by J. A. Huss
I think back to my meeting with Montgomery senior and look for some kind of flash of recognition, but there’s nothing there. Of course, I don’t remember anything about Prodigy School except for a handful of painful sessions with Lincoln.
I sit and stew on that. And even though all last night I declared my love for my long-lost Alpha, in the light of day and sitting in a police station as the detective in charge, everything looks different.
I’m not ready to give up on him, or turn him in, for fuck’s sake. But I don’t want to be lied to, even if his lying is by omission. I’m a part of this. I share his past. I share his pain, and betrayal, and anger.
Maybe not the anger. I do hate the fact that I came out of that school, but I’m a well-adjusted adult now, and that was fifteen years ago. Many of those years were filled with fun, and love, and family.
I sigh as my thoughts circle back to my mother at the asylum. I really should go see her. What kind of daughter am I? She took me in when I needed someone and I turned my back on her when she probably needed me most.
I mean, she did go crazy. She is crazy. But she helped me in my most desperate moment. She took in a kid who should’ve been handed over to social services.
Still… I deserve to know the truth.
If I go see her then I could try to slip in and see Atticus. I could get his version of events last night. It’s possible his father is lying about what happened. And if Lincoln was involved then I need to know. What if he’s in danger? Alastair Montgomery doesn’t look like a man people cross. He looks like a man who gets his way no matter what.
What if Montgomery senior is lying about Atticus? What if Atticus stumbled onto more clues? He was keeping clues from his father. Why?
Jesus, I’m such a stupid detective. If I wasn’t dealing with the return of Lincoln I’d have asked that question days ago.
When I look up at the clock it’s afternoon already. I’ve been sitting here for hours paralyzed with indecision.
I’m going to talk to Alastair Montgomery. I haven’t interviewed him yet and the chief’s accusation has really raised my hackles.
I stand up and shrug on my coat, glancing up at the chief’s office for a moment. His blinds are back up and he’s staring at me. He’s probably pissed off. I take a little satisfaction in that and give him a snide smile and a wave as I make my way out of the office.
He picks his phone and starts tabbing the screen, then lifts it to his ear to talk.
His eyes never leave mine.
I shake off a shudder that runs up my spine and tip my head up a little higher.
He can’t intimidate me. I know he’s dirty, and he knows I know. So he can go fuck himself. I’m gonna get the truth even if I do get fired over it.
The light drizzle that started earlier has stopped by the time I get over to Blue Corp, leaving the streets shiny and slick. I slow for the guard but the gate lifts before I even get close enough to see who is inside. Hmmm, I’m not sure I like being so recognizable.
When I pull into the parking spot with my name on it, the depth of the chief’s accusations hit me for real. Am I working for Blue Corp? It certainly seems so.
I shut the car off and sit there for a moment, trying to put all the pieces together. Why would Blue Corp be so interested in me? Lincoln thinks they have something to do with Prodigy School, but he’s never explained the connection beyond the scientists working here. Is it a coincidence? Might be. Might not.
I open my door and get out, smiling briefly at a streak of sunshine that makes its way through the heavily clouded sky. The front doors of the Blue Castle open for me and I’m just heading over to the receptionists to ask for an appointment with the Old Man when he steps out of the elevator. I stop in my tracks because his focus is definitely on me.
“Miss Masters,” he says, a creepy smile on his face. “I thought you might drop by.”
He extends his hand, but I just stare at it for a second. A wave of revulsion invades my stomach and I know if I touch that hand, I will be sick.
What the hell? that cautious voice inside me says.
I cover for my reluctance to shake hands with him by getting out my tablet and pretending not to see the offer. “Why’s that?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I bet the reason he was expecting me is because he’s who the chief called as I was leaving. Something is very wrong here. I feel like I’m walking into a trap. “I just have some questions about Atticus,” I say, swiping my fingers on my tablet to try to appear unaffected. I collect myself, and then I look up and meet that hard gaze. “I’m just curious why you didn’t call us and report this crime? Why the psychiatric incarceration?”
“Detective,” the Old Man says with a sickening smile that makes me want to step back. “Atticus isn’t well. He hasn’t been well since the first time he tried to take his own life when he was a teenager. I thought he was in recovery, but he’s relapsed. His violent tendencies are back and I’ve taken every precaution to protect society from his instability. So I’m sorry if you feel left out, but the judge made the right decision. Atticus is a danger to himself and others, and he needs serious professional help. He’s getting that today.”
“Well…” I clear my throat and take in a steadying breath. “Well, he was fine the last time I talked to him. And that was Friday night at the party. We talked extensively.”
The Old Man tilts his head like I might’ve said something interesting. “Did you? What, might I ask, was the topic of discussion?”
Shit. “We were just discussing the suicides. He was completely lucid and in control at that time. So what happened over the weekend? Why this sudden burst of violence?”
“What makes you think it was sudden? He’s been violent his whole life. And did it ever occur to you that he was so interested in those suicides because he’s tried to take his own life before?”
