by Dale Mayer
Three days after St. Laurant’s statement, Kate still had no answers. But, from the little bit nonpsychic Simon had given her, she did confirm he was talking about Jason Holloworth, who’d gone missing while walking home from school one day. He was supposed to go outside to wait for his mother, who had been late to pick him up, so he decided to start on his own because he was only a few blocks from home.
But he never made it.
According to his mother, he was always on the skinny side and had issues gaining weight. He was six and a half at the time of the abduction but looked closer to five. His seventh birthday came and went, with no sign of the child. Everyone was still hoping he would be found alive and well, until four nights ago, when his body was found floating in a harbor, not very far away from this Simon’s address.
She thought about that and looked over maps of exactly where the body had been found versus where this guy’s apartment was. They were less than half a mile apart. Still, in that area, half a mile was a long distance, as that area had a high-density population. She wasn’t even sure what to do with this information from Simon. She was pretty damn sure her sergeant didn’t want to know anything about it. It’s not like Simon had offered anything helpful, but still, she felt duty-bound to report it. Even if not credible. Besides, she knew all about charlatans. He might not look like the normal ones they saw at the station, but that didn’t change anything.
She also didn’t know what to do about the little boy Simon had called Timothy. Timmy. Just the mention of her brother’s name caused a lifetime of hurt.
It was just about lunchtime, so she would stop to talk to her boss on her way out. She grabbed her wallet, pulled out a few bills to stuff into her pocket, tossed her wallet back into her desk drawer, and walked down the hallway, heading for the front door. She would grab a bowl of soup around the corner at her favorite Jewish deli. She absolutely loved their food, and it didn’t matter what the special was, she’d have it and consider herself lucky. As she walked toward Colby’s office, her footsteps slowed. When she got there, she saw through the glass window that he was alone.
He called out, “Come on in, Kate.” She opened the door and hesitated. “Come in.” She came in, took a seat when he motioned to it, and asked, “What’s up?”
“Three days ago we had a guy walk into the station,” she said. “He had these nightmares.”
His eyebrows shot up. “So we’re talking to people about nightmares now?”
“I heard him out,” she said. “It was about him seeing a series of children in his nightmares, from a little boy that he said the vision seemed to be from years ago to another little boy, who he said was more recent. Several others popped in and out in a continuous stream of ugly situations. The recent boy appeared dead in his dream, and the name on the bed above his body read ‘Jason.’”
Colby leaned forward. “Jason?”
“Yes,” she said. “When I heard that, I went and double-checked the records to see if his statement followed the description of Jason Holloworth,” she said. “Apparently he was already very, very skinny and had a great deal of trouble gaining weight. The stranger who walked in”—she looked down at her fingers as she tried to remember his name—“Steven St. Laurant, I believe. No, Simon St. Laurant,” she corrected. “He had put his age at six and very emaciated.”
“This guy sees himself as some kind of psychic?”
The corners of her mouth quirked up. “I did ask him that,” she said. “He was almost offended.”
“Why?” her boss asked. “Unless he was involved? Knew the victim? Knew the family? Saw the boy alive? Dead?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know what he said.”
“Have you done anything with his info?”
“I logged it, but that’s it,” she said. “We got a little busy with a couple other cases, so I haven’t followed up.”
“It is crazy right now. Check the details that he gave you on the other children, when you get a moment,” he said. “Maybe something else will line up too.”
“And if it does?”
“There’s the question, isn’t it? At that point we’ll get the team on it. First make sure he isn’t the person behind it all,” he snapped, as he stared out the doorway. “We’ve seen that happen a time or two.”
“I don’t understand the psychology behind letting the police know about these cases if you are the one actually perpetrating the crimes.”
“The psychology of the criminal mind is something we could spend lifetimes trying to understand, and we still never really will. Talk to our psychologist on staff about the subject someday. You’ll never get her to shut up.” he said. “So we don’t believe this guy, check it out, and make sure that we have some understanding of where and what he’s doing,” he said. “Then we’ll haul him back in and have a more detailed conversation with him.”
“Will do, when I get back,” she said. “I’m heading down to Marco’s for the special today.”
“Oh, what’s on special?” he asked, looking up with interest.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “I always love it anyway.”
He laughed and waved her off.
She took the stairs, needing the exercise and the stress relief. Since she’d joined the division, it seemed like she worked harder, longer, and more intensely than she ever had. She’d spent twelve years on the force, trying to make detective. Now that she was here, for some reason she thought some of her stress would reduce. Instead, she was in this constant battle to prove that the department had made the right decision in hiring her. Too bad no one else seemed to agree with that decision, but they would eventually.
*
He walked along the shoreline, loving the fresh roll of the waves, the smell of the sea, that salty tang to the air. It made him feel refreshed, renewed. His life was one long sad history, but he was making the best of it, finding little areas to make himself smile. Somebody should have taken him out a long time ago; he’d even gone looking for help at one point. But nobody seemed to care; nobody seemed to have the budget; nobody seemed to want to help, so he just turned to his nature and embraced it instead. A part of him hoped one day he’d get caught, but another part knew that, at this point, he’d do anything and everything he could to stay free to continue playing his games.
