Catch Your Death

by Kierney Scott

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Maybe it was the anesthesia or the seriousness of the situation but something made her keep talking. “But for how long? I counted on you once but you left. You were gone for two years.” She had been destroyed when he’d left to go undercover in Alabama. She’d tried to ignore it, but she’d felt rejected. He was her best friend and then he was gone, like she’d never meant anything to him.

  “Turn around, Jessie. I’m not going to have this conversation with the back of your head.”

  She didn’t want to be having this conversation at all but she took a deep breath and turned around.

  He tugged on the collar of his T-shirt, pulling down the white cotton fabric to expose the raised skin of the scar she’d given him. “Grow up, Jessie. I forgave you for this. You can forgive me for leaving.”

  She bit into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. It wasn’t just the shooting he needed to forgive her for. There was so much more, everything she’d done, and who she was, all the reasons that made him feel like he needed to leave her in the first place. “I need to go.”

  She shoved her feet into her winter boots. She paused mid-air because the room spun when she tried to bend over and zip them.

  “Here, let me.” Jamison bent over and zipped her shoes.

  “Thank you.”

  She turned and left the hospital room, Jamison a few steps behind. She walked past the nurse’s station, half-expecting someone to stop her from leaving, but she wasn’t under arrest; it wasn’t like they could keep her there.

  She walked to the end of the hall. She glanced at the entrance for the stairs but kept going until she reached the elevator. Jamison gave her a knowing look when he leaned past her to press the button but he didn’t say anything, nor did he say anything on the way down when she had to hold onto the railing for support, which she appreciated. She would have liked to tell him she was fine to make her way home alone but he had her stuff and home wasn’t safe to go back to anyway.

  The sun had not yet begun its ascent, so the sky was pitch-black as they walked outside. And then there was a flash of white and then another as someone took a photo and then someone called her name.

  Jess squinted to make out the forms of people that lined the street in front of the hospital. Journalists three-deep, some with microphones and camera crews, stood behind a police cordon shouting her name.

  “What?” she whispered, shaking her head. “Why are they taking my picture?” She held up her bandaged arm to hide her face.

  One of the journalists broke through the tape and ran toward her. He thrust a microphone at her. “Why did you do it, Jessica? Is this because of your father? Was it just all too much for you? What was it like to be raised by one of the most notorious child-killers in American history? Tell us what it was like to live with The Headmaster. Are you still in contact with him? Is it true you lied for him? Why? Why did you protect a child-killer?”

  Thirty-Two

  Jess stood paralyzed. She couldn’t speak or breathe; all the air had been sucked from her lungs. All she could do was stare vacant-eyed as an army of journalists swarmed at her, lights flashing as they took her picture. Live cameras were on her, recording her from every angle.

  “Jessica!” one of them screeched.

  Jess winced when a microphone smacked against her bandaged arm.

  “Back up. Get off her!” Jamison shouted. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to him, sheltering her as he pushed through the crowd to get to his car.

  “What’s happening? What’s going on?” Jess whimpered. This couldn’t be happening. All her pain and shame swelled up from inside, consuming her. Her body burned with mortification. “Who?” Her legs went slack. She was going to fall but Jamison wouldn’t let her. “Who told them?”

  “It’s okay, Jessie. I got you.” He opened the car door and helped her in, leaning across her to buckle her in.

  A reporter tried to lean into the car to get her on tape. “Why did you lie for your father? Did he abuse you? Were you one of his victims too or just his accomplice?”

  Jamison spun on his heel. “Back off.” He shoved the reporter, who went flying. Water sprayed up as the man tripped over the curb and fell into a puddle.

  Jamison went around to the driver’s side and slid in, slamming the door behind him.

  “What’s happening?” Jess asked. She still could not process what was going on around her.

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  Reporters swarmed around the car, blocking them in. He put the keys in the ignition and put the car in reverse. They didn’t immediately move but Jamison kept driving at them slowly, nudging them out of the way until they did.

  The ride back to his house was a blur of motion, Jamison darting in and out of lanes, doubling back on himself to make sure they weren’t followed. She knew it didn’t matter, though, because they would find her wherever she went. It was only a matter of time.

  Jamison pulled into the garage. It was completely black inside once the metal door came down because the single-filament bulb had gone out and not been replaced. They sat in silence for few minutes, neither speaking nor moving, both too shell-shocked to say anything.

  The dark was strangely comforting, like they were cocooned in another world, something separate from the ugliness just outside.

  Jess was the first to speak. It was obvious that the Founding Fathers were behind this but what wasn’t obvious was where they’d gotten their information. The reporters knew things she didn’t even like to admit to herself. “No one knows that about me, that I lied for my dad. Just you and Dr. Cameron. I didn’t even tell Lindsay, I was too embarrassed.”

  “Are you asking me if I told anyone? Because I didn’t. Never.”

