Watching

by Blake Pierce

In her mind, she turned to look. There Leon was, sitting with a girl, chatting her up.

  Riley eyes snapped open and she saw the table, now empty in the sunlight.

  Was that real? she asked herself.

  Or did she just imagine that she had seen Leon there?

  She closed her eyes again. And there he was, his attention entirely focused on the attractive young woman sitting across the table from him.

  Now Riley was sure of it. She really had glimpsed Leon during those panic-filled moments when she’d been looking for Trudy.

  But now Riley knew—Leon hadn’t been stalking Trudy at all.

  He hadn’t even been aware of her. His whole attention had been focused on the girl he had been sitting with.

  Riley shuddered deeply as she remembered again what Agent Crivaro had said …

  “That kid never killed anyone in his life.”

  And now Riley knew …

  Crivaro was right, and I was wrong.

  I should have believed him.

  Suddenly, her head was spinning and she felt horribly dizzy and nauseous.

  Without stopping to think, she dashed to the restroom, went inside, and shut the door behind her.

  Then she threw up violently in the toilet.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered.

  What’s happening?

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  When the vomiting stopped, Riley leaned gasping over the toilet bowl.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered again. She was seldom ill. Why was this happening now?

  Of course she’d just had a terrible shock, realizing how wrong she’d been about Leon.

  She was hit with a gnawing discouragement that the murders were far from solved, and nearly overwhelmed with horror to realize the killer was still out there.

  And, she also reminded herself, there was the fact that she still had a bit of a hangover …

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking on the restroom door.

  She heard the cleaning man’s voice …

  “Hey, miss—are you OK in there?”

  Riley sighed and coughed.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a raspy voice.

  She went to the sink and rinsed off her face and tried to straighten herself up a little. Then she went out of the restroom, where the cleaning man was still standing with his mouth hanging open.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” the man asked.

  “No, but thanks for letting me have a look,” Riley said.

  Without another word, she hurried past him and headed on outside. As she walked along the street, her stomach settled a little, but her brain was still reeling.

  I was wrong, she told herself yet again.

  The killer’s still free.

  And the cops didn’t know that. But Agent Crivaro knew, and now she did too. Riley felt desperate to do something to fix her mistake—and to do it right now.

  But what could she do? How could she find out anything that the FBI agent didn’t already know?

  Her mind felt wiped clean of any ideas about the killer. She had to start thinking again, look for fresh insights, start all over.

  She walked faster as it dawned on her where she might look for the insights she needed. With a new sense of purpose, she headed to the campus library, which had just opened for the day. Once inside, she went straight to the long table filled with library catalogue computers. As she sat down at one and started to search, she heard a voice whisper from across the table …

  “Riley Paige!”

  She looked up and saw Professor Hayman, who was peeking at her around his own terminal.

  He smiled at her and whispered, “Good to see you studying on this lovely Sunday morning!”

  But his cheerful expression shifted to one of concern.

  “Riley—are you all right? What happened?”

  For a moment, Riley wondered what he could possibly mean.

  But then she remembered the bruises still on her face.

  Riley smiled weakly at him and said, “I’m fine, Professor Hayman.

  Then she lowered her head to focus on her own computer screen.

  As much as she liked her psychology professor, she didn’t want to talk to him or anybody else right now.

  She typed in a search for the book she wanted and was relieved to see that it wasn’t checked out.

  Then she got up and went upstairs to the shelf location and took down the book— Dark Minds: The Homicidal Personality Revealed, by Dr. Dexter Zimmerman. Already thumbing through the pages, she headed for the nearest study table and sat down.

  Of course she’d read and reread the book many times before she had returned Professor Hayman’s copy. But she’d found it so rich in ideas and insights, she’d seemed to find new revelations in its pages every time she opened it.

  And that was what she needed right now …

  A fresh revelation about a murderer’s mind.

  She found herself flipping to the last chapter of the book, where Dr. Zimmerman had summed up his discoveries and provided further thoughts. A particular paragraph quickly caught her eye …

  In this book I have explored the homicidal personality in some depth. Alas, there are many aspects of serial murder that remain unresearched, including some that have nothing to do directly with the criminal’s mind. What sort of mental trauma does a community experience when it is plagued by serial murders? Does a victimized group, whether large or small, heal from its collective psychic wounds quickly, slowly, or not at all?

  Riley almost turned to another page, thinking that this passage had nothing to do with what her current dilemma. But she was seized by an uncanny gut feeling that she’d found what she was looking for.

  She kept on reading …

  It is a matter that I would like to study myself. And yet I confess that I don’t know at this juncture how to go about it. The ethical problems alone are enough to perplex the academic mind. How does one transform a particular community—a neighborhood, small town, or even a college campus—into a laboratory setting for such a survey? One cannot very well turn a serial killer loose among a group of people just to find out how that group will react. And yet there must be some way to examine this important question …

  Zimmerman then went on to raise other questions that he thought deserved more research. But Riley ignored them and read the same passage several times. A gnawing horror built up inside her as she felt herself on the verge of thinking the unthinkable.