He was well past being fixed or rehabilitated or whatever society thought they could do with him. And he wasn’t ready to give up his pastime just yet. As he wandered along, he smiled to see the groups of families with children. It wasn’t quite warm enough to be in the water, but people had sand buckets, digging and making sandcastles and just generally having fun. He watched one father sit beside his two young sons, and he murmured, “Good job, Daddy.”
On any given day, he’d easily find half-a-dozen children unaccompanied or whose parents were otherwise distracted, either fighting or on their phones. On any given day he could walk into a park or a beach somewhere and see another potential guest at his place. Somebody to put a stab at happiness into his dark world.
It’s not his fault that he needed to snuff out the life in them within a few days to weeks. He tried to keep them longer. Especially Jason. Something was supremely sweet about that little boy. But he was obviously sick right from the beginning. He’d been skinny and had gotten skinnier over time. It was really too bad because his parents should have taken him to the doctor a long time ago.
As it was, he’d given Jason the nicest few months that he could. But still, Jason had died, and he’d hadn’t even had to do the job himself. Poor Jason; he’d deserved so much better. He shook his head. Life was a bitch.
He turned to watch a toddler heading toward the water. He looked around for a parent and didn’t see anyone. He watched, open-mouthed, as the little one went crashing into the water and fell headfirst. Then he laughed because his mom had been in the water, and she had scooped up the little one, who was laughing and crying at the same time.
He smiled at that. “Don’t see tha
t too often,” he said. But the toddler was screaming from the cold water and yet laughing with happiness.
With a smile, touched at the obvious love between the two of them, he turned and walked down the path a little farther, feeling lonelier than ever.
The beach here wasn’t groomed on a regular basis, which was nice, so he could always find driftwood and shells, little bits and pieces that floated in on the tide. He was out here more for himself, rather than looking for anybody to join him again. Jason’s death had hit him hard. He’d been a good little boy, a happy little boy. He hadn’t liked his new owner very much, but that was to be expected.
Something about Jason’s soul made him feel like he could reach out and touch that happiness. He often wondered, if he could maybe just capture the light in these children, their innocence, if it would help redeem him. As if what he was doing was somehow helpful. Positive. But then he just shook his head and laughed at his foolishness. He’d realized quickly enough that anytime he snuffed out one of those little lights, nothing else happened. Death was death, and, once they were gone, they were just garbage to be taken out and disposed of.
He didn’t even know how many he’d disposed of over the years, but there’d been dozens. Twenty-five, maybe even thirty. He kept a book, but he didn’t like to keep count. That was too egotistical. He didn’t like to compete against others either because he didn’t really see himself that way. And he didn’t want anybody to remember him by his numbers. Nobody would remember him kindly. Too many dead children now. He’d been doing this for so long; why should he stop now?
If his mother knew, she’d be horrified. His sister knew, but, well, she would understand because she had a twisted bent herself. They’d inherited it from their father. But somehow their sweet little dense mother had never really understood. She wasn’t quite all there now either. Last time he’d spoken to her, the Alzheimer’s had kicked in pretty heavily, and she kept asking him if he would bring home cat food. They never had any pets.
He couldn’t remember even bringing home a stray. Well, a turtle one time. Maybe when he had been what, fourteen? He didn’t know what age she was stuck at in her own mind, but it was obviously decades ago. He’d ignored her for years after that, just like she had ignored him when he was younger. His sister had called him a week ago to say Mom’s health was failing. He hadn’t been sure what she wanted from him on that. Finally she burst out and asked, “Will you even be sorry when she’s gone?”
“She was a pretty minor aspect of my life,” he said. “She’ll be even more minor in her death.”
His sister had found that hilarious. He smiled because she was just like him.
“Dad’s dead, you know?” she said.
“You’ve told me that dozens of times,” he said patiently. Again he didn’t know why she kept bringing it up. But he figured it was just to get a rise out of him.
“You never could prove yourself to him.”
“Good, then I don’t have to bother trying, do I?”
“But I wish you’d stop trying to be like him,” she said in frustration. “You’re better than that.”
He smiled a secret smile, knowing she couldn’t see it. “Of course I am,” he said. “I’m the devil’s spawn.”
“What does that make me then?” she retorted. “The devil’s spawnee?” She giggled.
He didn’t even crack a grin over that one. “No, we’re both the devil’s spawn,” he said, “two peas in the same pod.”
“We are twins for sure,” she said, “but I don’t think we’re all that much alike.” Her tone had been very doubtful.
“Oh, I think we are,” he argued. “We are very much alike.”
“No,” she said. “You have that weird twisted side to you. I’m nothing like that.”
“Give it time,” he said. “You just won’t indulge in your hobby yet. With some time and a bit of freedom, you will.”
“No, it’s nasty,” she said, “and it’s not my hobby. It’s yours.”
“Yes, but you like to hear all about it, don’t you?”
