by Mason, Renea
He turned back. “Oh, I’m not. It’s just my turn to be a bit distracted.”
Out of the corner of my eye I caught an image that flashed across the TV screen and my stomach heaved. Shit. I had been traveling so often, the usual deluge of reporters banging of the door failed to alert me that it was time again. They hadn’t caught up with me in time.
Before I could make a graceful exit, a bald-guy named Pete, who worked in physician sales, hollered from several seats away, “Hey, Elaine, isn’t that your dad?”
Fuck. I grabbed the wine, took a large gulp and turned to the doctor. “Thank you so much for the drink, Doctor. It was very nice to meet you, but I have to go.” I pushed my chair back, stood and paused, along with everyone else including the doctor, staring at the TV flashing images of my father. On the screen in the closed-captioning—the country’s most notorious serial killer continues his game of cat and mouse with detectives for the third straight year. In order to extend his stay on death row, Daniel Simon Watkins reveals one victim per year to authorities, on the anniversary of the murders. Tonight, police are still searching for the complete set of remains belonging to Margaret Marie Smith of Omaha Nebraska, Watkins’ second victim, while family members of missing women from all over the world gather outside the New York State Penitentiary awaiting the name of his third. Police expect the “Basement Killer’s” announcement this week.
I didn’t answer Pete, but turned and headed to the host podium. I spotted my coat on a rack nearby. I yanked it from the hanger and threaded one arm into the sleeve as I pushed the door open with my hip. The uneven sidewalk stifled my gait, but I wanted to get back to my room and lock the door. How could the man who gave me everything—the perfect childhood—become my biggest nightmare? He was the reason I could no longer have a career in public relations. No company wanted a PR rep with my kind of baggage. What was it with sales people and their nosey questions?
About three feet from the Marriot threshold, someone grabbed my arm. Fear sent a rush of adrenaline through me. Ready to fight, I screamed, “Let go of me.”
“Elaine, it’s me, Xavier, I think you’ve caused me enough bodily harm tonight. You don’t need to try to kick my ass, too.”
I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself. I couldn’t face him.
Finally I managed, “Thanks for checking on me. I’m fine. You can head back.”
He grabbed my hand and laced his fingers between mine and pulled me toward the entrance. He looped his arm around my waist and held me against his body as we navigated the revolving door.
Once inside he guided me to a corner of the lobby with a loveseat and a fireplace, away from the prying eyes of the hotel guests.
“Sit down. And note: it’s not a request.”
“Yes, Sir.” I begrudgingly followed his instructions and hoped that appeasing him might end the discussion sooner. This is not how I wanted him to remember me.
“Look at me.”
I stared at the fire. There was no way I could look at him.
He huffed. “Fine, have it your way.” He turned so that his leg rested against mine. “You are not your father. Elaine, I was a practicing psychiatrist for many years.”
I laughed, but the sound wasn’t formed of humor. “So I finally get to meet the great Dr. Xavier Vincent and of all the embarrassing situations I could ever dream up, having him provide pro bono psychiatric help in a hotel lobby has to top them all. Reality really is more screwed up than fiction.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Another chuckle escaped and I turned to him. “Doctor, I really do appreciate your offer. It’s very nice of you to come here to try to help me, but this is not the picture of me I wanted you to leave with. I’m not frail and I’m not weak. I am raw, and need to heal. As a shrink, you know that.”
“How do you want me to see you?”
I inhaled, considering, then on an exhale I said, “A confident, decisive woman, who knows who she is. Not this mess you see tonight.”
“Done.”
I looked at him. “What?”
“That’s exactly how I’ll think of you. I always have.”
I buried my head in my cupped hands, and I peered out to the world through my spread fingers, trying to not read more into his words than he could possibly mean.
His hand moved to rest on my knee. “Answer one question for me and I’ll leave you for the night.”
