The Ripper of Blossom Valley

by S D Christopher

  "Ms. Watson...Kerry...can you hear me?"

  Her eyes flutter open.

  "Do...do I know you?" Hopefully you don't remember us from our brief encounter, no. "Where am I?"

  I again explain our version of events to our new audience. Maiko's not even able to look into her eyes, shrinking away like the guilty party that we are. As Ms. Watson becomes more lucid, barely, she answers a few questions for me. Asian guy, check. Posing as a PG&E employee, check. Fake reported gas leak, check. Well, guess I have to ask the next obvious question.

  "Ma'am, do you recall how he immobilized you?"

  She scrunches her eyebrows, clearly struggling with this one. "It happened so fast, I don't remember. It felt like an electric shock, and then I couldn't move." Same story as Katherine Fisk and Donna Bowers. They all presume it's a taser, but when we've shown up, they're still frozen stiff, and the effects of a taser doesn't last that long. Guy has some other trick up his sleeve, and I'm no closer to figuring that out than I am to all the other shit.

  Before I can think of a follow-up, she closes her eyes and fades out again. Maiko asks worriedly if I think she's being affected by the energy siphon more than others, and wonders aloud if maybe she's slipping away.

  I look up at all the machines they've got her hooked up to. The little that I've been able to pick up over the years tells me she's fine. "No, she's just sleeping. She's been through a lot tonight." We sit in silence for a few minutes, which suits her fine. But I can't leave well enough alone. I really am an asshole sometimes. "On the bright side, the Ripper never got to her."

  She finally turns to me, just long enough to stare bullets into my soul, before turning her attention to the door.

  "No, Lieutenant, but he found another way, another victim."

  I whip my head around. I didn't even hear anyone open the door and come into the room, but there she is, a thin blonde woman, taller than average, hair tied back in a bun, and wearing a pantsuit. She looks familiar, but I can't place her. She looks like she's wound up a little too tight, too. And she’s very fuckin' nervous, which makes me very fuckin' nervous. All I can muster is, "Don't I know you?"

  "We've met, Lt. Foley, but only in passing. I'm Dr. Madison Gibson, and I think we need each other's help."

  Doctor...now I remember. She's a shrink, helped Sergeant Hernandez last year with some issues he was having after he shot one of our fleeing suspects. He had good things to say about her. He even gave me her card. Like I'd ever need a fuckin' head doctor. I thanked him and said I'd keep her in mind. Then I threw it in the trash. But why is she here now? How can we help each other?

  "Are you here for Isabel Gutierrez? She a patient of yours?"

  This does the job of confusing the shit out of her. "She...what?" She looks at Maiko, then to the door. "Is she here?"

  Her confusion confuses me. "Yeah, she's with my partner, giving a statement."

  "A statement?" She looks to the still sleeping Ms. Watson. "She was there? She heard it happen? Did she...do anything rash?"

  So...you didn't know about that; this isn't the reason you came. We'll get back to that, then. "She wasn't there when it happened, no." I think for now I'll keep my cards close to my vest, lady.

  "Lieutenant, there's something you should know about Isabel. She's like you and Dr. Miyata here."

  What the fuck did she just say? Maiko recovers before I do. "Like us?"

  "You see...she has an enhanced sense of hearing." Well I'll be damned. So much for playing it close to the vest. On the bright side, I was right. "I warned her not to get involved, that you and your team would handle it. I guess she didn't listen."

  Ok, so she knows about Dizzy Izzy's special talent. But how the fuck does she know about me and Maiko? And how much does she know? "Yeah, it took me awhile to figure it out, but I know. We're tryin' to get as much detail about this scumbag from her as we can. But...how do you know about her and what she can do?"

  "You're right, Lieutenant, she is a patient of mine. I've been treating her for some time, helping her cope with her affliction."

  Affliction. She says it like it's inherently a bad thing. I know I've told Maiko that things tend to end badly for folks like us, but much more often because of other people than ourselves. I, for one, have no qualms about my abilities. And I’ve known others over the years who felt the same, before the wrong people found out.