  No, she told herself, trying to keep such thoughts out of her mind.

  I’ve got to be wrong.

  It’s not possible.

  But now she found herself remembering how she’d felt about Dr. Zimmerman before she’d gotten to know him—how disagreeably touchy-feely and cuddly she’d found him, so obsessed with hugs and good feelings.

  She’d changed her mind after their first conversation—had come to like, respect, and admire him. He even seemed to understand and appreciate her in ways that nobody else except Agent Crivaro did.

  Most of all, Riley had come to trust him.

  She felt like she could talk to him about anything.

  How many other students felt the same way?

  How many students—even coeds—might not feel the least bit alarmed if they happened to encounter this kindly, rumpled, smiling gentleman on the campus paths by night?

  If they knew him even just a little, wouldn’t they be pleased to strike up an interesting conversation with this very interesting man?

  Mightn’t they even invite him into their rooms just to keep talking to him?

  After all, how could they possibly suspect any danger?

  Riley shivered deeply as she reread a sentence …

  How does one transform a particular community—a neighborhood, small town, or even a college campus—into a laboratory setting for such a survey?

  Riley shook her head, trying to drive away the idea.

  No, she thought. It’s just
too crazy.

  Surely nobody could be sick enough to kill people for the sake of an academic study, least of all a kindly, sensitive man like Dr. Zimmerman.

  And yet …

  Didn’t she see it right here in his book, printed in black and white?

  Was it possible that he had turned Lanton University into his perfect laboratory?

  Riley was shaking all over now. Even the spacious library suddenly seemed cramped and claustrophobic—and at the same time lonely.

  I’ve got to talk to somebody, she thought. Somebody who can tell me that I’m wrong.

  Because I’ve got to be wrong.

  But who could she possibly talk to about such an insanely twisted idea?

  Then it occurred to her—Professor Hayman sometimes kept Sunday office hours. She had his office number written down in her purse. She head straight to the library’s payphone and punched in that number.

  She was relieved that Professor Hayman answered instead of his outgoing message.

  When she told him who it was, he said, “Hey, Riley, I’m surprised to hear from you today. What can I do for you?”

  Riley gulped hard.

  Could she really talk about this over the phone?

  She stammered, “Professor Hayman, if—if you’re in your office, could I—?”

  Professor Hayman’s voice sounded concerned now.

  “Come on over to talk? Sure. Where are you right now?”

  “The library.”

  “Come on over then.”

  As she hung up the phone, Riley realized that she didn’t feel the least bit relieved to have someone to talk to about her terrible hunch.

  What would Hayman think of her for even imagining such a possibility?

  Riley took Dr. Zimmerman’s book to the front desk and checked it out. She left the library and headed toward the psychology building. Before she reached her destination, she was surprised to that see Professor Hayman had come out to meet her along the way.

  “Riley, you sounded upset,” he said as they approached each other. He took a closer look at her and added, “What’s the matter? What happened to you? Were you attacked?”

  Riley suddenly realized how awful she must look. Aside from her bruises, she was sure that she now was as white as a sheet from shock.

  She tried to explain as they walked along together…

  “A guy tried to jump me at a party last night. Tried to rape me, actually. Don’t worry, I fought him off.”

  She laughed nervously and added, “Believe me, he looks a lot worse than I do right now. The police came and got him.”

  Hayman said, “Do the police think … I mean …”

  Riley understood what he wanted to ask.

  She replied carefully, “The police are pretty sure he’s the guy who killed those girls.”

  Hayman breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  “Then it’s over, thank God. He’ll never kill again. And you took him down! Do you realize how amazing that is, Riley? You’re a hero!”

  Riley felt a stab of emotion at those words …

  “A hero.”

  That’s what Gina had said this morning.

  She hadn’t been displeased to hear it then.

  But now she didn’t feel like a hero.

  In fact, she felt like she was anything but a hero.

  The very word made her feel guilty and wrong.

  I’ve been wrong—so wrong—about everything.

  To her own surprise, she felt tears trickling down her cheeks. A sob forced its way out of her throat.

  Hayman said, “Riley, you’re crying.”

  Riley nodded and more sobs came.

  Hayman took her gently by the arm and said, “Come on, let’s sit down and talk.”

  Riley again wondered …

  Can I really talk to him about this?

  Then she thought that maybe Professor Hayman could talk sense to her, explain how wrong she was about Dr. Zimmerman. Surely she could be wrong yet again.

  That would be wonderful, she thought.

  When they arrived at the Psychology building, Professor Hayman unlocked the front door. When they got inside, he locked the door again. He led her to his office and offered her a seat in front of his desk.