I sat up. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you know who you are. What I want to know is, who you are going to be? I mean after all, shouldn’t we all strive for something more? Happiness only leads to complacency. At least that’s what I was once told by a very wise colleague.” He squeezed my leg, as he echoed back my words. “Tell me, Elaine, what more are you striving for, what are your desires?”
I took a deep breath and sat up. “That’s hard to answer. It changes. Some days, it’s simply to make it all go away. Others it’s to keep focused on the good in things. Most times, it’s being able to dream like I once did. I had a career, a future. Now I have a psychopathic dog and pony show that kills my ambitions every three hundred and sixty-five days. And times like tonight…”
He leaned in closer. “What about tonight?”
“Sometimes…I wish the distractions were enough.”
“Perhaps you need bigger distractions.”
I took a deep breath.
He patted my leg. “I’ll keep my promise. Please, get some rest. I’m happy that we got to meet.”
I chuckled, “Shouldn’t that be my line?”
“Trust me, the honor is all mine.” He stood. “I’m sure we will see each other again. It’s a small world.”
He turned and walked through the lobby. I watched him until he disappeared behind a pillar. What a mess of a trip. All I hoped for was a good night sleep.
****
The next morning, I gathered my things and headed to the lobby to turn in my room key and catch the shuttle to the airport. The receptionist took the key. “How was your stay?”
I leaned my luggage against the counter. “Good.”
“Oh, Ms. Watkins, I have a package for you. One moment…”
The tall, blond gentleman set a small package on the counter.
I figured I’d left something at the conference center. I tugged on the brown paper and it revealed another package, this one wrapped in gold foil. Careful not to tear the wrapping since it was so beautiful, I released the tape and slid a small box from inside.
The silver box, adorned with tightly woven knotwork, was empty.
On the inside of the lid were the words,
“When Pandora opened the box and released evil onto the world, suffering became our burden. But in this story, most fail to recognize her gift—hope. For if the box can be emptied, it can once again be filled. Anything is possible if you believe hard enough. Lock away all that haunts you to find all you’ve ever hoped for.”
It wasn’t signed. There was no author acknowledgement, but the gift could have only come from one person—Dr. Vincent.
Chapter Two
Favor
“Elaine.” Stanley Bergman smiled and waved me to a black leather chair in front of his desk.
His suit was a drastic change from the toga he wore at the last frat party we’d attended. But he had the same wide smile and boyish features I remembered. “Stan…” I paused. “Or should I now call you Vice President, Sir?” It was strange to see him sitting behind the mahogany desk of one of largest pharmaceutical companies in the world—Chatum D. Western Labs.
He lowered his head, revealing the slightest tinges of premature gray in his dark strands of hair, but the move didn’t hide his blush. “You saw me naked when they tied me to the light post during Rush Week. We’re past formalities.”
I laughed. “Yes, and if I remember, that cold night didn’t do you any favors.”
“Hey now, I had hoped you’d forgotten that part.”
“Believe me, I
tried.” I smiled, and took the seat.
He fiddled with an envelope in his hand. “So… you’re probably wondering why I asked you here, since you don’t even work in my department.” He folded his arms across the desk; cufflinks gleaming in the sunlight entering through the Venetian blinds.
“I am.” I studied his deep brown eyes for any hint of anxiety. Why was I here? It had been months since my career died at that podium in Kansas City and it had been almost a week since my strange encounter with Dr. Vincent. I would never work in public relations again, but the marketing position they’d hidden me in since the incident had started to grow on me, even all the unappreciated staff presentations I was tasked with giving. I would hate to lose it. Was he leaving? Restructuring perhaps?
He took a long breath and his short, chestnut curls bounced when he sighed. Over his tented fingers he asked, “Have you done something different with your hair?”
“My hair?” Why would he ask about my hair? Whatever his issue, it couldn’t be good. “I pulled it up today, but other than that, it’s the same as it was in college—long and reddish-brown. What’s going on, Stan?”
He turned the envelope end over end, and adjusted a notebook so that it covered the morning’s newspaper on his desk. Before he obscured the headline, I read—World’s Most Prolific Serial Killer to Release Name of Victim Number Three.