  She shook her head even though he couldn’t see her. “No, I wasn’t asking you. I was talking it through out loud. I know it wasn’t you so that leaves Dr. Cameron.”

  “Or your dad,” Jamison said. “How can you be sure it wasn’t him? They could have reached out to him. He is in prison less than five hundred miles from here. He could have been bribed.”

  “No,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t do that to me. There’s no way.” It had been more than twenty-five years since she’d seen him but she knew with absolute certainty he would never knowingly hurt her because he never had. For all intents and purposes, he was dead to her. That’s what she told people, that he was dead, because she couldn’t tell them the truth: that her hero, the man she would miss until the day she died, was also a sadistic child-killer. Those words were too shameful to say aloud.

  She hated him, what he had done to all those boys and their families, and for teaching her to look for the monster in every man. But she also loved him. She hated herself for it but she did. She loved him and she missed him. And she trusted him. Still. “It wasn’t him. It had to be Dr. Cameron.”

  “Okay,” Jamison answered. “I’ll call him. I’ll deal with it.”

  “No.” She didn’t need Jamison to swoop in and clean up the mess that was her life. She could take care of herself. Even if she could depend on him like that, she wouldn’t let herself. “I’ll do it.”

  The light in the car went on when he opened the door. He came around to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and then undid her seatbelt.

  “Thanks.”

  “You really hate not being able to do everything for yourself.”

  “I don’t love it.” She sighed. The anesthetic that they’d given her was wearing off and everywhere from her shoulder down ached with a burning pain. She reached for her bag but stopped short when she remembered she didn’t have painkillers left. “Shit. I don’t have any ibuprofen.”

  “You know where they have a lot of that? In the hospital, where you should be right now.”

  She followed him up the stairs to the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair at the table. “Here, sit down. I’m going to go close the curtains.”

&nbs
p; Jess didn’t have the energy to argue with him. It was a necessary precaution and she couldn’t do it herself. She placed her bag on the table and sat down. Stan ran through from the other room. He nudged her hand up with his nose so she would pet him. “Hey, buddy. Did you miss me? I missed you, my sweet boy.” She nuzzled her head against his.

  Jamison returned a few minutes later. He got a glass from the cupboard and filled it up from the kitchen sink. He handed it to her with a box of prescription painkillers. “These are all I have. They’re from when I got shot. I’ll get you some ibuprofen later when I go to the store. I need to get Stan some dog food too.”

  Her throat tightened. It felt good to be taken care of but she knew not to get used to it because it would only make it hurt more later when he remembered all of the reasons he needed to push her away.

  He went to the back door and opened it to let the dog out.

  The tamperproof foil made a popping sound when she pressed the white pill against it to break the seal. Without reading the label she swallowed two with a gulp of water. She didn’t care what they were as long as they made the pain stop for a while. When she had first injured her hand, she’d refused to take any prescription painkillers in case she became addicted. She didn’t care anymore. She’d rather be addicted than live with this pain.

  She took out her phone. There were thirteen unanswered messages that she would have to make her way through at some point. But not today. She couldn’t face doing that right now. She scrolled through her numbers before she got to Dr. Cameron’s.

  On the second ring, he answered. “Jess? I’ve just seen the news. I was going to call you and see how you’re doing.”

  His voice sounded so kind, full of genuine concern. He was good. She could imagine his face, the way he tilted his head slightly and nodded while she spoke. And his kind eyes. It was a lie, all of it was a lie, but she had believed it. She’d picked him to confess her darkest secrets to because she thought he could help her, but he had fucked her over. That would teach her to trust someone.

  “Are you one of the Founding Fathers? Or do they just have shit on you?” she asked.

  “What? I don’t know what that is. How are you? Do you want to come in and speak to me? Or I can come to you. I have a few appointments this morning but I’ll clear my schedule.”

  She gripped the phone until her hand shook. He was still pretending to be a nice guy. “No, I don’t want to fucking see you. I want to know what they have on you. What possible dirt could they have to make you violate doctor–patient privilege? What you did is illegal and I’ll make sure you lose your license.”

  He was silent for a beat. “Jess… um… I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this a case you’re investigating?”

  “Stop it!” she screamed. “Cut the shit. Just tell me why you did this to me.”

  “Jess—”

  “Stop using my name. You forget I know all your tricks. They don’t work on me.”

  “Okay, I apologize. I don’t want you to feel tricked, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Are you alone right now? Is there anyone there? I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “What?” She shook her head. What was he talking about?

  “I have to ask you this: are you still considering trying to hurt yourself?”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” She shook her head again. He was trying to confuse her, make her seem crazy. It was sick but she couldn’t put it past him now. “You’re the only person who knows I lied for my father when I was a little girl. You must have been the person who told them.”

  “Them? Who is ‘them,’ Jess? Are you hearing voices?” He managed to sound genuinely confused but she would not be fooled again.

