The Ripper of Blossom Valley

by S D Christopher

  "Henderson."

  "Ms. Henderson...made fun of you."

  "Oh, she didn't just make fun of me. She straight up called me out in front of the entire class saying I knew nothing about the digestive system because my experiment revolved entirely around burps and farts."

  "And these two events are connected...how?" She's gorgeous when she's confused.

  "Ugh, why are you asking? Just make it stop." Becks gave up on trying to figure out my newfound vaultiness almost immediately. "You're only encouraging him."

  "It's simple, like Becks, here. See, I told her, in private, exactly why my burp and fart experiment was pertinent as a science fair topic about the digestive system...it would entertain as well as inform. But instead of refuting my argument face to face, she chose to shame me in front of my peers. And that, my lovely ginger, set my science ambitions back years, possibly decades. That sophomore year midterm was all about the digestive tract, and I had built up this impenetrable mental block in the intervening years around everything gastrointestinal, without even realizing it. To this day, I can't stomach the sight of a stomach in a textbook."

  "Good thing you don't read anatomy textbooks anymore." Neil seems bored with my connecting the dots, as always.

  "Yeah, he doesn't need to anymore, now that he has a real life doll." Tactful, Pete, really.

  Kate leans into me. "They know we're sitting right here, right? That we can hear them?"

  "I'm not sure. They're not as smart as we are." Eye rolls all around. Good.

  "You're so mean," she says, seeming to only half mean it. "But I love that you can make all these connections. I bet it's really therapeutic."

  Love. She said love. Okay, she didn't say she loved me, but it's a start. The last woman to tell me she loved me, and meant it, is also the first woman to do so: my mom. I remember all eighteen thousand, seven hundred, sixty-five times she told me she loved me. That might seem like a lot, but it's 1.489 times per day, which is decent without being smothering. The last time she told me was right before she died. We knew she was on her last legs, but at least we had the chance to say our goodbyes before she slipped away. The first time was when she was holding me, right after the doctors cut the umbilical cord, cleaned me up, and handed me to her. Of course, I didn't remember that time until much more recently. It's hard to pick a best "I love you" out of literally thousands, but those two are my favorites.

  Mr. Kowalski was right. It's all connected. Every moment of our lives, all the lives throughout history, shaping events, influencing each other. Not even hermits and shut-ins can truly escape affecting or being affected. It's easy to see if you study history, or even know some basics. Chamberlain's policy of appeasement leading to Hitler's expansion and ever-growing power, Castro's lack of pitching ability causing him to give up on his dreams of playing baseball, the Civil War being practically written into our Constitution. And those are just the obvious ones. The more I think about all the history I've learned, the more the dominoes all fall into place, and the more I can see that history truly does keep repeating itself. The past always informs the future, if you can make the connections.

  "Take this recent string of murders I've been reading about. Serial killer, clearly, anyone can see that. But rape, dismemberment, occasional burglary, and a dearth of evidence? There's a lot going on there, too much for one guy."

  "Great, now he's a profiler." Becks has been super sarcastic lately. I think she's jealous. Not of Kate, but of me dating Kate. It's all connected.

  I continue, ignoring her. "Serial killers just don't work that way. They're focused when it comes to MO, even the erratic ones. This is clearly a string of crimes, all connected. There were these other murders out near Reno last year. They didn't involve rape, but--"

  "Dude, when did we start becoming private detectives? We're not the Scooby Doo gang, and we don’t have our own Mystery Machine. You're just making shit up. Can we talk about something else, anything else, please?" Annie had been silent all afternoon. Something was bothering her, for sure, but my talk of murder or the other gruesome things has gotten to her.

  The room falls silent, and she bursts into tears and runs out. Becks and Kate walk after her, while Pete, Neil, and I stare awkwardly. I immediately think of the fifteen other times in my life that Pete, Neil, and I stared at each other awkwardly.