“Is that what this is concerning? Him?” I pointed to the paper. “You don’t need to hide it. Do you honestly think I haven’t seen it? Every year the media crawls out of the woodwork to chase me down and hash it all over again. I had to dodge them this morning, barely made it to my car.”
“I can’t even imagine what that’s like.” He gave me the look everyone always did—sympathy laced with morbid curiosity.
I crossed my arms, trying to hide my irritation. “You know what? Neither can I. It’s been three years, and it still doesn’t seem real. And the sad thing is I don’t know how long it will go on. No one knows the real body count, but him.”
I hadn’t talked to Stan about it, but everyone knew the story. It was something I avoided and foolishly thought everyone else would too. I don’t think anyone can ever come to terms with the fact that his or her childhood was a farce—some kind of perversion of the perfect fairytale. The white house, the picket fence, two children, adoring parents… It all crumbled three years ago when the nightly news flashed the missing persons photo of Abigail Evans.
“It must be difficult.”
I leaned toward him and fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Stan, difficult is your dog dying. Finding out your father is a serial killer…well…that’s beyond difficult. I sacrificed my childhood for truth and justice…I’m lucky I’m sane.”
He cleared his throat. “Do you still talk to him?”
“Who? My father? No, my childhood and my career were payment enough for the fantasy he gave me. I don’t owe him anything else.”
His brow furrowed. “Your career?”
“Come on Stan.” I slammed my hands against the chair arms. “ I have a degree in public relations from one of the most prestigious universities in this country yet the first time my father is brought up at a public event, the company sticks me in an office, never to be heard from again, except to regurgitate information to employees. You can’t have a PR Rep. with my kind of baggage. I’m a distraction.”
“Why do you stay?”
I took a deep breath. “He’ll still be there for me to answer for no matter where I go. This company saved my sister’s life. Without that cancer drug, she would be dead. She is the last thread I have to a normal life—the only person who can understand how I feel. And at least I’m doing some good, even if it is behind a desk, instead of representing Western to the public.”
“Speaking of that,” he paused and rubbed his hands on his pants. “When you were in Chicago…”
Why did he seem so nervous?
“After the presentation you gave a few weeks ago, I heard you spoke with Dr. Vincent. What happened?” He rubbed his jaw while maintaining eye contact.
I shifted in my seat, sitting forward. This was a line of questioning I didn’t expect. “Nothing big. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing is small regarding Dr. Vincent. Come on, what happened?”
I raised an eyebrow. “He asked if I was happy with my job.”
“And?”
“If you’re worried I told him that the company relegated me to the dungeon, I didn’t. I simply said that I had an important job.” I shot him a suspicious glare. “Why? I was so nervous speaking to the man I could barely form words. I really wish someone would have tipped me off that he would be there.” Stan didn’t need to know about our private conversation, or the box. Besides, I wasn’t one hundred percent certain it was from the doctor. I just had no other suspects.
“No one expected him to be there. That’s the kind of man he is.” He tapped the envelope against the desk again.
I wondered if Stan had developed a nervous tick. I didn’t understand his behavior. Nothing I’d done warranted retribution. The experience had been much like meeting a rock star. My brain had pretty much checked out and I’d made a fool out of myself. The main thing I remembered about the good doctor was how good he smelled and… “Did I say something wrong? I swear, I didn’t say anything about you or the company.”
“OK.” He sighed. “Dr. Vincent is very important to this company. He’s the icon. Hell, since he discovered Lyenstat and revolutionized oncology research, no one even remembers who Chatum D. Western is, and he founded the damn company. Dr. Vincent might not directly manage anything, but don’t think he doesn’t call the shots.”
“Of course. Vincent put Western on the Fortune 100 list. Trust me, I understand how important he is, beyond all the lives he saved.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Yes. And there are rumors that he is very volatile and decisive.”