  “I said stop using my name!” Pain shot through her arm as she slammed her hand down on the kitchen table.

  “Jess… sorry. I think we’re talking at cross purposes here.”

  She took a deep breath. “I was just accosted by several journalists asking me questions about my father. You are the only person who could have given them that information.”

  “Oh God, no. I haven’t seen anything. I’m sorry. Oh, shit.”

  “Oh, shit? That’s your answer? You violated privilege in the cruelest possible way and all you have to say is ‘oh shit’? What kind of fucking monster are you?”

  His breathing quickened, coming in frantic bursts. “Okay, this is all starting to make more sense now. Shit, I knew I should have reported it.”

  “What?” she demanded. She was tired of playing games. She wouldn’t let him gaslight her.

  “Two days ago, someone broke into my office. Files were taken out of my desk—your files with all the notes from our sessions.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t report it because I thought you’d done it.”

  Jess squeezed her lids together. She didn’t believe him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t trust anyone. Her head was fuzzy because the painkillers had started to kick in.

  “Are you okay? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” her voice cracked.

  “I need you to be honest with me: are you still considering suicide?”

  Jess’s eyes flew open. “No! What? Why would you say something like that?”

  “I’ve seen the video. It’s all over the news. That’s why I was going to call you. I need to know you’re not going to hurt yourself again. I have a duty of care to you.”

  “Video! What video?” She bolted upright and ran through to the living room where Jamison was sitting.

  “Turn on the television.” She didn’t wait for him. She grabbed the remote control but it slipped through her fingers and smashed on the ground. The plastic snapped off the back and one of the batteries flew out, landing beside Stan, who looked up at her, confused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just turn on the TV. Please.”

  Jamison bent over, grabbed all the component pieces of the remote control, put them back together, and then turned on the TV. ESPN flashed on the screen.

  “No, the news.” Her heart hammered against her ribs.

  Jamison turned the channel. The words “breaking news” flashed across the screen.

  Jess stood paralyzed as she saw her name in the update that scrolled across the screen followed by familiar photos, the ones that had been plastered over her apartment walls. The top news story was that she had created the Last Supper game before trying to kill herself. That was why she had been attacked. They hadn’t tried to kill her. It was worse than that.

  “Oh my God. They don’t just want to stop me. They want to destroy me.”

  Thirty-Three

  Jess’s hands shook as she threw her clothes into her suitcase, dirty ones mixed in with clean. She wasn’t sure anymore which were which but she could sort that out later, when she got wherever she was going. She just needed to get out of here, to run.

  She needed to buy a ticket… to somewhere. Where? Where could she go where the population had not seen her face and secrets splashed across the television and newspapers? She couldn’t go anywhere in the continental USA, she knew that much for sure because news outlets from both coasts had been calling her all morning.

  Her number wasn’t listed so Hagan or one of the other board members would have had to have tipped them off. This was a well-thought-out attack. The Founding Fathers had released the information about The Last Supper. The world knew about it and thought she was behind it.

  She jumped when her phone vibrated as another call came through. “Stop calling me!” she screamed. She was about to send the call to voicemail and turn off the phone all together when she saw Jeanie’s name.

  She froze. There was a moment when Jeanie had been proud of her. Despite everything that was happening, she’d managed to make her proud, and now it had all gone to shit because Jess managed to ruin every good thing in her life. She didn’t want to face her now but she would because she owed her that much. She took a deep breat
h and hit the answer button.

  “Hello.”

  “Have you seen the news?” Jeanie asked. She did not bother with pleasantries.

  “Yeah,” she whispered. She closed her lids tight together as if not seeing what was happening around her would mean it wasn’t real. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Why are you sorry?”

  She bit hard into her lip, even after she tasted blood. There was no denying that Jeanie knew all her secrets now. There was nothing for her to say. She couldn’t pretend anymore.

  “Jessica? Are you still there?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Um… yeah. My arm is going to be fine. It’s not what they said…” She stopped because she was too embarrassed to continue. Images from the photos in her apartment flashed in her mind. By now everyone with a television had seen them and heard all of the allegations that had been made against her. “I didn’t stage the break-in at my place. I have nothing to do with any of this.”

  “I know.”

  She could hear the saccharine voices of the news anchors listing all of her alleged crimes as they reported with faux sympathy about the daughter of a serial killer, so messed up by the perversion of her father that she’d grown up to be a monster herself.

  “It wasn’t me who set up The Last Supper. Please know that it wasn’t me. Please know that. I did not do this. It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt anyone,” she begged Jeanie to believe her.

  “Of course, I know it wasn’t you. You’re being set up but we will fight this. The Department of Justice—”

  “No.” Jess shook her head. Her fight was gone. There was nothing left to fight for anymore. There was nothing left. She didn’t have a career to salvage and she needed to face it. People knew about her past now and what she did to deal with it. “It wasn’t all lies,” she whispered. “Some of it… some of it was true.”