Stalking the Moon

by Angel Leigh McCoy

  Hayward tumbled his question out as if he were trying to beat a buzzer. "Did you see anyone in Melanie Dufour’s room last night?"

  "No one. She was alone. She couldn’t breathe." I had already decided that I couldn’t tell the truth and expect to be believed.

  Nurse Bea rushed in a second later and said, "Detective. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you speak with this patient without approval from her doctor. She’s had a rough time lately, and we want to make sure she’s stable before—"

  Detective Hayward interrupted her. "Look, Bea. Mind if I call you Bea?" He hid the recorder behind his back and stepped closer to the nurse. He made his face go from deadpan to charming with no in-between.

  Bea blinked and stopped in her tracks. She was looking up at Hayward like a kid looking at her own birthday cake. "I don’t mind."

  "Thanks. You and I have been great partners all morning." He winked. "I promise not to upset Miss Rose, but I need to get this questioning out of the way. You’re welcome to stay. As a matter of fact, I’d be grateful if you did. I’m sure your presence will have a calming effect on her."

  Bea blushed but held her ground. "I could lose my job."

  Detective Hayward gazed down at her, and his face changed yet again, becoming more serious, though his tone stayed friendly.

  "This is a police matter, Bea. I'll take the consequences. I'm not doing due diligence if I don't talk to the person who may have witnessed what happened. I promise I will do nothing to upset her. You may stay or go, as you wish. I won't tell anyone you were here."

  Bea considered that, her jaw set. She clasped her hands in front of her and turned to Viviane. "Now, Viviane, you tell the detective everything you know. There’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s here to help us." Then she shut up.

  Detective Hayward had tamed the shrew. He allowed his lips a little smirk before turning his attention back to me.

  I vowed never to underestimate him.

  He asked, "Viviane, can you tell me what happened?"

  I could, but the question should have been, "Will you?" I ran through the truth in my mind and imagined his reaction to it. It wasn’t hard to imagine, the look of disbelief, pity, and even disgust. I answered, "I heard a scream, so I went down there."

  "Did you see anyone leave her room?" Hayward moved to the opposite side of the bed from Nurse Bea. He was wearing the exact same clothes he had worn when he'd visited me in the hospital: khaki pants, white button-down shirt, and a dark blue suit-coat frayed around the cuffs. He had his badge clasped to his belt.

  I shook my head slowly and lied. "I didn’t see anyone."

  Hayward’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe me, and that surprised me.

  Over the years, I’d grown skilled at lying.

  He leaned against the bed-side table, casual as a snake in the grass. "I’ve been wracking my poor, tired, old brain, trying to figure out what’s going on here, and I keep coming back around to the same thing, over and over again. There’s only one person who had access to all the victims. We in the policing business call that ‘means.’ Can you guess who that might be, Miss Rose?"

  I wasn’t sure where he was going, and he obviously hadn’t finished, so I just shook my head.

  "You, Miss Rose. All signposts point to you."

  Nurse Bea gasped. Hayward looked at her. Their eyes locked and a silent communication crossed between them. I could translate it. Nurse Bea warned him not to rock the boat too much.

  Hayward ignored her. "You, Miss Rose, had free access to all levels of this building, and according to the nurses, you took advantage of that on a regular basis. You were the one who found Julio, and you were a patient in the hospital when he succumbed to his injuries. You've been seen lurking around the Men's Wing at all hours—in contradiction to the institution's rules."

  My stomach churned.

  Hayward looked down at the floor and kept his voice even. "And then, there’s sweet Mrs. Dufour. ‘The cookie lady,’ they called her, didn’t they? Not only were you living here at the time of her murder, but you were first on the scene—yet again."

  "I didn’t kill anyone," I said. "I swear it."

  Hayward nodded knowingly, as if he'd expected me to say that. "The one piece I don’t have is motive. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would do it." He raised his eyes directly to me, the hard lines around his irises as defined as inlaid marble. "I can assure you, Miss Rose, that I—"

  Someone knocked on the door.

