by Blake Pierce
The room wasn’t designed to hunker down for an extended period, which is what Jessie hoped the second one might be. It was intended as a stopgap measure to hide from an intruder or hold one off long enough for backup to arrive. With some effort and tools, the bookshelf could be pried aside. The only thing separating the room from the adjoining bedrooms was drywall.
If someone was dedicated, prepared, and knew where to look, they could probably access the room in under five minutes. But the hope was that would be long enough. And it wasn’t like the room was entirely without resources.
Between the cabinet and the bucket were three boxes affixed the back wall. The bottom one was a weapons locker, complete with two handguns and ammunition, a can of pepper spray, and a stun gun. The center box was comprised of a phone on the left, hard-wired to a different line than the rest of the house phones so that if the main line was cut, this was one would still work. On the right was a control pad that could operate several of the defensive systems throughout the house, including interior and exterior cameras, white smoke, and both a silent and extremely loud alarm. In the box at the very top was the battery they checked regularly, which could operate the security system, lighting, and phone, even if the power to the rest of the house was cut.
Ryan moved to the small cabinet, using the key on his chain to unlock it. He ignored the flashlights, gas masks, emergency thermal blankets, and notepads inside, going straight to the back. That’s where he found extra hand sanitizer and a small, unopened box of tissues.
Taking out his pocketknife, he cut a hole in the bottom of the tissue box. It was just large enough to stuff the jewelry box with the engagement ring inside. He stared at the seemingly bland tissue box in his hand, still having trouble processing that it held an item that could change his world forever.
He knew that the next time he grabbed this hunk of cardboard and paper, it meant he was about to propose. Admittedly, he’d been married once before, but that always felt like the inevitable next step in a relationship that never had any real spark. This was different. Jessie was different.
He put the tissue box back, closed the cabinet drawer, and quickly left the panic room. Once the bookshelf slid back into place, he started for the bedroom when he heard a sound in the kitchen. He inched in that direction, undoing the holster clasp for his gun and he tottered toward the noise. When he emerged from the hallway, he was surprised to find Hannah with her back to him, leaning over the butcher block, intently studying a piece of paper.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Jesus!” Hannah shouted, jumping in the air. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t even know anyone was home,” she said, her hand over her chest.
“I was about to check in on you after I got settled,” he told her, which was mostly true. “What’s going on?”
Hannah, still recovering, took a few deep breaths before replying.
“I was going to make dinner.”
“That sounds awesome,” Ryan said, happy that Hannah was engaging in anything that constituted normal behavior. She usually only cooked for all of them was she was in a good mood. “What are we having?”
“I was thinking something straightforward like herb-rubbed salmon with baby potatoes and lemon-garlic broccolini.”
Ryan couldn’t help but chuckle. The sound of it felt foreign to him. It was only then that he realized this might have been the first time he’d actually laughed all day. It was as if that small act served as some kind of release valve, allowing at least a bit the stress and guilt of the last twenty-four hours to escape his body. He felt as if the knot in his stomach has loosened slightly.
“See, when I say straightforward,” he replied, “it means turkey sandwiches. But I’ll take your version any day.”
“Cool,” she said, sounding almost pleasant. “You want to help?”
“Sure. Do you mind if I get cleaned up first?”
“Nope,” she replied. “I’ll start prepping.”
“Great,” he said, glad to finally be having some semblance of a positive interaction with her. Last night he wouldn’t have thought it possible.
“Give me ten minutes and I’ll be back, ready for apron mode.”
He headed back down the hall, but not before he caught Hannah smiling involuntarily at his cheesy comment. The sight was so rare that it made him slightly giddy.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hannah moved quickly, not even thinking consciously about what she was doing.
She was almost done parboiling the potatoes. The salmon was herbed up and ready to go. She’d left the broccolini for Ryan, remembering that for some inexplicable reason, he found rubbing minced garlic into vegetable stalks relaxing.
As she worked, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the day, including the revelation about Edward Wexler’s Holocaust foundation which had ultimately led her to visit Dr. Lemmon this morning. The memory of his hand squeezing hers tight, of him not wanting to let go, still burned bright in her mind.
Once the psychiatrist had coaxed her up to her office and brewed the tea, Hannah initially held back, refusing to tell Dr. Lemmon why she was there. But then the doctor stopped asking questions and just sipped her tea, happy to sit in silence.
Sometime during the stillness, Hannah had an epiphany. There was no point in holding out. Lemmon wasn’t pressing her. She had come to the office of her own accord. It was incumbent on her to explain why. So she did, explaining everything she’d done since last summer. When she was done, Dr. Lemmon sat unmoving for a good thirty seconds.
“So what happens next?” she finally asked.
“What do you mean?” Jessie replied, perplexed.
“Well, you’ve just told me that for the last half year, if not longer, you’ve been putting yourself in dangerous situations, mostly so that you can feel something. I assume you’re here because you’ve decided to either change that behavior or embrace it.”