“No,” I say, caught off guard with that statement. “I saw all those pictures in his office. He just doesn’t seem like the violent type. He was an outdoorsman. He surfed giant waves, climbed mountain cliffs, and sailed around the world.”
“You just made my point for me. I’ve read a lot of studies that claim extreme risk-takers like my son participate in such behavior to challenge death. You might even call it a death wish. I’m sure you’re familiar with that phrase?”
I’m taken aback at his thinly veiled reference to my family. “He seemed perfectly well-adjusted, Mr. Montgomery. That’s all I’m saying. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of the issues you’ve been having with your employees. And I checked. Atticus has no criminal record. So if he has been behaving this way, then you’ve never reported it.”
“I know, Detective. I realize I’ve been doing him no favors by hiding his unpredictable and violent behavior, but make no mistake, he’s being dealt with now. I’ve got the best psychiatrists with him at the Cathedral City Asylum. He’ll get the highest level of care until he’s well enough to come home.”
I let out a small sigh. “I’d like to go talk to him.”
“That won’t be possible. His doctors have asked that all contact with the outside world be limited to immediate family.” Montgomery stops here to laugh and I get that creepy feeling again.
I’ve had enough. “Thank you for your time,” I say, backing away.
“Do you think it runs in the family?” he asks, just as I’m ready to bolt out the door.
“What?” I say, my heart suddenly beating fast.
“Insanity. Do you think insanity runs in the family? Do you think I have it? That I gave it to him?”
“Um…” Holy fuck, I need to get out of here. But Montgomery starts walking towards me, even as I back away.
“Maybe all my children have it?” he adds. “Maybe they get it from me?”
I’m still backing away slowly when I stumble over the mats in front of the doors and he reaches out to steady me. His hand comes into contact with mine. It is cold, just like him, and I pull away so fast, I trip again.
“Do I frighten you, Molly?”
“What?” I look over at the receptionists, but all six of them are looking down at the desk, their lips busily moving as they talk to people on the phone through their headsets.
“They say that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Insanity tends to run in families.”
Jesus Christ, I don’t blame Atticus for trying to kill him. Old Man Montgomery has an ice factor that’s off the fucking charts. “I gotta go,” I say, turning and bursting through the outer doors. The sunlight that was peeking through the clouds is gone now, but when I get in my car and look up at the building, I see it has just changed positions. It illuminates the tip of the Blue spire like a spotlight.
I take that as a good omen, something uplifting, as I start my engine and put the car in reverse. But then my eyes wander to the front doors of the Blue Castle and I see the Old Man staring back at me from the other side of the bulletproof glass.
“Uhhhhhh.” I shiver. That man is so creepy.
I pull away feeling dirty and wishing I’d never come out here. I’m almost shaking off that feeling when I get to the other side of town and spy the asylum off in the distance. It looks like it belongs in Cathedral City with its gothic architecture and gloomy, black-stained bricks. There’s even an archway you have to pass through to get to the visitor’s parking lot, and there’s not a single break in the clouds to allow a stray sunbeam.
The place has hopeless gloom written all over it.
I park my car and walk into the building. I was here once several years back, but I never went farther than the front lobby. My mother was ‘having a bad day,’ they said, and couldn’t see visitors. It was the day before I left Wolf Valley for basic training, so I never got the chance to come back.
Not that that’s an excuse. I had plenty of opportunities to come visit before then, I just chose not to.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist says from behind a glass window. I hate people behind glass windows.
“I’m here to see Martha Masters.”
“And you are?”
“Her daughter.”
“Huh,” the woman says, typing on her keyboard. “I never knew she had a daughter. She only ever gets one visitor.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Who?”
“Mr. Montgomery.”
I’m too stunned to say anything. That old creep has been coming to see my mother?
“It’s sad that he’s in here now.”
“What?” I say, realizing she means Atticus and not the Old Man. But she doesn’t hear me because she’s walking away to grab a visitor’s badge. She prints out a card with my name on it, slips it into the clear plastic holder with a clip, and passes it through the hole in the glass. “Put that on and have a seat. Someone will come get you when she’s ready.”
I take the name tag and walk off to molded plastic chairs lined up in rows in front of a TV. I feel more like an inmate than a visitor as I force myself to sit and stare at the sitcom playing on the television.
There’s only a few people here, and no one is talking. So I get to sit there and stew in my questions. Why the hell has Atticus been coming here to see my mother? And what does that have to do with him being in here now?
I know there’s a connection, but I feel like everything about this day is hidden in some double meaning. Chief’s comment about Blue Corp wanting him to hire me. The Old Man’s comment about insanity. Does he know Atticus comes to see her? Was that comment about insanity directed at me? Or Atticus?
“Miss Masters?” a woman calls from a door.
I get up and walk over to the door. “That’s me,” I say.
“Right this way,” the older woman says. She’s wearing a white nurse’s uniform. Sorta old-fashioned, since most doctors and nurses wear those colorful scrubs these days. It adds to the horror vibe this gloomy institution already has going for it. “Right this way. She’s waiting for you in the common room. But I have to warn you, Miss Masters, she hasn’t been communicative for years. I’m not sure if you know that, since you never come to visit.”