  "Come in," I called.

  It was Richard. He looked surprised to find the detective and Nurse Bea there. He said, "Hello," but it sounded more interrogatory than greeting. He stood tall in the doorway, dressed in a dark gray suit with a matching heather tie. In one hand, he held a manila folder.

  Nurse Bea shrunk visibly, though she said, "Dr. Reuter, you remember Detective Hayward? He’s asking everyone on the hall a few questions about Mrs. Dufour."

  Richard didn’t even look at Nurse Bea. He focused on the detective, offering his hand. "Nice to see you again, detective. I hope your investigation is going well."

  "As well as can be expected." Hayward paused a beat, then added, "I wonder. Since you’re here, can I take a few minutes of your time to ask you a few questions?"

  "I’d be happy to answer your questions, but I’d rather do so in the privacy of my office. I’m here to take Viviane down for her daily session. If you’re going to be here in an hour or so, perhaps you could stop by then?"

  Hayward asked, "Daily?"

  "Yes." Richard didn’t bother to explain further. He held the manila folder in front of him with both hands like a shield.

  Hayward thought about it. "All right. I’ll come by your office in an hour." He checked his watch, then remembered me.

  "Thanks for your time, Miss Rose." He held the door for Nurse Bea.

  As soon as the door had shut behind them, Richard asked, "What did he want?"

  I made an effort to hide how freaked out I was by Hayward’s visit. I rolled the tension out of my neck. "He thinks I killed Mrs. Dufour. He wanted to ask me some questions."

  "Is that so?" Richard frowned at the door. "I’ll have a talk with him. You don’t have to answer any of his questions, Vivi. You can tell him to fuck off."

  "I can?"

  "Yes. If he hassles you again, let me know. I’ll get your lawyer involved."

  "Won’t that make me look guilty?"

  Richard shook his head. "No. If he had any evidence against you, he’d pressure me to let him interrogate you. He doesn’t. I know this because he'd rather sneak around behind my back."

  "Okay."

  "You ready for your session?"

  "I was born ready for psychotherapy, Dr. Schadenfreude."

  Richard chuckled. "I thought we’d go down to my office this morning. I have someone I want you to meet."

  "Who?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

  "A visiting psychologist who specializes in schizophrenia. I've asked him to consult on your treatment, if you're okay with that."

  I stood and rewrapped my robe, double-knotting the belt. "A specialist?" In all the years that Richard had been treating me, he’d never referred me to another doctor.

  "Dr. Lamb shares my treatment philosophy. I’m assisting him with his research."

  My hackles went up. "What did you tell him about me?"

  "Not much, and to him, you're just Patient X. I told him Patient X has had hallucinations since puberty and that they’re cohesive and persistent. I told him you’ve recently suffered a loss, and that you’re here only on a temporary basis."

  "What else?"

  "Nothing more. He’s interested in my method of hypnotherapy. He wants, with your permission, to ask you a few questions directly. And I'd like permission to share some of our taped sessions with him."

  I trusted Richard more than I trusted anybody else in my life—except Lettie.

  "All right," I said. "But don’t give him any sex or bathroom stuff, okay? I don’t want h
im hearing any of that."

  "Agreed."

  "And, if I don’t trust him right off, I can say no to it all?"

  "Absolutely. You’re in charge and doing me a huge favor. I'll need your signature on this Information Release form, and you can refuse, if you choose." He set the manila folder on the desk and opened it.

  I smiled at him to ease his mind and because, if I was ever going to get out of the Center, I’d need his signature. I signed the form.

  We walked together to the main house. Richard held his office door for me, and I stepped inside.

  At first, it seemed empty, but then a man made his presence known.

  He rose slowly from an armchair in the shadows, unfolding as if moving were an afterthought, his eyes and mind in the lead. By the time he was fully on his feet, he had already assessed me from head to toe. There was nothing sexual in his inventory of me, only professional curiosity.

