s not normal, that the world would call him a monster or something.”
Vondi nodded, waiting a few seconds in silence before speaking. “Part of what he says is true. I don’t think I can just let it go. My mind wants to understand what it doesn’t, and it wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with your son.”
“Then stop seeing him,” Lori said. “If it’s bothering you so much, stop. You haven’t changed my beliefs about what he is. All his therapy has done is confuse you. I’m not confused. In fact, I don’t worry about it much anymore.”
“And what about him wanting to see me?”
“I can stop that,” Lori said.
“What do you think is best?” Vondi asked.
“I think that it’s probably a good idea we stop his therapy. I’m not sure what you’re wanting to get out of it. I like you, Dr. Vondi, and you have helped me, but I’ve told you for years that John is live fire and right now you’re playing with it. You should let it go, like I have.”
Lori sat in her car, hands in her lap, keys in her hand. The car was in Dr. Vondi’s parking deck, or rather his office’s parking deck. She walked down here ten minutes ago and hadn’t moved since.
Dr. Vondi just went from harmless to dangerous.
In a single conversation.
The whole point of him seeing John was to convince Lori that she was wrong, and now, whether he knew it or not, he was coming around to see John as she did. He would see Clara reborn.
Had Lori done this?
She knew the answer was yes. She should have never let John start seeing Vondi. She knew the truth, but she wasn’t going to get her son hurt, no matter what. Vondi, though? When he finally came to the only possible conclusion, what would he do?
And John saying that he wanted to keep tabs on the doctor?
Christ this was going too far. John was too smart. Smarter than Alicia and smarter than his parents. John knew that Vondi thought along the same lines as she did now, and …
Does that put Vondi in danger?
Lori closed her eyes, trying to block out the world around her.
What do I do? she wondered.
No answer came. Ceasing John’s therapy with Vondi was the best course of action, but would the doctor drop it, or would Lori seeing him weekly keep John on his mind too much. And what if he did start investigating? What would he find?
Lori didn’t know because Lori didn’t dig into John’s world. She told Vondi she wasn’t thinking about John anymore, but that was only cover. She thought about John all the time, and now this added to it. Two options came to Lori’s mind. She could stop seeing Vondi, but would that truly cure him of this obsession? If his desire to know John drove as strong as she thought, and Vondi said, then maybe not. Maybe he would keep looking into her son.
The other option was to send John away.
Somewhere Vondi couldn’t find him.
17
Present Day
Scott put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. From all his inquiries, Dr. Gerald Vondi’s brother was still alive and this number would connect Scott to him.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
“Hi, my name is Scott Hilt and I’m looking for a Robert Vondi. I was hoping this number was the right one,” Scott said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.
“This is Robert. How can I help you, Mr. Hilt?”
The man’s voice sounded old and frail, but intelligent, as if the man’s body was giving out before his mind.
“Well, sir, I’m calling about something that I doubt you’ll have much information on, and something that might be sensitive. I want to apologize up front.”
A pause, and then the man said, “I’m pretty old and there isn’t much sensitiv
e to me anymore. I don’t get a lot of calls, so talking to anyone right now is better than no one. Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“A long time ago, my wife and son saw your brother professionally. They both saw him for years.” Scott paused. “Lori and John Hilt, though I doubt those names mean much to you. My son is now a grown man and my wife has passed, but she left some fairly damning letters about him—my son. The tough part for me is, my wife wasn’t of a sound mind, especially toward the end of her life, and I’m wondering if any of your brother’s files or notes still existed. I know, a really long shot.”
“Hmmmm,” Robert said, stretching the noise out. When he finished, he didn’t say anything for a few more seconds. “I don’t know about files, to be honest. I know that I have a bunch of his stuff, but I’ve never gone through it. I also don’t know if he took a lot of notes. I know that he didn’t during his sessions—he told me that one time, said taking notes during a session took you away from really paying attention to the patient. Gerald’s been dead for a long time, and I don’t have any use for the files. I think they’re up in my attic. You’d have to come get them, though. On my income, I’m not paying for shipping.”
“Do you know if there are any legalities to this? Anything that could get us into trouble?”
“Hmmmm,” Robert said again. “Probably, yeah, but I'm too old to care. It's up to you?”
A jolt ran through Scott’s spine, adrenaline pumping into his system. Files. Maybe they would help and maybe they wouldn’t, but he certainly wouldn’t have to sit here looking at Lori’s notebook. And to be honest, he was also too old to care.
“That’s not a problem, Mr. Vondi. Where are you located?”
“I’m in Houston.”
“That’s about five hours from me. Do you have a day that would work best?”
“I’m free anytime. Just give me a call before you come and I’ll have them all ready for you.”
Scott looked at his watch. The day was too late for him to make the drive now.