I gasped. “Shit. He didn’t fire me, did he? Those stupid morons from sales. Son of—” I grasped the arms of the chair, squeezing, and tried to keep my cool. I might not have been happy with my banishment, but I needed the job. My father wasn’t in a position to finish paying off my college loans.
“No, he didn’t fire you. Settle down. What morons from sales?”
“That idiot from Kansas City. If he had just stuck to the talking points. Instead he brought up how it must have been terrible having a father like mine when I was growing up. Instead of agreeing, I told the truth. I said my childhood was as close to perfect as one could get and my father was loving and kind. He accused me of condoning my father’s actions, and they removed me from the podium before I could set the record straight. Then bam I’m assigned to marketing research.” I pulled at a thread on my shirt. “Then that Pete guy from Chicago…” I ran my hands along the seam of my skirt. “What the hell is going on? Please just say it. I can handle it.” I held my breath. This couldn’t be good.
Stanley cleared his throat. “Dr. Vincent has requested your presence.”
“OK. That’s surprising.” I sat up straighter. “Where and when?”
He handed me an envelope. “You leave tonight.”
“Tonight? Is he crazy? Where to?” I took the thick white rectangle from his outstretched hand. Testing the seal on the envelope with my thumb, I resisted the urge to tear into it like a kid on Christmas Day.
“Maybe so. But please, Elaine, don’t screw this up. Whatever you do is going to be a reflection on me. Not only because he came to me, the VP assigned to his product operations, with his request, but I was the person who recommended you to Western in the first place.”
“Gee, Stan, thanks for the vote of confidence.” I glared at him.
“No, you don’t understand. There are rumors about Dr. Vincent, and with your hotheaded temper…”
“My temper?” The heat flooding my cheeks made it difficult to deny his accusation. I shook my head. I took a strong stance in one meeting and now I was the stuff of legends. In my
defense, it had been an ethical issue. But I had to admit when I picked my hill to die on, my demise was theatrical.
“Yes. You can be rather…opinionated.”
The fact that he was right irritated me more. “What kind of rumors?”
“You know, eccentric genius with control issues and all that. He might ask you to walk his cat or something stupid. If he does, just suck it up and go with it. Dr. Vincent is the reason I’m Vice President.”
“Well, if the guy promoted you, why are you so afraid?” I stared at the thick, white envelope in my hand. Ms. Elaine Watkins scrolled across the front in elegant script.
“He didn’t promote me. He demanded the old VP be fired. No reason. Just up and fired him. You’ve got to be careful. My three kids are depending on you.”
“No pressure, huh?” I rolled my eyes.
“Elaine.” It almost sounded like a whine.
“All right. I’ll walk his cat with a smile on my face.”
“Thank you.” He relaxed in his seat.
I stood, stuffed the envelope under my arm and pointed at him. “You’re going to owe me. I don’t even like cats.”
He laughed. “You have a cat.”
“OK, I like cats, but they are a pain in the ass to walk.”
Stan shook his head. “I’m sure Dr. Vincent will make it worth the effort.”
It was my turn to laugh. “One can hope. Have you seen him? Plus he saved my sister, so a little feline sojourn won’t kill me.” I sighed. “This will be a good distraction from the drama surrounding my father. I hope I can keep myself together enough not to say something stupid.” I smiled and glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll call and let you know if you still have a job.”
He stopped laughing. His brow furrowed. “That’s not funny.”
Making my exit, I pulled the door shut behind me.
I tore open the envelope.
Oh my God!
“Paris.”
Chapter Three
Paris
The crowd outside my apartment parted with reluctance. Microphones appeared in front of my mouth, but just like every other year, silence was my only response to their constant inquiries. My father played the media just like he played his family and his victims, dragging out his death sentence for as long as possible with the promise of another victim’s name on the anniversary of his yearly hunting trips. And to think, we assumed he hunted deer. I refused to play his game. Dr. Vincent’s invitation couldn’t have come at a better time.
