by Jana DeLeon
“While he was deployed,” Emma continued, “some things changed here. My aunt passed away, and I inherited her home in Algiers Point. My parents died in a car accident when I was five, and my aunt raised me. She was my parents’ only living relative and she never married, so she was the whole extent of my family.”
“I’m sorry. That must be hard.”
“Thank you. I spoke with David, of course, and we both agreed that selling the house was foolish. More people were moving to Algiers and restoring the old homes. Property values were starting to rise and were only going to get higher. Besides, I had no intention of leaving Louisiana again, and Algiers is a short ferry ride from the French Quarter. After Iraq, David’s time in was over and he would be home for good.”
“So when David returned, you’d already moved to the house in Algiers Point?”
Emma nodded. “After our tiny apartment in the French Quarter, I thought he’d be happy with the space we now had. It’s a beautiful old house and my aunt was meticulous about maintaining it, but he was totally disinterested. It was as if he’d walked into a hotel room rather than his own home. Before he deployed, he used to always talk about finding a place with a garage so that he could work on old cars. It was a huge interest of his, but when I showed him the oversize garage, he barely nodded, then went back inside and sat in front of the television the rest of the day.”
“PTSD?”
“Probably. Given my profession, I’ve seen it before, but every time I made an attempt to get him to talk, either to me or to a professional, he shut me down.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “Then he got mean. It was subtle at first—insults that he claimed were just joking—but it progressed to direct and abusive. When he hit me, I knew I had to get away from him. If you could have seen the look on his face…the absolute rage. I knew, that given time, he would kill me.”
“Did you go to the police?”
“Yes. I did everything by the book. I’ve worked enough emergency room shifts to know the drill. Everything was documented, then I got a restraining order, and the judge ordered him off the property. Since it was inherited, he had no claims to it.”
“I’m going to take a guess that he didn’t feel the same way.”
“You guessed right. The police hauled him away in handcuffs, but he was out the next day.”
“Did he come after you?”
“Not like you’d think. He was smart about it. He knew the exact distance he had to remain from the property. Every morning, on my way to work, he was standing on the same street corner, just far enough away from the house to keep him from being arrested, watching me as I drove by.” She crossed her arms and shivered. “The worst part was the smile.”
“He was enjoying torturing you.”
“Yes, and there was nothing I could do about it.”
“What about David’s family or friends? Couldn’t they help?”
“He told me he didn’t have any family living. Every time I asked him about his childhood, he clammed up and refused to talk. I got the impression it wasn’t very good. He always said I was his family and his future, and that’s all that mattered. As for friends, he didn’t really have any. Not close, anyway. He’d been in the military for eight years, but the guys he knew there were either still serving or had gotten out and scattered to their home states. Sometimes he went for a beer after work with coworkers, but there wasn’t anyone close to him. Except me, and now I wonder if I was ever as close as I thought.”
“Given a probable bad childhood and the strain of combat, you might have been the only person he let in.”
“Maybe so, but looking back, I don’t feel like I got very far. I realize I didn’t know him for very long before we married, but I swear, I didn’t see any signs of the complete turnaround he did. I’m trained to notice these things, and I’m far too practical to have stuck my head in the sand because I was in love.” She blew out a breath. “I’m sure you know the facts about stalkers.”
Shaye nodded. “If they want to get to you, they eventually will. A piece of paper is little defense against obsession. You have to be prepared to protect yourself.”
“And I was. I knew how to shoot a pistol, so I dragged my aunt’s out of her closet and made sure it was in working order. I loaded it and kept it on me, even at the hospital. I knew it was illegal, but I figured I’d rather take my chances with the police than walking across a dark parking garage without protection.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I thought I was being safe, but as it turns out, the gun didn’t protect me at all.”
Emma stopped talking and her jaw flexed. Shaye knew it was hard—telling someone the worst thing that had ever happened to you. Reliving every moment. Every moment that felt like a year.
“How did it happen?” Shaye asked, hoping the prompt would push Emma past the mental block she’d constructed to protect herself.
Emma stared at the wall behind Shaye. “I was cooking. It was my day off and it was sunny with a cool breeze. The kitchen window was open and I remember a lawn mower running somewhere nearby. I didn’t hear David come in, but I’ll never forget that moment when I knew he was there. I had just finished washing a cucumber in the sink and was about to slice it when the whistling started.”
“Whistling?”
Emma swallowed hard and nodded. “‘Three Blind Mice.’ When he came back from Iraq, he’d whistle it every time…every time he changed into the monster.”
Shaye frowned as she made a note. Professionalism required her to be objective and focused on the facts, but she couldn’t deny that was creepy as hell. “I can’t imagine…” She started her reply but stopped when she realized she was being disingenuous. Shaye might not be able to imagine exactly how Emma felt, but she had a damned good idea.
