Imola

by RICHARD SATTERLIE

  April. Her parents probably named her for the optimism of spring, and she fulfilled their prenatal hopes and expectations. MD, psychiatrist. Not one of those newly graduated, strange-talking psychologists who fingered imaginary Freudian pipes when they pontificated. Imola was sprinkled with them, and their apprentice-level salaries. Agnes smiled as she slid onto the chair opposite her private doctor.

  Dr. Leahy touched her pencil tip to a steno tablet. Her jaw relaxed, the gum apparently shoved into some secret pocket in her mouth. “I’d like to review a little, if you don’t mind.”

  She always started the same way: her review was a review.

  Dr. Leahy crossed her legs. “We made excellentprogress last time. Remember?”

  There was nothing else to do in here but remember. “Yes.”

  “So you remember that your twin sister died when she was four years old?”

  “Her name is Lilin.”

  “Yes, I know.” Dr. Leahy wiggled in her chair and fingered her tablet and pencil. “Do you remember anything else about her?”

  “Not much.”

  “Can you remember your time with her? Were they happy times?”

  Her memories from her childhood were mostly nonexistent, but since Dr. Leahy had been coming around, asking questions, probing her past, little parts were coming back to her. Times with Lilin. Laughing. Playing. But there was something eerie in that background. Something big. Something dark.

  “Agnes? Were there happy times?”

  “Some.”

  “What were the happy times?”

  “Playing together.”

  Dr. Leahy wrote a few sentences. “Do you remember anything about your father?”

  “Yes.” A large door. Closed. “Vague memories.”

  “Happy memories?”

  “I don’t know. Just that he was there.”

  Dr. Leahy wrote without looking at the tablet, except for an occasional glance. “I know your mother passed away too soon for you to have memories of her, but do you remember if another woman was in the house with you and your sister?”

  “Lilin. Her name is Lilin.”

  “Sorry. Was there another woman?”

  “No. I don’t remember a woman.”

  Dr. Leahy’s hand danced on the tablet. “What was your house like?”

  “I don’t know. Just a house.” Not a home. Not like in Mendocino, with Gert and Ella.

  “Do you remember anything in it?”

  Agnes rubbed her face with her hands. “I remember some toys.”

  “What kind of toys?”

  “Blocks. A train.”

  Two trains.

  Agnes frowned. “Two trains.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not really.”

  “Any dolls? All little girls have dolls.”

  “No!”

  Dr. Leahy jumped. “Why did you answer like that?”

  Something wasn’t right. Pictures flashed in her mind. Pictures of a doll. But it wasn’t smiling. Was it real?

  “Agnes?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You didn’t have a doll?”

  Agnes’s gaze drifted to the ceiling. She paused. Her heart pounded; bubbles of sweat traced her hairline.

  Dr. Leahy leaned forward.

  Agnes sensed the closeness, but it was momentary—then she felt like she was drifting away. She felt her body relax, lose all animation, like it was just a shell. “I think I did have a doll.” Her own voice seemed to echo, like it was almost mechanical, from somewhere in the distance.

  The pencil scratched at the tablet. “Can you picture the doll?”

  “I think so.”

  “Did you play with it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lilin took it.”

  “What did she do with it?”

  Hurt it.

  Agnes didn’t answer. She was sliding back, a little too fast. She felt her eyes well with tears.

  “Agnes. What did Lilin do with your doll? Do you remember?”

  “Yes.” Barely audible.

  “What did she do with it?”

  Agnes took a deep breath and let it out fast. A flash of memory. A closed door, opening. “She took it intothe bad room.”

  Dr. Leahy uncrossed her legs and sat up straight so fast her pencil tip drew a line across the tablet. “Agnes. What’s the bad room?”

  The tickle of tears rolled on Agnes’s cheeks. She could feel her mouth move, but no sounds came out.

  Dr. Leahy sat back into the chair and rubbed her chin with her thumb. “When Lilin took your doll into the bad room, did you try to get it back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you follow her into the bad room?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she do to the doll?”