  "When she first came to me, she was in almost constant pain. She would pass out whenever she encountered sudden loud noises. Her eardrums were taking a beating, and she was in serious threat of permanent damage. We were able to take some steps to mitigate the effect it has on her, to the point where she's able to leave her house once or twice a day. I suspect I don't need to tell you, Lieutenant, that her extremely sensitive auditory capabilities not only amplify the sounds closest to her, but they also allow her to hear things from much further away. Sound won't travel well through solid structures, but it will bounce off of walls and the ground, through windows, so on and so forth."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Maiko has taken an immense interest. Other than yours truly, Dizzy Izzy might be the first person she's met who remotely knows what she's going through.

  "How is she able to ignore all the closest sounds and isolate the distant ones?" Always the scientist, my adorable little one.

  "She's not often able to, but sometimes through meditation. Most times, though, she has to filter through the noise to pick up what she's searching for. I liken it to mission control broadcasts, with all the chatter, homing in on your one responsibility. Or picking up on faint voices on a recording with massive background static."

  "That's fascinating." Sure it is. Thanks for the lesson, Doc, but let's cut to the chase.

  "So if you didn't know Ms. Gutierrez was here..."

  Her posture stiffens, as she remembers why she came here in the first place. "Yes, of course. I need your help, Lieutenant."

  "So you said. How, exactly?"

  "Well, as I mentioned, Isabel is like the two of you." Yeah, you did mention that. Let's see if you can back it up. "I know that each of you has some rare or unique sensory perception, or physical ability. I struggled to discover the nature of your talents when I first encountered you, until another patient of mine helped me piece it together."

  When she first encountered us? Why don't I remember this encountering? Maiko and I look at each other, my glance sending a signal of healthy skepticism, hers conveying worry.

  "He's still a work in progress, which I'll get to, but he has some amazing moments of clarity where he's able to piece together quite a bit. It was he who figured out that you're an empath, Lieutenant, and that your girlfriend's touch can transfer energy from others to herself."

  Okay, lady, now you've got our attention.

  "He also helped me track and better understand the man you've been searching for, the one who's been killing women, and dismembering them."

  What? How can that be...?

  "This is why I came to you, Lieutenant, and why I'm telling you all of this. Mr. North and I can track him, but we aren't equipped to confront him effectively. Only you have the resources to stop him. I believe that if we work together, we can end all of this."

  Is she serious? I can feel that she's completely sincere, but then again, so are crazy people. I haven't been left speechless in quite some time. I turn to Maiko, and she stares back, looking hopeful. She takes my hand, intertwines her fingers with mine. If this shrink knows what we're capable of, she might also suspect our involvement. She may already know that we've been inadvertently leading the Ripper to these poor women, but she came to us anyway. That took balls. It also means she has us by the balls, if she can prove any of it.

  "Okay, I'm listening. This patient of yours...how did he figure all of this out, exactly?"

  "He has the ability to recall any event in his life instantaneously, and in great detail, encompassing his own experiences as well as those he's read about, or has been told of. As a
n extension of his command over memory, he's able to extrapolate certain patterns that others miss, and dismiss connections that are superficial or coincidental." Say what? She senses our confusion, and presses on. "He's able to gain significant insight into past events, either experienced or learned, and use them to estimate the likelihoods of future outcomes...statistically speaking."

  Wait, did she just say... "Ya mean, he can predict the future?"

  "In some cases, yes, though he's still in the early stages in terms of accuracy. But he's shown great strides...when he's lucid, that is." Um... okay.

  Maiko's been mostly silent until that last part. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible. Not even the world's most advanced computers utilizing the most complex algorithms can predict anything meaningful." Great, now I've got two women speaking gobbledygook.

  "I appreciate your skepticism, doctor, believe me. But Mr. North has convinced me with a handful of prescient predictions. Some involved sporting events, others were related to mass transit delays and weather patterns." She suddenly seems distracted. "There was also this thing about Pop Tarts, though that one seemed more dubious. And there are other, more--"

  "Look, doc, I can pick winners of some ball games fairly well myself, and it don't take much to be able to predict the weather, or when Caltrain or BART are gonna have problems."