  I gave him the same. To my surprise, he was younger than Richard—mid-to-late 30s. He had thick brown hair left to its own devices. He ran his hand back through it, something I suspected he did often and without thinking, as he came to stand near us.

  I was struck with an uncanny feeling of déjà vu.

  In the other man’s shadow, Richard looked frail. He moved away, as if he had made the comparison as well.

  "Viviane, this is Dr. Jake Lamb."

  We reached our hands out to shake.

  His chin dipped, and he smiled crookedly, charmingly.

  Our skin nearly touched, and a spark of static electricity jumped between us.

  I cried out, "Oh!" and pulled my hand to my chest. Laughter bubbled up in the wake of the surprise.

  He was startled too, laughing. He rubbed the spot and said, "I’m so sorry." He had a baritone voice suited for hypnosis and heroics.

  "It must be the carpet," Richard said. "Viviane, are you all right?"

  I shot him a don’t-be-ridiculous look and let my hand fall back to my side.

  "I’m fine," I said with dignity. "It was just a little static electricity. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Lamb."

  His face had more character than classic appeal, nose large and lips quirky. He had incredibly long lashes for a man, and his eyes offered friendship.

  He looked familiar.

  "Please, call me Jake. I appreciate you letting me sit in on your session today."

  I said, "It’s no trouble," and sat cross-legged on the couch.

  Richard sat across from me in his chair. "I thought maybe we’d talk about what happened with Mrs. Dufour. What do you think?"

  Jake took the other chair.

  I said, "I don’t suppose you’d rather talk about something happier?"

  "Afraid not."

  No, Richard would rather look at the dark and turbulent elements of my life. They were, of course, the more interesting ones.

  I glanced over at Jake to find him staring at me. He didn’t bother to look politely away when our eyes met, but he bored into my head with his brown eye lasers.

  "All right," I said. "Let’s do it."

  Richard leaned forward and pressed the button on the tape recorder. He stated the date and the names of those present, then finished with, "Go ahead, Viviane. What happened?"

  "Well, I was in my room, I heard a scream, and I went to check it out."

  "Go on."

  "Mrs. Dufour was in bed, and she couldn’t breathe. She was freaking out, waving her arms and kicking. I tried to get her to calm down."

  "Could you tell what was causing it?"

  My mind pulled back a notch, and I was standing in the doorway to Mrs. Dufour’s room again. I saw the hag crouched on top of her, straddling her, one hand at her throat, one over her mouth and nose. Mrs. Dufour’s eyes bulged.

  I shook my head. I hated lying to him, but the stakes had gone too high.

  Richard said, "Tell us about the woman you believe attacked you in the hospital."

  I chose my words carefully. "She was out of her mind, I suspect. Old, but strong. And before you ask, she looked nothing like my mother or my old babysitter or my best friend." I hoped a little joke would convey that I was balanced. "I thought she was trying to strangle me."

  Like she did Julio, Mrs. Dufour, Mr. Jackson, and Danny McIntyre.

  I added, "It was probably just a nightmare."

  Richard asked, "Have you seen Simon lately?"

  "No. Not for a couple weeks."

  Jake asked, "Who’s Simon?"

  "Simon is an auditory hallucination. I’ve been hearing him for twenty years. When I was a kid, I loved movies about talking animals. I watched Good Boy a thousand times, and Gordy, Marmaduke, and Dr. Doolittle. I was a pretty lonely kid. I lived with my grandfather, who had trouble expressing his emotions."

  Jake asked, "What does Simon look like?"

  "I imagine he resembles either Sean Connery or a gorilla. Of course, I’ve never actually seen him. He’s a disembodied voice, and I don’t believe he’s real."

  "Why do you call him Simon?"

  "That’s what he told me his name was."

  "Thank you." Jake moved to the edge of his seat. "If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll leave you two to your hypnotherapy session. I have some things to take care of. Perhaps some other time, I’ll sit in?"

  I uncrossed my legs and sat forward too. "Was it something I said?"

  Jake chuckled. "Not at all." He came over to shake my hand. No sparks this time, though our eyes met and held when he said, "Thank you, Viviane. It’s been a pleasure meeting you."