He caught her there because, although she didn’t dare do what he was doing, preferring instead to be outraged and disgusted at his “hobby,” she always wanted to hear the details. And maybe that’s all she could do. Maybe she couldn’t be honest with herself or with him; maybe that’s just how it worked. He was okay with that too. He knew how deep their connection went, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it.
“Jason died,” he said abruptly. “A few days ago.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know how special he was for you.”
“Very special,” he said, his voice softening. “I’ll really miss him.”
“He was ill already, you said.”
“Yes,” he said. “I knew he wasn’t long for this world. I just wanted to make his last few months the best they could be.”
“And the best that they could be for you too,” she said in a dry tone.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss him.”
“No, I’m sure you do.”
“I’ll replace him,” he said suddenly, knowing that question was coming up. It always did.
“Don’t you think,” she said, “maybe it’s time to walk away from your hobby?”
“No,” he said. “I just don’t want a long-term guest again. It really hurts to lose them.”
“Well, if it hurts you, think about what it’s doing to all the families.”
He’d no civil answer for that one.
Even now he smiled, as he walked along the beach. It was nice to talk to her about it; it was nice she understood. She was the only one who would. It made him feel not so alone. And he kept telling himself that he really didn’t want to have another guest for a while. He still felt the effects of Jason’s death. And it really did hurt.
It wasn’t fair; Jason had been so young and so innocent and had only wanted to have a decent life. But, of course, with his parents, that was a whole different story. They hadn’t looked after him; they didn’t deserve him. They should have taken him to specialists and made sure he got the help he needed. But they hadn’t cared enough. How sad was that?
At least he’d cared, so, in the end, Jason hadn’t died alone.
*
Saturday Morning
Simon woke up Saturday morning and stretched slowly in bed. The sheets slid gently across his smooth naked skin, making him feel luxuriously awake, as he slowly registered the fact that he’d actually slept last night. It was his third—no, fourth—peaceful night after visiting the police station. Maybe that’s all it took. Maybe he only needed to talk to the cops to have it all off his shoulders. Smiling, he sat up, wondering what he wanted to do for the day. When he’d gone to bed last night, he’d deliberately not made any plans, wondering if he would have a decent night or not.
Then he looked over and found he wasn’t alone.
He glared down at the woman, wearing just panties, sprawled across his bed. He shook her shoulder. “Annalise, what are you doing here?”
She raised her head with a jerk, blinked, and let her head crash back down again. “Oh man,” she said and then yawned.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated.
“You said I could stay.”
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Hell, I was alone when I went to bed.”
“Well, you would have,” she said, rolling over and pulling the sheet over her shoulders. “You just didn’t let me work on you hard enough.”
“How did you even get in here?” He searched the cobwebs of his mind but didn’t remember seeing her. He ripped the sheet off her and said, “Get up, get dressed, and get out.”
She sat up and glared at him. “Why are you such a grouch in the morning?”
“Maybe because you weren’t invited last night.”
She got up and stormed into the bathroom.
He didn’t even care. He just wanted her gone. He cast his mind back to last night, but he was damn sure that
she hadn’t even been in his awareness. He frowned, as he wandered his small apartment. Her clothing was laid out across the nearby chair and on top was a key, his key. What the hell?
When she came out of the bathroom, still in just her panties, she walked over, pulled her dress up and over her head, and slipped into her heels.
He held up the key. “Where the hell did you get this?”
She gave him a casual look and said, “I found it.”
“You let yourself into my apartment last night?” That didn’t make him feel any better. Better to have no sleep than to sleep through someone sneaking into his place, while he snoozed on.
“Sure, why not?” she said. “I already knew you were up for an easy lay. Of course you weren’t exactly all action last night,” she said, with a disgusting snort. “Matter of fact, you wasted my night.”
“What the hell?” he said in outrage. “If I’d wanted you over, I would have invited you. You don’t just walk into my place because you somehow got a hold of my key.”
As he held the key, he tried to see just where she had gotten it from. And he thought of Caitlin. “Caitlin gave it to you?” he said in disgust. “How many of these damn keys does she have?”
“She made a bunch,” Annalise said, with a trilling laugh, as she headed to the front door. “I’ll tell her that I struck out, but at least I got a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah, well, you can tell Caitlin that she can fuck off too,” he said. “We broke up six months ago. Why the hell is she sending women my way?”
“Because she figures that, once you understand nobody’s as good as her, you’d have her back.”
“Not in this lifetime,” he roared.
She closed the door with a snap behind her, but her laughter stayed in the room. He walked over, locked the door, and called the locksmith. Within minutes, he had the order in for early the next day to come change the locks on his door. He set the key down. It had been months since his ex-fiancée had tried something like that. He couldn’t believe she’d done it again.
When his phone rang, he looked at it and then tossed it on the bed in disgust. Somehow Caitlin wasn’t getting the message. Simon shook his head. What a mistake he had made with her. He wouldn’t do that again. What had he been thinking when he got engaged? That he wanted normal. That he wanted a partner. That his solo life had served its purpose for all those years. That he wanted … more. However, today just reminded him—yet again—that normal wasn’t for him. That a partner he could trust was not in the cards. That living his solo life protected him. That he shouldn’t want … more.