  The first time was when we all met, at that Raiders of the Lost Ark screening hosted by Annie, our mutual friend. We had no clue what to talk about, other than how cool Indiana Jones was. That didn't last long. Then there was the awkward staring when we realized we'd lost my car keys at that bar trying to figure out who was the least drunk and could drive home. Apparently, the answer was none of us. The weirdest time, though, was when they told me they were gay, and were dating. I did not see that coming, but looking back, I should've seen it from space.

  It took awhile for the girls to come back, and when they did, Kate gave me a simple look that made it clear that I just shouldn't ask, so I didn't.

  I save my further theories on the serial murders and all the other rapes, robberies, and murders that seem unrelated, but, in fact, are very intertwined, for later when I'm alone with Kate. Back at our place, she humors me, but also maintains a healthy skepticism, which is probably best, since I had yet to be able to prove my newfound precognitive abilities.

  Once I'm convinced I've gotten her warmed up with all my murder talk, I make a move, which she quickly shuts down. "Really? Right from killing to kissing? You've never dated a woman before, have you?"

  "Given my trivia skills, I think you already know the answer to that." We switch gears instead to one of Kate's favorite games.

  "Okay, September 29th, 1995."

  I sigh, as though I don't love this game, too. "I wake up at 6:58, wearing my Iron Man Underoos. I roll out of bed, go to the bathroom, and head downstairs for some Boo Berry."

  "Oh, I always preferred Frankenberry."

  "Blasphemy! While I'm eating, I hear a new song on the radio from this band I’d never heard of, No Doubt."

  "‘Just a Girl’!"

  "Correct. I knew immediately they'd be huge. Sidebar, I bought the CD eleven days later, the day it came out, from this record store in my town that still sold actual records. Anyway..." We go back and forth like this for an hour, as I describe every mundane detail of my day: going to school, what I didn't learn there, hanging out with my friends, having dinner with my folks, playing PlayStation late into the night. It's incredibly uninteresting to me, because much of it is repeated on many other days, in many other years, of my life. But Kate gets a kick out of the regurgitation of every detail, pop culture references and all. She says it's how she's getting to know me. So yeah, I don't mind. Eventually, we do get to the snuggling, so it's totally worth it.

  You asked about my professed precognitive abilities. Well, let me tell you. I was right about when I would get to second base with Kate, and I was right about getting sick of the pumpkin spice Pop-Tarts. Both of those things happened on the exact dates I thought they would. I know, those predictions are pretty mundane, but I'll have to wait a bit longer to see if I'm right about my job, and my own death.

  In the meantime, I've been trying to make other extrapolations, outside of my own rather trivial life. I start with easy things that have lots of statistical backing. I begin correctly picking the winners of sporting events, not one hundred percent of the time, but much more often than random chance, or the so-called experts. Then I tried my hand at predicting when trains and planes would be delayed based on past performance, once again with promising yet far from perfect results.

  Lately, I've stepped up my game. I'm calling when it's gonna rain, when and where crimes are going down, even the upcoming elections, some of which are "too close to call." It's all connected, just like Mr. Kowalski said. The past informs the present, the present shapes the future. I'm starting to wonder if there's such a thing as free will at all. Then I wonder if I even thought of that myself or if I was simply
meant to.

  I even predicted that what they're calling the Ripper killings would stop, for awhile. Sure enough, it's been two months since he's struck. I've been running the numbers, Doc, and I think someone's broken the chain in the related crimes. The cops are starting to think he's moved on, just like Reno, but he hasn't. Most of my models predict he'll strike again in a few days, give or take. I'd love to tell the cops about all this, but they won't believe me. They'll just think I'm some nutter looking for attention, and who really trusts police psychics anymore?

  I remember... Psychics... I was curious about them when I was younger, so I went to one. He was weird, a kid, younger than me. Told me to stay away from the girl I was pursuing. Like I needed a psychic to tell me she was psycho. Then he told me a bunch of other stuff that was vague, and would’ve hit the mark for literally anyone. I was done with psychics after that. I remember now that I told him a little about the girl early on, so all he did was turn around what I'd already fed him.