  Then he walked around the desk and sat in his swivel chair, leaning toward her with a look of empathy and compassion.

  He spoke a bit cautiously …

  “Riley, you know I’m not a clinical psychologist. I hope it’s not a mistake—talking to me, I mean. All I want to do is help. If you like, I could refer you to a professional therapist …”

  Riley shook her head, her sobbing starting to wane a little.

  “It’s OK,” she said. “Maybe you can understand. You see …”

  Her mind suddenly reeled.

  How could she begin to explain what she was thinking?

  She began to speak very slowly …

  “Professor Hayman … could you tell me …. How do you feel about Dr. Zimmerman?”

  Hayman looked surprised by the question.

  But then his expression turned to one of almost awed reverence.

  “I think the whole world of him,” he said. “He’s my mentor, my inspiration. I feel like I owe him … well, simply everything. He’s been like a father to me.”

  Riley’s spirits sank as she remembered something Hayman had said about Zimmerman in class …

  “He’s just about the most insightful guy I’ve ever known in my life.”

  He really will think I’m crazy, she thought.

  But who else did she have to talk to about this?

  She opened Dr. Zimmerman’s book and found the passage that had disturbed her. With shaking hands, she passed the open book across the table to Professor Hayman.

  She said, “Could you please read the third paragraph and … tell me what you think?”

  Hayman slipped on a pair of reading glasses and read silently until he came to a phrase that he spoke aloud …

  “‘… a laboratory setting for such a survey.’”

  His expression changed as he kept reading. Now he seemed sad and troubled.

  Does he understand? Riley wondered.

  Hayman slowly closed the book and tilted down his reading glasses and stared into space for a few moments.

  Then he looked at Riley and said, “Riley … do you really think … ?”

  Riley’s heart quickened.

  He does understand! she thought.

  She said, “I know it sounds crazy …”

  Professor Hayman slowly shook his head.

  “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t sound crazy. I’ve often wondered … I’ve often thought …. It has occurred to me …”

  He got up from his chair, raised his glasses back up, and picked up the heavy book and opened it again.

  He began pacing a little as he read bits of the text, “‘The ethical problems alone …’ ‘How does one transform a particular community …’ ‘One cannot very well turn a serial killer loose …’”

  Still peering into the book, he began to walk around his desk.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? Why can’t one turn a serial killer loose on a college campus—if it’s for the good of scientific knowledge? If the insights are of enough value? Not Dr. Zimmerman, of course … not such a kindly, innocent, scholarly man …”

  As he stepped nearer her, Riley began to feel a strange tingle of discomfort.

  Hayman continued, “But someone else, someone fascinated by his ideas, could very well take up his proposal …”

  Without warning, Hayman slammed the book shut and swung it against the side of Riley’s head, sending her hurtling off the chair. She banged her head sharply against the hardwood floor.

  She was seeing stars now, and her mind was unclear.

  She tried to focus on what was happening, but her thoughts were scrambled.

  Professor Hayman crouched down beside her and looked her in the eyes with a malevolent expression.

&nb
sp; He said, “It would take someone with an exceptionally strong will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Riley lay in a dazed heap on the floor, flat on her face and unable to move.

  Thoughts and memories swirled through her aching head.

  She heard again Trudy saying to Rhea …

  “Riley likes to impress Prof. Hayman. She’s got a thing for him.”

  … and she heard herself protesting sharply that she didn’t have a thing for him.

  And she remembered thinking at the same time …

  He’s cute and smart.

  Every other girl in the class has a crush on him.

  Fragments of the truth were coming together in her mind.

  She remembered imagining Trudy’s murder from the killer’s point of view—how delighted she seemed to be in his company, how eager to continue the conversation they’d been having.

  Surely Trudy had thought nothing of being alone with the charming, handsome, and intelligent young professor.

  “What coed wouldn’t feel that way?” Riley asked herself.

  “Surely not Rhea.”

  And now …

  Not even me, she realized.

  Now she heard Professor Hayman speaking, and realized that this time the voice was real, right here in the room. He was standing somewhere above her.

  Riley feebly clawed at the floor trying to move. But Hayman planted one foot squarely in the center of her back, pinning her helplessly as he kept speaking calmly …

  “It’s been going well—the experiment, I mean. I’ve been writing it all down, all my observations, the collective trauma of the campus—especially among the close friends of the victims. I’ve got a whole chapter’s worth of material about you alone. It’ll be a fine study, a fine book. Dr. Zimmerman will be so proud.”

  Hayman paused for a moment, then added …

  “I guess you must be wondering—why do I care so much about impressing him? Well, I guess you wouldn’t know. You were probably brought up in a nice little nurturing middle-class family. You have no idea what it’s like, not having a mother—just a father whose expectations are impossible to fulfill.”

  Riley was seized by the palpable irony …

  Yes, I do know.