  Hurt it.

  “She hurt it.”

  “How did she hurt it?”

  No answer. Agnes didn’t move. The room was bright, like her eyes were wide open, staring through the opposite wall, to an open door in the distance. She tried, but she couldn’t close her eyes—not even to blink.

  “Agnes?”

  The door swung wide. “Oh no.”

  “Agnes. What is it? What’s happening?”

  Agnes. Stop him.

  “Him!”

  “Who’s him? Is there someone else in the bad room?”

  Help me.

  Tears again, with sobs.

  “Is it your father?”

  Agnes. Please.

  A deep breath. A large figure hovered. Speaking in incomprehensible words. A feeling of panic pierced her, but as soon as it penetrated, it swirled away, like it was being pulled down a drain. Then, an overwhelming sense of calm. “I’m not Agnes.”

  Dr. Leahy leaned forward again, pushing against the table. She stared into Agnes’s eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I’m No One.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Jason Powers knocked on the door of the second floor apartment. The building was not yet a flophouse, but it had great potential. It was difficult to tell the paint color on the walls of the hallways and stairwell. Where the paint wasn’t peeling, it was smudged with who-knows-what, or decorated with graffiti.

  The door opened and Jason barged in, walking carefully as if the hallway dishevelment were contagious. “Hey, big brother. Place looks the same. Maid on vacation?”

  Donnie Powers’s laugh echoed in the small apartment. “Thanks for stopping by. Did you bring me anything?”

  “It’s just a social call. I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’m on my way over to Napa.”

  “Imola again? I always knew one of us would end up there. I just thought it’d be me.”

  Jason looked for a place to sit. “If I’m a passenger on that train, you’re pushing the throttle.”

  “All aboard.” Donnie slapped his knee and faked a loud laugh.

  Jason walked to the only upholstered chair in the room and snatched a copy of National Lampoon from the seat cushion. “I see you’re into classic literature.” He dropped it on a pile of newspapers, cheeseburger wrappers, and unidentifiable paper products.

  Donnie clapped both hands over his heart. “Why do critics miss the brilliance of good satire? It’d be a boring world without a few out-of-round wheels. Besides, who’s going to keep all the suits honest?”

  “National Lampoon keeps people honest?” Jason flopped into the chair, and a spring jabbed his right butt cheek. He adjusted his position.

  “The best way to stagnate this country is to have coast-to-coast conformity,” Donnie said. “Anybody or anything that pushes an envelope contributes to societal evolution.”

  “What does that have to do with honesty?”

  Donnie leaned against the bathroom doorway, the only interior door in the studio apartment. “Most people recheck their own ways before mounting a defense against an outlier. Except for Republicans.”

  Jason moved again, but he couldn’t escape the pinch of th
e spring. “If you live long enough, you’ll become a Republican, too.”

  “Now, that’s something to look forward to.” Donnie wandered across the room and sat, cross-legged, four feet in front of the chair. “Will Dr. Leahy be at Imola?”

  “How do you know about her?”

  Donnie swung his arm and pointed at a large table piled high with computer equipment. “I’m an information merchant. Remember?”

  “You check up on me? Your only brother?”

  “Always have. You don’t stop by very often.”

  Jason raised the middle finger of his right hand and grinned. “Maybe because you always ask for money.”

  “Work is sporadic. And it doesn’t pay that well,” Donnie said.

  “With your talent for computers, you could get a real job. You could drive a Beemer.”

  Donnie snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. Me in a Beemer. Mom would have a heart attack.”

  Jason scowled. “Mom did have a heart attack. Two years ago. You were at the funeral. Remember? I swear. You need to lay off the weed.”

  “Relax, little brother. I remember. It was just a figure of speech. I like to think of her as still alive.”

  “Because she gave you money?”

  Donnie lowered his voice to a whisper. “She was a good mom.”

