“Why not? Do we always have to argue?”
“Not argue, Doc. We have discussions.”
“Where are you from, Roy?” she asked.
“Not from Shit Hollow, Kentucky, I promise you that.”
“But you’ve been with Aaron for a long time.”
“Cute. See, that’s when we have trouble, when you get cute on me. Start prying, trippin’ me up, or trying to.”
“I’m not trying to trip you up, just curious. I can’t place your accent.”
“South Philly. Right off the street.”
“Aaron’s never been to Philadelphia, has he?”
“Shit no. I come and go, Doc, come and go. You think I spend twenty-four hours a day at his beck and call? It was a couple years after that first one.”
“You mean with Reverend Shackles?”
“That’s right.”
“When you insulted him.”
“Well…”
“You didn’t lie to me, did you?”
“I don’t lie to you,” he said nastily. “It was just longer than that.”
“Longer than what?”
“What I told you.”
“What do you mean by ‘longer’?”
“I was out longer than I said.”
“Oh? Did you say anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Did anything else of importance happen?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
He laughed. “I might, just to see the look on your face.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I wasn’t being completely honest with you before,” Roy said. “Maybe I did more than tell Shackles off, y’know.”
She tried a ploy. “Come on, Roy,” she said with a snicker.
He hoisted himself up on one elbow and turned back toward her. “You don’t really think I tell you everything, do you?”
“Do you even remember that far back?”
“Let me tell you something, I remember them all.”
Them all? Is he talking about all the times he’s come out, or something else?
She didn’t want to push her luck. She looked down at him. He laid back down, hands clasped over his chest, feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes were closed and he was perfectly relaxed.
“We were up at a place called East Gorge See,” he said in almost a monotone. “Highest place around there. It’s this rock that sticks out over the ridge and it’s straight down, maybe four hundred, five hundred feet, into East Gorge. You can see forever up there. Shackles used to go up there and he’d stand on the edge of the See, and he’d deliver sermons. Top of his fucking lungs, screaming about hellfire and damnation, and it would echo out and back, out and back. Over and over.”
“Did you go up there often? With Shackles, I mean?”
“He’d take Sonny up there all the time. That was my first time. That day he dragged Sonny along, points down over the edge and tells him that’s what it’s gonna be like when he goes to hell, like fallin’ off that cliff. Sonny’s petrified. Then he grabbed Sonny and shoved him down on his knees and starts going at him.”
“‘Going at him’? What do you mean by ‘going at him’?”
“It was like, he was warming up. Before he started sermonizing. And when he started it was all that hate and hellfire and damnation, and all of it was aimed right at Sonny. That’s when I came out and said that, about his dick, and then ran off into the woods.”
“So you and Sonny were hiding in the woods together?”
“Yeah. We hid there watching him strutting around, talking to himself. Then he turns and walks back out to the cliff and he starts in again, yelling about how Sonny is hell-bound, and how rotten he is. I sneaked down on him: Hell, it was easy. He was yelling so loud he didn’t even hear me. I picked up this piece of busted tree limb and I walked up behind him, jammed it in the middle of his back and shoved. He went right over. Wheee.”
Molly stared at him, trying to control her shock and surprise, trying to look casual as the hair on her arms rippled in cadence with his narrative.
“I couldn’t tell when he stopped sermonizing and started screaming,” Roy went on. “But I watched him hit on the incline at the bottom. I didn’t want to miss that. He rolled down to the bottom and all this shale poured down on top of him—what was left of him. It was wild. All that shale buried him on the spot.
“I went back down to Mrs. Neeley’s place. Shackles had a room in the back. He didn’t have much stuff. Traveled with it in a duffel bag. I stuffed it all in the bag and took it back up to the Johansons’ farm and threw it down their well. Nobody ever missed Shackles. They just figured he got a wild hair up his ass and split.”
“Sounds like you planned it all very well.”
Roy’s eyes turned ice-cold. “What’re you gonna do, set me up, Doc? Thinking about premeditation? You can’t testify against me. You’re my shrink, man. What’s said between us is privileged in the eyes of the law.”
“You keep forgetting, Roy, I’m on your side. So is Martin Vail.”
“Shit, you’re on Sonny’s side, not mine. Anyway, it wasn’t planned, I just had enough. Sonny wouldn’t do a damn thing so I did. Then I cleaned up afterwards. It was so great, I hated to go back in. I wanted to stay out forever. Sonny finally came back out when we got home. Drove him crazy, wonderin’ what happened to all that time he lost.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“Feel? I told you, it felt great. But the best part of it was not getting caught. And old Shackles—he sure as hell knows what it’s like to fall into hell.”
Molly said nothing. She stared down at the top of his head for a long time. A chill went through her. He had just described committing a murder when he was nine years old. She had dealt with a lot of dissociative behavior in six years but had never experienced anything quite like this.
“Can we talk about Bishop Rushman?” she asked cautiously.
“Shit, another Christ freak. They always have to bring the devil, hell, and Christ into their thing. When he didn’t have the answers, it was always the same old song: ‘Accept it on faith. Christ loves those who trust him most.’ Who could believe His Excellency about anything?”