  "Yes...I see...of course..." It doesn't take an empath to see that we're not exactly convinced. She looks towards the door, and I can sense her debating her next move. She holds up a finger, walks to the door, opens it, and motions for someone to come in. Wait, did she bring one of her loon squad with her? Doesn't that breach some kind of doctor-patient barrier or some shit?

  In walks this big guy, bald, at least six feet tall, massive. He looks like a nightclub bouncer.

  "Lieutenant Foley, Dr. Miyata, this is Robert North. I know--"

  "Bob. Only my father called me Robert, and only when he was mad at me." He turns to us. "You can all call me Bob."

  "Right, apologies...Bob. I know it's highly unusual for me to associate with my patients outside of the office, but understand, these times call for unusual actions."

  Bob holds out his hand. "Hello, nice to meet you. Do you want to tell me your names and where you went to high school, so we can get that part out of the way?" What the fuck?

  Maiko and I shake hands and introduce ourselves without sharing our alma maters. He seems crestfallen, and turns to the head doctor. She shakes her head. "I didn't share that particular...talent of yours with them, Bob. My apologies."

  "Did you at least tell them about the Pop Tarts?" This is the guy that's gonna help solve my case?

  "Forget about the Pop Tarts. Focus on the hits you can prove."

  "Oh, yeah, like the election!" He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a sealed envelope. Maiko and I turn to each other, neither of us sure where this is going.

  "Ah, yes! That should do nicely."

  He holds this envelope carefully, like it's the Declaration of Independence or some shit.

  "Here in my hand, Lieutenant Foley, I hold one of the sealed, postmarked letters I sent to myself a month ago, which contains predictions for all of the candidates and measures on last week's election ballot." He carefully holds it out to me. "Please, take it, inspect it, read it." He giggles, seemingly to himself. "Learn it, know it, live it." It doesn't take him long to realize we're all staring at him. "Sorry, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Great flick. I've seen it eighty-seven times."

  I cautiously take the envelope and look it over. I can see from the postmark that it was, in fact, mailed one month ago. Maiko gives me an encouraging look. She doesn't believe this shit any more than I do. I half expect it to be filled with confetti when I open it.

  "How do you know this is all gonna be accurate?" I ask the good doctor.

  "Oh, Mr. North gave me an envelope just like it. It's truly impressive."

  I turn to the hulk and ask the obvious question. "How many of these envelopes did you send to yourself, exactly?"

  "Forty-two. I figured that would be enough to convince the skeptics I came across. And that's just for this past election. I've got hundreds of others for all kinds of world events, both planned and unknown. And I'm printing and mailing more every day. Not all of them turn out the way I expect, but I'm happy to show you all of the hits and misses once you've bought in." He leans in, which causes Maiko to back up a step. "By the way, I predicted this morning that you would believe me after seeing this letter, Lieutenant, but that Doctor Miyata here would need more proof." He pats his bag, implying he has more, and gives me a thumbs up. What a fuckin' wack job.

  Enough of this teasing. I open the envelope, and read over the printed letter. Sonuvabitch. I read it three times to be sure. He got every single candidate and measure right, even the ones that the pollsters were surprised by on election night.

  Maiko nudges me. "Frank...?"

  I raise my eyebrows in amazement, and hand her the letter to read for herself. Carnac the Magnificent seems pleased, as evidenced by him launching into another headache-inducing monologue while Maiko looks over the letter.

  "I hafta say I'm really impressed with your years of service, Lieutenant Foley. When I first learned how you took down Roger Shipman, that was impressive enough. But then the thing with Benjamin Bruce, now that was a work of art." Okay, so you've read up on some of my high-profile case work. And you seem to have enjoyed learning about psychos who killed escorts and kidnapped children from playgrounds. "And Dr. Miyata, your research on ALS is really promising. Trying the brick dust was a stroke of genius! I really hope your human trials are going well."