  Jason relaxed his stern look. “Did you ever stop tothink that you might have contributed to her heart attack?” The comment was a familiar refrain, about 90 percent joke and 10 percent probability.

  “What do you think the weed is for? Dad wrote me off a long time ago, both figuratively and in his will. Mom never did.”

  Jason turned his gaze out the adjacent window. “I know.” Were the smudges on the inside or outside? Probably both. He turned his focus loose. “She always spooned out the love based on who needed it most. For the longest time I thought she liked you best. But when Eugenia dumped me, Mom was there with a ladle. Before I even told her about it. Poor woman. Maturity isn’t a long suit in our family, and she had to put up with you, me, and Dad. Peter Pan cubed.”

  “I miss Eugenia,” Donnie said. “You screwed up big time to let her get away.”

  “Nice sarcasm.” Jason leaned forward in the chair and had to shift again to get away from the spring. “In case your mind is in some kind of drug-induced haze, she dumped me. After the wedding invitations were made out and stamped. She was seeing someone else. You do remember that, don’t you? All that salad hasn’t turned your brain to mush yet, has it?”

  “Relax, little brother. I’m just serving you a wad of goo.”

  “It’s all still pretty raw, asshole.”

  “Then I guess I shouldn’t tell you she came on to meonce, about a year ago.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I didn’t do anything. That’s not something I’d do to my brother.” Donnie cleared his throat. “Besides, she said she was on the rag. I’m not into earning my red wings.”

  Jason slumped back in the chair and covered his eyes with his open hand. “She’d rather screw a donkey. I think she used those very words to describe you once.”

  “Relax, Jason. More goo.”

  “Well, poke the open wound, why don’t you? Your humor sucks.”

  Donnie pulled his left leg up so the knee was close to his ear. “That reminds me. I have a new favorite quote. ‘You’re only young once, but you can be immature forever.’ I think some baseball player said it.”

  “That’s inspirational?”

  “Yeah. It is to me.” Donnie picked something from his big toenail. “So, is Dr. Leahy shaping up into something for you?”

  Jason leaned back farther and interlaced his fingers behind his neck. The spring didn’t counterattack. It was a good question. Was she shaping up into something? He was comfortable with her. But was there more? “Not really.”

  “Seems to me you aren’t having too much trouble getting Eugenia out of your system. You’re working on collecting a harem.”

  “A harem?” Jason sat up straight. “What the hell isthat supposed to mean?”

  “You’re screwing Dr. Leahy,” Donnie said. “And you can’t get that killer out of your mind, either. Right? What’s her name?”

  Jason slumped back into the chair. “Agnes.”

  “Yeah. I can see that one in you. You’re that transparent.” Donnie slid his hands from his foot to his knee. “Falling for someone who’s impossible to obtain is my gig. Are you horning in on my deficiencies?”

  “I care about her, but without expectations. Nothing like that, anyway. I got really close to her during the investigation. I think she’s as much a victim as the men she killed.”

  “I can think of several families who’ll disagree with you on that.”

  Jason pulled his hands down to his lap and leaned forward a little. “Do you know anything about dissociative identity disorder? Multiple personalities?”

  “No. And neither do I.”

  “I’m serious. I ran into Agnes once when Lilin was in control. She was a totally different person.”

  “Lilin?”

  “You know the story, don’t you?”

  Donnie pinched the thumb and forefinger of his right hand next to his lips and inhaled an imaginary joint. He held his breath and exhaled with a shrug.

  “Lilin and Agnes were twin sisters. The real Lilinwas killed by their father, Eddie, when the twins were four years old. And there was abuse before that. April thinks Agnes saw it all. And that’s not all. Eddie was also Agnes and Lilin’s grandfather. He molested his own daughter. She was the twins’ mother.”

  “Who’s April?”