“Was he mean to Sonny?”
“Ah, you know, he made fun of him because Sonny was smart, asked questions. The rest of them didn’t give a damn. They’d go along with anything.”
“Tell me about the night the bishop was killed. Why did you come out that night?”
“Because Sonny was scared shitless of him. So I had to do something.”
“Did you have a plan?”
“I didn’t have time for a plan,” he said, turning slightly and winking at her. “I improvised.”
He lay silent for a little while and she did not press him. “Driving out the devil, that’s what he called it,” Roy said. “Driving out the devil! If you couldn’t get a hard-on, it was the devil’s fault. If you had a cold when there was a meeting, the devil had his hand on you.”
“Did you believe that?”
“Come oonnn. None of us believed it, but what the hell, we were having fun, right? Let the old bastard make up any excuse he wanted. Sonny was the only one upset.”
“Because Rushman was a bishop?”
Roy got up on one elbow again, leaned toward her and whispered, “Because they were fucking his girl. I mean, the first couple times he maybe was confused—but after that he was pissed off because everybody was fucking his little Linda. Peter, Billy, Alex, and His royal fucking Excellency.”
“You really hated the bishop, didn’t you?”
“I told you, he was a pervert and a liar. One minute we were one big, happy, fornicating family, the next he was giving us all this shit because we were no good. No good? We were no good because he made us no good, that’s why.”
“So you decided to execute the bishop?”
“We… we decided to execute the bishop.”
He nodded. “It was starting to drive Sonny crazy. He wanted him dead just as much as I did but I had to do it all, he wimped out as usual. Just like with Peter and Billy.”
There it is again. Peter and Bitty? What does he mean, “Just like with Peter and Billy”?
Roy was angry. And he was bragging.
“How about Linda and Alex?” she said. “Why just pick on Billy and Peter?”
“They took off. Alex and Linda split.”
“Why?”
Roy shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe they were getting nervous. After that last time, she went home to Ohio. I don’t know what happened to that little fink Alex.”
“What about Peter and Billy?” she asked cautiously.
“The usual. He always wimped out. He’d get steamed up and then … y’know, I’d have to come in and take care of things. It was no different than takin’ down His Excellency.”
My God, is he hinting that he killed Peter and Billy too?
“How did it happen?” she asked, keeping the question vague, hoping he would continue to talk about the two missing altar boys.
“What do you want, the gory details?”
“Yes. How you did it. How you felt when you did it. Everything.”
“Jesus, you’re just as sick as everybody else,” he said.
Suddenly he jumped up and started pacing back and forth, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he spoke. He went on, describing the events of that night as if he were having an out-of-body experience, as if he were high in the corner of the room, watching what was happening …
The bishop had invited Aaron up for a “private screening” of their latest epic. Peter and Billy were gone, Alex and Linda had split, so nobody had seen the tape yet.
Another reference to Peter and Billy, she thought. What does he mean, “Peter and Billy were gone”? Gone where?
Aaron hated it but the bishop really got off on it, as always. He started breathing heavily, rubbing himself. Aaron could see on the tape that Linda had really gotten into it with Billy and he started feeling jealous. The bishop told them what to do and they were really goin’ at it. Then of course, the bishop’s offscreen voice started telling them all what to do. Sonny hated the film and he hated the bishop. The bishop’s voice told Peter, who was already primed, to come into the picture and Aaron went berserk inside.
The bishop, staring at the screen, said to Aaron, “You getting hard yet?” and he robbed Aaron’s leg.
“No,” Aaron answered, and moved away from him.
“The devil’s got you tonight,” said the bishop.
“I’m not in the mood,” Aaron mumbled nastily, and stood up. At first, the bishop got a little testy, but he shrugged it off. Aaron left and the bishop went into the shower.
Aaron went down to the bishop’s library to borrow a book. But he couldn’t get rid of the anger. Linda had left him, she was gone—but the tape was very much alive. He started back up the stairs. He could hear the shower running and the bishop singing. He stood by the door to the bedroom and then whoosh, it was as if the hand of God had reached down inside him and given a giant tug and he suddenly was turned inside out…
I had to take over at that point, he would have really screwed it up. I was thinking to myself, Maybe this time he’ll go through with it, but forget that. Not a chance.
I hustled down the hall to the kitchen and checked the kitchen door. It was unlocked. I went outside on the landing and checked around and the place was deserted. I went back inside, took off my sneakers and then got a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and drank it. My heart was beatin’ so hard I thought it was going to break one of my ribs and the drink calmed me down. I opened the knife drawer and checked them out. The thick carving knife was perfect. Be like carving a turkey on Thanksgiving. I checked it and it was like a razor. I nicked my finger and sucked on it until the bleeding stopped. Then I went down the hall to the bedroom.
He had the music way up. Ode to Joy. I could picture him standing in the bedroom directing that air orchestra of his. Shoulda been a goddamn orchestra conductor, maybe we never would’ve met him.