“Obviously, if I wanted to embrace it, I wouldn’t be here,” Hannah said crossly.
“Is it obvious?” Dr. Lemmon asked. “Are you sure this visit isn’t just an excuse, so you can say you tried to stop one last time? So you can claim that not even the fancy therapist could help you, and you might as well continue with what you’re doing?”
“You’re just trying to push my buttons,” Hannah replied.
“Not ‘just,’ Hannah. I’m pushing them for a reason. I need to know whether this is worth my time or if, when I say something you don’t like, you’ll shut down or storm out.”
Hannah started to reply but the doctor held up her hand.
“We’re at an inflection point here, my dear. You can’t straddle this line any longer. From this moment forward you can either give into the urges that are putting your safety and emotional well-being at risk, or you can try to find a way out. The choice is yours. It always has been. Either way, I need to know what you want out of this get-together, because if you’re here to get justification to continue on that darker path, nothing I can say or do will stop you.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Hannah retorted, trying to keep control.
There was another long pause before the doctor replied.
“Then I need a commitment from you,” Lemmon said.
“What kind of commitment?”
Dr. Lemmon smiled. Her eyes twinkled.
“Most people pay me money. That usually works because it gives them incentive to keep coming. Otherwise they’re just burning cash. But you don’t have money, do you?”
“My adoptive parents left me some,” Hannah told her. “But I can’t access any of it until I’m eighteen, and even then only a portion.”
“So that option is out,” Dr. Lemmon said.
“Jessie paid for my previous sessions.”
“Ah, yes she did,” Lemmon agreed. “But that won’t work this time. That would be a commitment from her, not you.”
“So what then?
” Hannah asked, “Should I start getting paid for providing my plasma or something?”
“I have an idea that might be a little less drastic. How about getting a job?”
Hannah was embarrassed to admit she’d never even considered the idea.
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know. What are you passionate about? If you find something that you feel strongly about, it might serve two purposes. One, it wouldn’t feel so much like work. But perhaps more importantly for our purposes here, it would allow you to channel that restlessness you feel into something constructive. I’m not saying it would solve all your problems. But maybe the numbness that’s deadening your spirit would subside a bit if you trained yourself to find joy, or even just satisfaction, in accomplishing something of value. What do you think?”
Hannah sat with that for a bit.
“I like to cook,” she said. “I’m pretty good at it. And it doesn’t suck when people go on about how much they like what I’ve made.”
“Excellent,” Dr. Lemmon said, sounding positively giddy. “Cooking it is then.”
“But I’ve never had a real job,” Hannah said. “It might take me a while to find something; that is if Jessie even lets me do it. Apparently, there’s another serial killer out there. They’re worried the guy might go after investigators’ families.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Lemmon said. “Until you get the job, we’ll put our sessions on your tab. You can start paying once it’s safe to look and you’ve secured something. I’ll even lower my rate a little, sort of a student discount.”
“How much would it be?”
“My normal rate is $300 for a 50-minute session, but for you I’ll do it for $50. Does that sound fair?”
Hannah nodded. Lemmon continued before she could muster the nerve to say ‘thank you.’
“But remember, you can’t expect to just walk in somewhere and become a line cook. You might need to start as a dishwasher or a hostess and work your way up. Beggars can’t be choosers. Even if you don’t love what you’re offered, if you get an offer, you take it. Are we clear?”
Hannah nodded again and said what she couldn’t before.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lemmon had said, “Now let’s begin.”
The sound of Ryan’s cane squeaking on the kitchen floor yanked Hannah out of the memory.
“What have you got for me to do?” he asked, now wearing sweats.
She blinked a few times, trying to get back into a social headspace.
“You get to knead the garlic into the broccolini,” she said, handing him a plastic glove.
“My favorite,” he exclaimed, “So satisfying after a long day.”
“Speaking of,” Hannah asked, as she sprinkled salt and pepper on the baby potatoes and tossed them in the oven, “any luck catching the geriatric killer?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “We have leads but nothing solid. So please, really stay alert when you go out. This guy could be anywhere.”
Hannah smiled to herself, debating whether to say what had popped into her head. Ultimately, she couldn’t stop herself
“Is that why you and Jessie sicced that chunky guy on me?” she teased.
“What?” he asked, so startled that he dropped the stalk in his hand.
“You know,” she continued, “the heavyset set dude with the barrel chest and the mustache, not to mention the sweat pouring off his brow and shirttails poking out of his slacks. Is he an actual law enforcement professional or just some golfing buddy you pressed into service? Because he was not great at the whole surveillance routine.”
“You saw him?” Ryan asked, not even trying to pretend it wasn’t true.
“Sure,” Hannah answered. “I first noticed him when he looked like he was about to have a heart attack while trying to catch the elevator I was in. Then I saw him parked out front when I came downstairs. I left through the back entrance while he was munching on what looked like a pop tart. He showed up outside Tommy’s Coffee later that afternoon. I saw him run into the convenience store next door to use the bathroom. He appeared a little distressed. I think he’d been holding it in for a while. Then he followed me back here. I told the rideshare driver to go slow so he didn’t lose us. When I got dropped off, he set up shop down the block. I’m assuming he left when you got home.”