“It was the most terrifying moment of my life,” Emma said. “Even more horrifying than when I killed him.” She looked directly at Shaye. “When I have nightmares, I don’t see his death. I only see that sink, the water still running, the knife in the bottom—stainless steel gleaming against white porcelain. I feel my pulse racing, the blood draining from my face, my hands shaking, my heart pounding in my chest that’s constricted so tight I can’t take in even the smallest of breath. And then I hear the whistling. I wake up screaming, soaked with sweat, sometimes violently ill.”
Shaye felt her back tighten and her pulse tick up a notch as Emma talked. She knew all about those kind of dreams—the kind where you lived everything as if it were happening over and over again. The kind that made you wish, in the darkest moments, that you’d just drift on to the never-ending dreamless kind of sleep.
Emma shifted on the couch and shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not the kind of information you need.”
“I’m here to listen to anything you want to tell me,” Shaye said.
Emma shot her a grateful look. “I couldn’t move. Not at first, but then he grabbed my shoulder. His fingers dug into my skin and I’m sure it hurt, but I don’t remember anything except the rage that coursed through me. Anger and fear and a million other emotions that all arrived at the same conclusion—he was there to kill me.”
Shaye nodded, no doubt in her mind that Emma was right.
“I felt the cold, hard butt of the pistol as he pressed it to my temple,” she said. “I actually saw it, just like everyone says, my life flashing before me. I always thought it was a cliché, but it was real, my dad teaching me how to ride a bicycle, the mermaid cake my mom made for my fifth birthday. It was all there, for one suspended second, and then it was gone.”
She leaned forward on the couch and looked Shaye directly in the eyes. “I was going to die.”
“So you had nothing to lose.”
Emma nodded. “David was an expert martial artist. While he was away, I started studying kung fu. I never told him because I wanted it to be a surprise. With only six months of lessons, I’m not very good…”
“But you caught him by surprise.” Shaye�
�s respect for Emma ticked up another notch. Most people would have frozen, died right there in front of the sink, too frightened to even raise a hand.
“I lifted the knife from the sink, praying as my fingers curled around the handle. As soon as I had it in my grip, I ducked and whirled around, knocking the pistol out of his hand with my arm, and sliced his throat with the knife.”
Emma’s voice broke on the last words and she sniffed. “I knew what I was doing…with the knife.”
“Because you’re a nurse.”
“Yes. I severed the carotid on the right side of his neck. His eyes were so big, his entire expression one of disbelief. He flung his hands over his throat. The blood squirted out from between his fingers. I…I knew it would be a lot. I’ve seen that artery nicked and it was bad, but I didn’t expect…”
“No amount of education could prepare you for something like that.”
“But I’m a nurse. I know…”
“You know what the body is supposed to do, but you couldn’t know how you would react if you were the one who caused it. Your training is to treat injuries, not cause them.”
Emma’s eyes widened and Shaye silently cursed. “I’m sorry,” Shaye said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No. You didn’t upset me. Quite the contrary. I’ve been struggling to understand my reaction, my emotions, and I never thought about it that way. Thank you.” She shook her head. “It didn’t take long for him to lose consciousness. Probably only two or three minutes, but it seemed like forever. I was afraid to move, even for the phone, but when he finally passed out, I grabbed my cell phone and called 911.”
“How did the police handle it?”
“David was dead when they arrived. The clean cut coupled with the heightened emotional state maximized blood loss. The policemen who responded were thorough. One of them had taken my statement when I’d filed on David for the abuse. He was so kind. The other was less so—older and rather abrupt, but I didn’t care. I just wanted it all over.”
“Was there an investigation?”
“Yes, but it was short. Given the evidence, the prosecutor declined to press charges and I was free to get on with my life. As well as one can after, you know.”
“Give it time,” Shaye said, slightly aggravated at herself for repeating her psychiatrist’s words again. It was even more irritating when the woman was right.
“I know. I kept telling myself that, and for a couple of days, things started to ease a bit, enough to get a glimpse of normal. But then…”
“Tell me about the stalking.”
“At first, I didn’t think anything of it—an item out of place in my house, a noise outside in the middle of the night, a door open that I thought I’d closed. Noises happen, and given my mental state, it was completely reasonable to assume I’d moved or opened something and forgotten. But then I started feeling like I was being watched. I never saw anyone, but I could feel someone out there, hiding in the shadows.”
“What about your friends? Did they notice anything odd?”
“I don’t really have any close friends. I met David right after returning to New Orleans, and we spent all our available time together before he left for Iraq. My high school friends had all married and moved away. I went to the movies a couple of times with coworkers, but then my aunt died and all my free time was wrapped up in going through the house and getting it ready for David to come home.”
“Did you make a police report?”
“And tell them what? That I could feel someone watching me? I had no proof, and the only person who wanted to harm me was dead. They wouldn’t have taken me seriously. Hell, I wasn’t completely convinced myself. Not until two nights ago.”
“What happened?”
Emma told Shaye about the break-in. About hiding in the secret room behind the closet. About the whistling and seeing her husband in the glimmer of moonlight.