  Only now does he realize that Maiko and I are staring at him, dumbfounded. He lowers his head ever so slightly. "I read a lot these days."

  Dr. Gibson wisely interjects. "This is how Bob was able to deduce your talent, Lt. Foley. His memory is like a sponge. He uses everything it takes in to detect patterns and extrapolate--"

  "Yeah, yeah, I remember you trying to explain it before."

  She shuts up and seems lost as to what to say next. She really is nervous, but nothing either of them have said makes my bullshit radar go off. And given the actual substance of what they've said so far, that's fuckin' unbelievable in itself.

  "Bob, may I see another letter or two from your bag?" Sweet Maiko. Even when calling bullshit on someone, she sounds respectful and bubbly.

  "Absolutely!" He digs into his bag and pulls out two more sealed envelopes and eagerly hands them to her. She inspects the postmarks and opens the first one. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but this is all very exciting. Until today, Dr. Gibson was the only other Sensitive I knew. Looks like my circle just doubled."

  I know I'm still processing everything that's being thrown at us here, but did he just say...? "Wait, so doc, you neglected to mention--"

  "Oh my goodness! My apologies. I'm a bit nervous about all of this. I completely forgot to explain how I was able to discover you, Maiko, Isabel, Bob and the others in the first place."

  Others? This should be good.

  Chapter 22

  Three Years Ago

  Madison

  I look at my watch. He's late again. I should've expected this. Mr. Santos is always late. Of course, it's hard to ever be on time when you're afraid to leave your house. It was amazing enough that someone got him to the point of coming here at all. The therapists who used to make house calls would tell stories of how he said he had to keep the place dark, so that no one could see. See what, he would never say.

  I've been treating Mr. Santos for about six months now. Between his constantly arriving late and his acute paranoia, we haven't made much progress. He's one of the more frustrating patients I've come across, a unique challenge that I'm determined to break through. If I can't help this troubled man, I don't truly belong here.

  He finally arrives, twenty minutes late, looking like a frightened child going to school for the first time. "Mr. Santos, welcome. Please, come in, have a s
eat."

  He meekly shuffles from the waiting room to my office, one hand against a wall the entire time, as though bracing himself for some earthquake that's not coming. His eyes dart to and fro, never making contact with my own. Two sessions ago, he accidentally glanced at me for a brief moment. It was the first time he had ever allowed our eyes to meet. I was so shocked at this development that I smiled. He averted his eyes immediately and was quiet for the rest of the session. We haven't duplicated that breakthrough since.

  I wait a few moments for him to settle in and get comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he's going to get. "How are you today?"

  He looks unsure of himself, taking a few moments to venture a response. "I think they followed me here again."

  Yes, the mysterious "they." He makes mention of them every session. They are, in fact, the primary topic of conversation most days. We've yet to deduce their identity, but Mr. Santos has theories. So many theories.

  "Did you see them?"

  "No, of course not. They're clever, too smart to be spotted. But they don't know what I know. They don't know I know they're there." I see.

  "How are you sure that they're there, if you don't see them?" Careful not to dismiss him outright, I simply ask logical follow up questions to see if he's able to talk himself out of seeing what wasn't there.

  "I just know. I can feel them." So much for logic, then. "They want what's in here." He taps his head, a little too hard for my liking. "But they can't break through. I've got it all locked away, deep down. They can try, torture me, but they won't get it...nope."

  "Yes, I recall from some of our previous conversations." I'm careful not to ask him what it is they're after. I won't make that mistake twice. Four sessions ago, I opened that avenue, and he was immediately convinced I was working for "them," and was just trying to befriend him so he'd give up the information. He didn't speak again for the rest of that session, and it took most of the following one to regain his trust.

  I wait patiently for his next train of thought, but then something odd happens. I look behind me. Hmm, nothing there. I've just had another moment of...well, I'm not sure what, exactly, but it makes me uncomfortable.