  I remember...psycho girls I've chased before. I remember what attracted me to them. It was their wild eyes. What did I know? I was young and stupid. Kate's not psycho, she's awesome. Not like Alisha Goldberg...or Maggie Jones...or Lucy Stotch...or...

  ----------

  Madison

  Oh well, there he goes, just rambling off women's names again. I think that's all I'm going to get from him today, which isn't much. This session was as frustrating as our last few. It's taking longer to break through with him than some of my other patients.

  "Mr. North? ...Robert?" No acknowledgement. He's slipped away again.

  "...or Elisa Santiago...or Megan Gerace...or..."

  I put my pen and notebook down and massage my temples. Two hours of this, and I've just realized I've got a headache, trying to piece together his ramblings into something coherent. While he's preoccupied with naming every woman he's ever liked, I step out into the waiting room.

  "How is he?" His girlfriend Kate's a saint for sticking by him through this. She even came with him and sat in the waiting room this time.

  "Well, I think I was able to get some meaningful moments out of him, but most of it was just rambling, like the last few times." I motion for her to sit, and I follow suit beside her. "There are a few things I'd like to ask you about, if you don't mind."

  "No, not at all."

  "Has he been relaying any of his memories to you regarding a grade school science experiment, or anything related to his academic performance in the sciences?"

  "No, when he talks about school, it's always about history, especially this one teacher he loved, Mr. Kowalski." Interesting, so the conversation with his friends about the digestive tract never took place, but some that he mentioned about history did, though I didn't hear him mention a specific teacher. If he did, it was part of his usual unintelligible, mumbled mess.

  "And how about a criminal case he's taken an interest in, anything about that?"

  Her face lights up in instant recognition. "Yes! This serial killer case that's been in the news. He's obsessed with it! He thinks the cops are bumbling it, and he knows everything about it." Really. "But every time he tries to explain it, he's all over the place. No one can follow him. Dr. Gibson...what's happening to him?"

  "He has what’s called hyperthymesia. Some people refer to it as Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory, HSAM for short. It's quite rare, but not unique. This may sound familiar to you as I describe it. Robert is able to recollect any and all events he's experienced in life, to the finest details, such as what he was wearing, what the weather was like, a certain look someone gave him."

  "Yes...sometimes he explains things to me from his childhood that are so vivid, it's like I'm there. Other times, though, he speaks gibberish, or just stares out into space."

  "Unfortunately, he has a rather severe case. One of the negative symptoms some patients have is getting lost in their own memories, living in the past at the expense of the present. There are so few cases globally that there isn't yet much in the way of therapies, but I'm going to try a few over the course of our next several sessions. The good news is that there have been a few cases where patients are able to learn to wield some amount of control over it, and are able to function perfectly normally in society."

  "Well, that's promising. Thank you so much, Dr. Gibson."

  "Please, call me Maddy."

  She smiles. "I knew Bob was in good hands when Izzy mentioned how much you've helped her." Izzy? She must have picked up on my confusion. "Oh, sorry, Isabel...Gutierrez, one of your patients. She's a friend of mine. She referred me to you. I guess your secretary didn't mention it."

  "Yes, of course, Ms. Gutierrez. Lovely woman." I wonder if Kate knows that Isabel is a Sensitive, too, like her boyfriend. "And how are you, dear? It must be awfully difficult, working through these changes in Mr. North."

  My question seems to take her aback. "Oh...I'm alright. He's a wonderful man. It's bad luck that we met right when this all started happening to him." Is that so? "But I'm gonna do my best to see him through it...with your help, of course."

  I return her smile as Robert meekly opens the door behind us and peeks his head into the waiting area. "Did I fall asleep?"

  "For a little while. How do you feel, Mr. North?"

  "Tired...but ok. Was I really in there for two hours? I'm sorry I went so far over time."

  "Yes, but you were my last appointment today, so no worries. I was just speaking with Kate about your condition. You’re making great progress, Mr. North. I do hope you'll keep coming back."