That’s just what he was doing. He had candles burning—cleaning the air, he called it—some kind of incense. His ring was lying on the table beside the bed. He always took his ring off before he took a shower. He left his watch on, I guess it was waterproof, but he took his ring off. Make sense out of that. So there he stood, the fucking saint of the city. His naked Holiness, conducting that imaginary band of angels.
The music was building. I thought, Now it’s your turn. So I went over and got the ring and put it on. His Excellency was out of it. Arms flailing around, eyes closed, unaware. I Just walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder with the knife and he turns around and I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head when he saw the knife. He got the message real fast. I held out the hand with the ring on it and pointed the knife at it and he begins to smile. So I jabbed the knife toward the carpet and that wiped the smile off his face.
He got down on his knees and I wiggled that ring finger under his nose. The bishop slowly leaned forward to kiss the ring and I pulled away my hand and I swung that knife back with both hands and when he looked up, whack, I swung at his throat. I yelled, ‘Forgive me, Father!’ but I was laughing in his face when I said it. He moved and I didn’t catch him in the throat, the knife caught his shoulder and damn near chopped the whole thing off.
He screamed and held out his hands. I don’t know how he even raised up that one but he did. I started chopping on him but I kept hitting his hands and arms. Then I cut his throat and switched and swung the knife up underhand right into his chest. It was a perfect hit. Didn’t hit any ribs, just went right in to the hilt and he went, “Oh,” like that, and he fell straight back and the knife pulled out of my hand. I had to put my foot on his chest to get it out. Then I took that big swipe at his neck.
I couldn’t stop. It was like free games on a pinball machine. Blood was flying everywhere. I know every cut I made, they were all perfect. Thirty-six stab wounds, twelve incised, seventeen cuts and one beautiful amputation. I counted every one.
When he fell he knocked over a table and lamp. There was blood splashed on his blinds and he let out this one terrific scream. So I knew we had to get outta there. Sonny tries the door to the closet and it’s locked. So we head back to the kitchen.
She had to swallow hard several times during his description, his details reminding her of the photographs in Vail’s office. Her revulsion turned back to fear when he finished. He stood a few feet from her, staring through half-closed, insane eyes.
“I tell him, ‘Ditch the knife,’” Roy said, his eyes memory-mad. “Does he hear me? Shit no, he never hears me. I hear him, all right, but not Sonny, oh no. It’s like I don’t exist.”
“How did it feel, Roy? While you were doing that?”
“Usually it feels good … I like killing, if that’s what you mean. But not this time.”
“Why not? Why didn’t that feel good this time?”
His lip curled back again. “Because we got caught. The stupid shit runs out the door with the knife in his hand, doesn’t get the videotape. I do my part and he fucks up royally, as usual. See, you think he’s this sweet kid but that’s bullshit, Doc. Y’know the only difference between him and me?”
Molly shook her head.
“He wants it… I do it.”
Then in an instant, his expression changed, his shoulders slumped, and Roy was gone.
Questions swirled through her mind, but one clouded all others: What happened to Peter and Billy?
It was time to get Vail up to Daisyland.
TWENTY-SIX
It was Tom Goodman who solved the secret of “B32.156.”
It was right there, in front of Vail’s face, all the time. It had been a week since Molly’s wreck. Vail had received a call from Molly the night before and had cancelled all appointments and was pr
eparing to leave for Daisyland. Vail had shown the Roy tape, as it was now known to the team, to Naomi, the Judge and Tom Goodman.
“What you’re going to see stays in this room,” Vail said before he started. “And I don’t want a lot of discussion. I just want you to think about it until Molly decides whether it’s for real.”
Their reaction had been expected. Naomi was awed, Goodman was perplexed, the Judge was skeptical.
“It would be interesting to see how many defendants have ever successfully appeared before the bench claiming their alter ego committed the crime” was his response.
“Have you ever tried one?” Vail asked.
“Nope.”
“Naomi,” Vail said, “work some magic—see what you can find out for us.”
On this morning, Vail had called them together before leaving for Daisyland and was running over notes. Goodman had been staring at the library book he had found in Aaron’s stander and suddenly he bolted for the door.
“I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” he yelled back at Vail. “Don’t leave until I get back.”
“What the hell…” Vail said, but Goodman was gone.
Naomi, meanwhile, had busied herself at the phone. It took her fifteen minutes to come up with some bad news.
“I just had a nice chat with the ABA research department,” she said. “There were fifty-three felony cases last year involving mental disorders as grounds for defense. Seven of them involved dual or multiple personalities.”
“And…?” asked Vail.
“Six convictions, one hung jury, no acquittals.”
Vail whistled softly through his teeth.
“Odds are for shit,” she sighed.
“They aren’t even odds,” said Vail. He paced the room, snapping his fingers. Then he stopped abruptly and turned to her.
“Okay,” he said. “I want case citations on every MPD defense for the last five years. Judge, as soon as she gets the list, start reading.”
As he was leaving, Goodman wheeled up in his Bug. He jumped out and ran up to the door as Vail was walking out.
“Wait a minute! Listen to this,” Goodman said. He took out his little black book and read: “‘No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.’”
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