Geez. Way to lay on the guilt trip, lady. I ignore her dig and just follow silently behind her as we make our way through the dingy hallway until I find myself in a large open room filled with psychiatric inmates. Everyone is wearing a bathrobe and most of them are parked in wheelchairs in front of the small television screen mounted high up in one corner of a room. They look drugged out of their minds.
“Here she is,” the nurse says brightly as she pats my mother on the shoulder. “Martha? Your daughter’s come to see you. Can you turn to say hi?”
My mother is… no one I recognize. Her hair is so gray, it’s almost white. Her body is thin and frail, and her bathrobe is a dirty light blue.
I lean down to see her face. “Mom?”
“She doesn’t talk, Miss Masters. She won’t recognize you, either. I’m not sure why you came today, but it’s too late.”
My face crumples into sadness. “Thank you,” I force myself to say back. “But I’d like some time alone with her.”
The nurse lifts her chin up and walks off, peeved at me for being a bad daughter. I can see her point, but she has no idea why I’ve stayed away.
I take a seat next to my mother and let out a deep sigh. I’m glad she’s not communicative. Because this will be a lot easier if she doesn’t talk back.
“I’m sorry,” I say first. “I’m truly sorry this is how it ended up. But you killed my father and I will never forgive you for that. I will never forgive you for going crazy and ruining our family. Will got into racing, did you know that? Do you even know he’s dead?”
She does not even blink. I lean over to look into her gray eyes and wonder just what is going on in that mind. Anything?
“You told Dad to do that trick. You said we needed the money to pay a debt. You told him he was the invincible Crazy Bill who could do anything. You said he could pull it off and he believed you. But you were wrong.”
Laughter from the TV show bursts through the room, and I look up at it briefly, all the years of anger and sadness washing over me.
“It’s not her fault,” a voice says from behind me.
I whirl around to find Atticus, dressed in the same light blue robe, albeit a much cleaner version.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Why were you coming to see her?”
“It wasn’t her fault, Molly. My father made her do those things. And I come to see her because she’s my mother.”
“Mr. Montgomery?” a nurse calls from the desk. “Mr. Montgomery! You’re not supposed—”
“The Old Man is the one responsible, Molly,” Atticus whispers. His eyes are blazing with fear. “But I won’t let him get her again. I’m here now, and I won’t let him. So go. Get out before he comes to get you too and you never leave here again. I’ll take care of this.”
“Wait, you’re saying—”
“He’s your father too, Molly.”
A burly security guard grabs Atticus by the shoulder and twirls him around. “You have a talent for escape, friend.” He laughs. “Well, that won’t get you far here, Blue Boy. We like our inmates to play by the rules.”
“Inmates?” I ask, flashing my badge. “Is that what you call your patients? I want my mother released immediately. I’m taking her home.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Miss Masters,” the nurse who walked me in says as she walks up to us. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Montgomery and he’s asked for you to be escorted off the premises.”
“I don’t give a shit what that creep says. I’m her daughter and I say she’s leaving here with me.”
“Mr. Montgomery is her husband, Miss Masters. They’ve been married for thirty-one years. He’s her next of kin and legal guardian.”
“Thirty…” But my words drop off. What the fuck…
“Get out of here, Molly. Now,” Atticus yells as another security guard grabs him. They drag him way, but he screams it over and over. “G
et out of here!”
Chapter Forty-Two - Lincoln
“Yes,” I say, answering Sheila’s call through my phone. Case is still playing his game in the corner. The sound effects are about to drive me insane and if I have to listen to one more Social Distortion song on the fucking jukebox, I might kill someone.
“We have a problem.”
“Hold on. Case!” I yell. And then I turn to Mac who is washing dishes nearby. “Turn that shit off. Case! Come here and listen, Sheila’s on the phone.”
Normally I’d just have her tell me, but I need to snap Case out of this shit. He can’t dwell. It’s not good. The past can’t be undone. All we can do is move forward.
Case pounds his fist on the arcade game glass as a sound announces the death of a pixelated life, then turns towards me. “What?”
I put the phone on the bar and press speaker. “Go ahead, Sheila.”
“Molly went to the asylum.”
“What?” Case and I both say together.
“Why the fuck would she go there? After all these years?” I ask.
“I tracked her car to Blue Corp first. I can only assume the Old Man gave her something to think about. She entered the parking lot of the asylum fifty-three minutes ago.”
“Is she still there?” Case asks.
“No, she just got back in her vehicle. But she hasn’t started up the car yet. She’s just sitting there.”
“He told her.”
“You don’t know that,” Case says.
“Please, Case. No visits in all these years and then today of all days, she gets an urge to talk to her mother? Do you have a visual on Atticus yet, Sheila?”
“No. Closed-circuit cameras behind the doors. He needs to get himself in front of one that’s connected to the internet. She’s still sitting in her car. It’s possible Atticus said something he shouldn’t have.”
“Fuck.”
“Call her,” Case says.
“And say what?” I throw up my hands. “‘Sorry, your life is a lie and everyone knows about it but you?’”