“You’re not pissed?” Ryan asked.
“I chose not to be. I get that you guys were worried about me, even before the concern about this killer you’re looking for. I wish you would have been straight with me, but I’ve decided to give you a pass.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said, looking truly stunned.
“All the same,” she replied, done with the heart-to-heart stuff, “I think you could do better. That guy was junior varsity material at best.”
“He’s actually a pretty solid detective,” Ryan told her. “We used to be partners when I worked on the Westside. He’s let himself go a little. But in a pinch, he’s someone I know I can count on.”
“Unless the job requires running,” Hannah countered.
“Touché.”
She was giving the salmon a final once over when she heard the garage door open. Jessie was home.
“You better finish up that broccolini,” she told him, as she opened the oven door. “Your girlfriend’s going to be ravenous, I bet.”
He resumed kneading in the garlic while Hannah added the salmon to the oven. She was just debating whether she had time to whip up a dessert when Jessie walked in. She hadn’t even put down her purse before the tirade began.
“Where the hell were you this morning?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jessie hadn’t meant to sound so accusatory, but upon seeing Hannah casually moving about the kitchen, seemingly untroubled by the anxiety she’d caused, the words came out with more venom than intended. She tried to reframe them.
“Didn’t we tell you how dangerous it is out there right now?” she pleaded. “I just don’t understand how, after everything we said, you could just saunter out of here like it’s no big deal.”
“Jessie—,” Ryan started to say but she didn’t want to hear it.
“No, Ryan. I can’t take any more of this. I feel like my heart is going to explode out of my chest. Hannah, please tell me you’ve got a good explanation for today.”
Her sister looked at her without speaking. That alone was surprising. Normally by now, she’d be yelling or barreling to her room. Instead, she pulled a sheet of paper out her back jeans pocket and handed it over. Jessie opened it. It was on letterhead from the office of Dr. Janice Lemmon, her therapist.
Hannah Dorsey has voluntary consented to twice-weekly sessions to address areas of behavioral concern. She will pay for these sessions (at a reduced rate) with funds secured through gainful employment, when it safe to pursue such employment. In the interim, her counseling bills will be put on hold. If Dorsey’s guardian consents to this treatment plan, please sign below and return this document at the next session.
Even after she’d finished reading, Jessie kept her eyes locked on the paper, pretending she wasn’t done. She needed a few seconds to acknowledge the significance this moment. But before that, she waited for the wave of heat at the back of her neck to dissipate.
She had jumped the gun and now felt like an idiot. She thought back to what Ryan had said about Hannah going to the fifth floor of a downtown office building. Dr. Lemmon’s office was on the fifth floor. That’s where Hannah had been this morning. She’d gone for help on her own.
Jessie finally looked up at her sister, who was staring back at her with a mix of stubbornness and apprehension. There was no way Jessie could convey the mix of emotions that were swirling within in her at that moment. She was so happy—and relieved—that Hannah had taken the initiative to deal with all this. From personal experience, Jessie knew that any progress her sister made was much more likely to stick if she was the one leading the charge.
But s
he also felt deep sadness, mostly because Hannah hadn’t felt she could come to her. She realized that was in large part due to the reaction she’d just displayed: making accusations, lashing out, and demanding compliance.
After everything that had happened, she certainly had the right to act that way. But it hadn’t helped Hannah. Instead, it pushed her away. But now there was a chance to rectify that. And doing so started with one statement.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
Hannah didn’t respond for a few seconds.
“That’s okay,” her sister finally replied. “I know you were worried.”
“I was,” Jessie admitted. “I really was. But this is great to hear. I’m so proud of you for taking this step.”
Hannah nodded but didn’t say anything. It looked like she was trying to keep her emotions in check. Jessie couldn’t.
“Would it be okay if I hugged you?” she asked.
Hannah nodded again. Jessie reached over and wrapped her little sister in her arms. They squeezed each other tight. Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who was smiling broadly as he rubbed broccolini stalks with a plastic glove.
“You know,” Jessie said, her voice catching as she fought through her tears, “I haven’t talked to Dr. Lemmon in months. Maybe it’s time for me to go back to see her too.”
“I think maybe you should,” Hannah said, her voice muffled by Jessie’s chest. The she lifted her head up and looked in her big sister’s eyes. “But that can wait. Right now, you need to get washed up. Dinner will be ready soon.”
*
That night, Jessie snuggled up close to Ryan in bed.
They were about to turn out the lights, but she wasn’t quite ready to sleep, still jazzed by Hannah’s decision to get help.
“This could be the first step on the road to culinary school,” she said hopefully. “I wonder how long she’ll have to do grunt work before any restaurant actually lets her start cooking.”