  He looks to Kate, as though for guidance, or perhaps permission. "I think that's a great idea, Bob." Her smile melts him, and it's easy to see they're in love. We exchange our goodbyes, and I see them out, watching them walk hand in hand.

  I wonder...when I asked her about herself, did she simply have an excellent poker face? Or is she completely unaware that she's a Sensitive as well?

  Chapter 18

  One Year Ago

  Isabel

  I love it here. I love that it never gets too hot or too cold, not like back home. I love that I can sit and eat outside as easily in December as I can in July or April. I love that I came here to go to tiny Foothill College to study astronomy, even though I couldn't get into Stanford. I'm glad my mom and dad didn't get upset when I told them I'm staying. It's been six years now, and I can't imagine living anywhere else.

  I'm waiting for Kate to join me for lunch at one of my favorite spots, a Mexican restaurant with outdoor seating on the other side of the park near my apartment downtown. While I sit here enjoying the beautiful day, I double check my calendar to make sure I've got plenty of time to get to the observatory for my shift. I still can't believe I landed a job where I get to look into telescopes, get kids of all ages excited about the stars, give tours, and get to meet so many interesting people. And I get paid for it!

  "There she is, head in her notebook, as always. I thought you look up for a living." I look up, smiling at my snarky old friend.

  "Hey mamita!" I get up and give her a hug. "I can't believe it's been so long since we got together. Where has the time gone?"

  "I know, I've been so busy with work, and you're always on at night, it's crazy. How've you been? You look great!"

  She's too kind, always was such a sweetheart. She asks if I've lost some weight. I don't want to brag, but I've been doing a lot of running. "Plus, walking all around that rocky terrain up on the mountain, ya know, builds those calf muscles."

  She catches me up on her life and asks me what I've been up to. We chat for so long that when the waiter comes over, we realize we haven't even looked at our menus.

  "Aahhh, so what's good here, Izzy?"

  "The burrito's always a winner if you want to play it safe. But my favorite's the pollo en crema. It's so rich, but it's the best I've had out here."

  "High praise." She looks to the waiter. "I'll have what she's having." I think that's a movie quote. Kate regurgitates a lot of movie quotes.
Most of the time, I blink and nod. "Oh, come on, Izzy. That's one of the more famous ones."

  I just smile and use my standard excuse. "Between work and volunteering, who has time for movies?"

  "You, mi hermana, need to stay in more."

  "Funny, when we were roommates, you said I needed to get out more."

  "That was then, when you needed to leave our dorm room and meet people once in awhile. This is now, when you've packed your calendar so tightly your notebook is gonna keel over from exhaustion any minute."

  Or I will. She's right; I've been going nonstop since graduation, keeping myself busy, both with work and volunteering. It's been fun, though, when I'm not working, helping transplants and international students brush up on their English. They need a friendly face here, and I get to learn about different cultures and backgrounds without leaving the Bay Area. It's a win-win.

  We chit-chat some more, and when the food comes, we dig in. It's as good as always. They've really mastered the cream sauce.

  "Mmm, this is so good."

  "I know, isn't it the best? I'm so glad you like it."

  I glance up at Kate when she doesn't respond. She has a quizzical look on her face. "Uh, yeah, it's really good. Stop reading my mind, you."

  Ok, that was weird. Why would I have to read her mind when she just said that she liked it? I shift my focus back to my dish.

  "Have you heard from Roger lately?"

  I look up again. "...Sorry, who?"

  She looks at me with another confused expression. "...What?"

  "Who's Roger?"

  "I don't know, who's Roger? I don't think I know any Rogers." She furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head. "Are we playing a game you haven't explained the rules to?"

  And getting weirder. "Didn't you just ask me if I'd heard from Roger lately?"

  Kate looks around, as if expecting a camera from one of those prank shows that she likes. "No, I've been stuffing my face, same as you." I look around at the other customers, but no one is sitting at any of the tables nearest to us.