Shaye didn’t take a single note while Emma spoke. She didn’t even try. Every inch of her was right there with Emma in that secret room, peering through that tiny hole…seeing an impossible nightmare right there in front of her. When she finally finished, Emma collapsed in tears. Shaye jumped up and grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter and handed it to her.
Emma wiped her eyes and nose and sniffed for a minute more. Shaye sat back on the end table, feeling helpless and completely out of her element. She’d spent the past three years working for a local agency, earning her hours to get her license, but she’d never worked on anything with an emotional component, and certainly not a deadly one.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said once she regained a semblance of control. “I thought I could handle repeating it.”
“Please don’t apologize. What you described is horrifying. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset.”
Emma gave her a small smile. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No.” Shaye’s response was immediate, and more importantly, the truth. “I think you’re traumatized, and rightly so, but I see no evidence of crazy. What about an alarm system? You didn’t mention one.”
“My aunt installed one right after Hurricane Katrina. Things got rough in the neighborhood for a while, and a senior living alone was an easy target. So it’s old, but it was working fine until two nights ago.”
“The night the man was in your house?”
Emma nodded. “I tried to set it before I went to bed and it was dead. We’d had a big storm that afternoon and lightning fried my satellite, so I figured it took out the alarm as well. At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself, but if I really believed it was all nothing, I wouldn’t have planned an escape route in my old bedroom. I wouldn’t have staged the master bedroom to look like I was sleeping there and had left through a window. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.”
“Did you go to the police after you saw the man?”
“Yes. First thing the next morning.”
“I take it they didn’t believe you.”
“An officer took my statement, and two detectives came to my house to check out the doors and windows. But with no sign of forced entry and no hard evidence, there was nothing they could do.”
“I have to ask, are you certain your husband died?”
Emma nodded. “He bled out. I know he did. And I saw the body before he was cremated. He was dead. I’d bet my RN license on it. But…”
“How could he be stalking you now?”
“Exactly.”
Despite the fact that Emma’s story was impossible, Shaye had already come up with a possible scenario. It was a matter of proving it. “I have an idea. I believe that you are being stalked, and that the man stalking you can’t be your husband. You saw him in the moonlight, and given the heightened state of emotion, you could have been mistaken. Maybe the man was similar enough in appearance for you to mistake him for your husband.”
“But the whistling.”
“He might not have had living relatives or close friends, but your husband didn’t live in a vacuum. If he turned on you, wouldn’t it make sense that others might have gotten the same treatment?”
Emma frowned. “Yes, that’s possible, sure, but why come after me? I don’t have much in liquid assets and have never had trouble with other people beyond the normal job kind.”
“That is what I’m going to find out.”
Emma blew out a breath. “So you’ll take the case?”
“Yes. But you’re going to have to discuss your husband at length. I’ll need to know everything about him in order to find out who else could have known details about him and about you.”
“Apparently, what I know about my husband is a whole lot of nothing, but I will do anything to stop this. Anything at all.” She glanced at her watch. “My shift starts in thirty minutes, though.”
“That’s okay. I’ll want to start checking into your husband’s background…coworkers, military buddies, anyone who might be able to shed some light on things.”
�
�Great. I’ll email you all his personal information. Will that work?”
“That’s fine. I’ll do some poking around and then call to schedule another meeting. Are you still staying in the home?”
“No. I booked a hotel close to the hospital. I’m afraid to go back home, but I can’t afford to live like a vacationer forever.” She sighed. “I’ve always loved that house, but now, I can’t imagine spending another night in it. I started thinking about selling right after I…right after David…”
Emma pulled a checkbook from her purse. “You’ll need a retainer. How much?”
“My rate is seventy-five an hour plus expenses. A thousand is fine for the retainer.”
“Is that enough time?”
“I won’t know until I get started, but let’s not worry about that now.”
Emma wrote a check and passed it to Shaye, then dug a business card from her purse and handed Shaye that as well. A number was handwritten on the back of it. “That’s my cell phone number. I can’t answer during shift—hospital rules—but I check it on breaks. If it’s critical, call the hospital and they’ll page me.”
Emma rose from the couch and pulled her purse over her shoulder. Shaye followed her to the front door. As Emma stepped outside, Shaye put a hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Frederick, can I ask you a question?”
“Please, we’ve got to be close to the same age. Call me Emma, and of course you can ask a question.”
“Why me? You could have hired someone with far more experience.”
Emma smiled. “A nurse I work with recommended you. She said you would believe me even when no one else would.”
Shaye frowned. “Who is the nurse that recommended me?”
“Clara Mandeville.” Emma turned and hurried off down the sidewalk. She jumped into a black Nissan Altima parked a couple buildings down and pulled out into the afternoon traffic. Shaye watched as the car faded into the distance.
Clara Mandeville.
The name sent Shaye careering back nine years.
Back to the first day for which she had any memory.