  “Dr. Leahy. I thought you were up on this, Mister Information Merchant. Anyway, Lilin is Agnes’s other personality—the one who did the killings. She’s a piece of work. Sexy as hell. And twice as deadly. When the murders first started, they called her the menstrual murderer. For some reason, she only killed when she was menstruating. Slit the men’s throats and cut off their dongs. You remember that part, don’t you? Every man in northern California thought twice before approaching a woman in a bar.”

  Donnie grabbed his crotch and nodded.

  “They think she used the severed part for a final orgasm.”

  “Now that’s what I call PMS.”

  “It’s what I call a thrill kill. And Agnes is this mousy, innocent introvert. The exact opposite of Lilin.”

  “Lilin sounds like fun.” Donnie bobbed his head up and down. “You got the hots for Agnes or for Lilin?”

  “Lilin swiped a razor within inches of my neck the one time I met her. I was nearly one of her sex toys.” Jason felt the chair spring and shifted on the seat again. “And I’m not attracted to Agnes. I just want to make sure she gets better.”

  “Yeah. Right. Does Dr. Leahy know you’re porking her just so you can stay close to Agnes?”

  Jason lowered his hands onto the chair arms. He felt something sticky on his left forearm. He lifted the arm to inspect it. “I can see Agnes with or without April.”

  “Then why’s your face so red? You know I can see through you like you’re a Baggie. It’s been five months now. Dr. Leahy is going to start hassling you pretty soon, if she hasn’t already. You can’t hump a woman more than two or three times before she starts thinking about wallpaper and children’s names.”

  Jason lowered his arm. “You’re an expert? When was the last time you were with a woman more than two times?”

  “Getting laid regularly doesn’t solve all the world’s problems, little brother.”

  “It beats the alternative.”

  “Maybe I’m saving myself for the perfect one-night stand.”

  Jason looked at his watch. “I rest my case.”

  Donnie crossed his legs again and straightened his back. “Hypothetical, little brother. If you had to choose, who would you take? Me or Agnes?”

  “Get real.”

  “I’m serious. Who would you take if you had to choose?”

  Jason sat forward in the chair, his bu
tt on the edge of the seat cushion. “Is this about Eugenia again? I know how you must have felt about her. I know she didn’t like you. She did a pretty good job of driving a wedge between us. I was working on straightening it out with her, though.”

  “She wouldn’t have changed,” Donnie said.

  “I disagree. She wasn’t as bad you thought.”

  “You were only weeks from marrying her. That would have been the end of me in your life. And you would have gone through with it if she hadn’t run out on you.”

  Jason felt a tightness in his belly. “You’re right. I would have gone through with it. But I told you. I was working on it. It wouldn’t have come between us.”

  “And if she came back to you now? What then?”

  Jason flicked his hand like he was shooing a fly. “I’m past her. It still hurts, but she’s long gone to me.”

  “And replaced by Agnes the killer.”

  “Why are you getting so weird about Agnes? I only visit her. I’ve slept with April Leahy.”

  Donnie leaned back, his arms straightened backward to support his upper body. “For some reason, I’m not worried about Dr. Shrink. But this Agnes chick gives me the willies. I just have a feeling that if it came to me or her, you’d pull a Eugenia on me.”

  “For the last time, that was going to change, Donnie. I was going to lay it out to her.”

  “Don’t blow farts in my face, little brother. I was sinking fast from in-law to out-law, and you know it. Now it seems like you just come around here because you don’t have anyone else.”

  “I come around here because you’re family,” Jason said. “Nothing will change that. No one will change that. If you’d given me time, I would have straightened that out with Eugenia. And as I recall, you didn’t do much to help the situation. What was it you called her? Eugenics? Right to her face, no less.”

  “The woman had a plan. There was no limit to her arrogance. What the hell did you see in her anyway? Was she that good in the sack? She was a total yuppie, you know.”

  “She wasn’t a yuppie. Her parents had money, but she wasn’t like that.”

  “As blind men see the elephant.” Donnie sat up straight again. “You were turning into a yuppie before my eyes. You were becoming her.”

  “Bullshit. I would never be that shallow.”