  "It’s been a pleasure entertaining you."

  He didn’t let go of my hand. "Trust me," he said. "The work we’re doing here is more important than you know."

  I looked down at our hands clasped together and pulled mine away. He wore a ring on his finger—a familiar one. Large and gold, it had a coat of arms stamped into it. Secret society, I thought, and I remembered where I’d seen it before. The dance club.

  Dr. Jake Lamb had been the man with the ring at the dance club. As he went out the door of Richard’s office, I asked, "Are we done?"

  Richard said, "No, not yet. There’s something I want to talk to you about."

  "Can’t it wait?" I wanted to catch up with the stalking doctor and confront him.

  "It won’t take long. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going away for a few days. Dr. Lamb has invited me to visit his facilities in Oregon. I’ll be back on Monday for our regular session."

  "Awesome. Have a great trip." I stood.

  Richard followed me to the door. "Viviane." He was forty-eight, fit, and had great genes. It was, however, as if he were carrying every day of every year heavily on his face. He seemed sad, tired, and something else—stubborn or determined, resolute. I didn’t know what he had to be resolute about, but there was no denying the tight pinch of his lips. "I also wanted to talk about Colin’s ashes."

  The silence in the room contrasted with the cacophony in my head. Colin was gone, but I had no desire to perform the rituals. The last thing I needed was a reminder.

  "What about his family?"

  Richard shook his head. "I looked into it. The police contacted them, but they don’t want the ashes."

  "Well, that’s stupid."

  "Viviane, I think Colin would want closure for you. Is there any location you can think of that meant something to him?"

  The only place I could think of, other than the Center, was the lake, and that was spoiled for us. I couldn’t release his ashes where he’d drowned. "I’ll think about it, okay? What’s the rush?"

  Richard shook his head. "No rush. You let me know when you’re ready. I’ll keep him safe until you are."

  "Are we done?"

  Richard took a deep breath. "I suppose. I’ll walk you to the tower."

  ♦

  Back in my room, I went straight to the window. Richard had completely derailed my plan to confront Jake. I hoped to catch another glimpse of him—and there he was, as if I’d known he’d be there
, down on the patio, leaning casually against the railing, texting on his phone. He stood in profile to me, and I again noted his prominent nose. He had excellent posture, and his body was well-proportioned. Although few women would say he was handsome, he certainly was striking.

  Why was he so interested in me, and why had he approached me at the club? How long had he been observing me? Was Richard aware of it?

  Richard came out of the building, and they walked together toward Richard’s car. Jake moved with confidence. Before he got into the red Mercedes, he looked back at the building, searching the second-floor windows. When he found me, he stopped searching—period—and he winked.

  I watched until they'd driven out of sight.

  It'd been exactly an hour since Richard told Detective Hayward he’d meet him in his office. I wondered what the detective would think about being stood up.

  Later that evening, just before lights-out, I called Lettie on my new cell phone.

  She picked up and asked, "How you feelin’, sugar?"

  I thought about it for a second, then replied, "Tired. I had a strange day."

  "Spill it."

  "Remember the last time we went to the Midnight Saloon, and there was that guy who was bugging me?"

  "Vaguely."

  "I met him today. His name is Jake Lamb, and he’s some sort of psych specialist."

  "No way!"

  "Way. He pretended he’d never met me. I didn’t figure out why he looked so familiar until he was leaving."

  "You think it’s a coincidence?"

  "I don’t believe in coincidence. Everything happens for a reason. He knew exactly who I was at the club."

  Lettie gasped. "You think he’s following you? Like maybe he’s the killer?"

  I gave my paranoia a chance to kick in, but it didn’t. I said, "He’s following me all right, but not because he’s a murderer. I think he wants to study my brain. He left before I got a chance to confront him. And get this, Richard is spending the weekend with this guy, checking out his facilities."

  "Ew. That sounds dirty. Is that what they call it these days?"

  "I don’t think he's Richard's type."