“I take it he’s having trouble coping with his...loss?”
Patty nodded. “I wish he’d make an appointment to see someone,” Patty replied exasperatedly.
“What a shame...I’ve heard good things about him.”
“He can work miracles...on other people, at least. He can’t help himself though. He’s so deep in self-pity and depression. I don’t know how he’ll ever find his way back.”
“Well he’s been through a traumatic experience—two traumatic experiences, actually. I’m sure it’s going to take a lot of time.”
“I know. I’m trying by best to be patient with him, to help him through this rough patch but he’s totally shut me out. All we do now is argue. He’s so angry, so resentful...so hurtful.”
“I can imagine. Try not to take it personally, Patty. It’s gotta be really tough for him. Just because he’s a psychiatrist and can solve problems for other people doesn’t mean he’s able to sort out his own issues.”
“That’s what I mean...he’s the one who needs professional help now.”
“I’m sure he’ll realize that in time.”
“Sooner than later, I hope. I’m really worried about him, you know? He hasn’t been himself since that whole Hillary ordeal.”
“But he said—”
“Yes, I know what he said. But I swear on my life—I swear on Amber’s life—it was a young girl, not a man dressed up as a young girl. It was Hillary Greyson. Now I know how crazy that sounds. I know she’s supposed to be dead. But she isn’t. She’s alive and out there somewhere. That’s why I refuse to return home. Jake hates this place. He wants to return home. But I won’t go back until I know for sure that Hillary has been captured.”
“Patty, that’s actually the second reason that I’m here. You said in your statement that Jake had called to warn you that Hillary was on her way over. Yet Jake adamantly denies that it was Hillary, or even a young girl for that matter. He says it’s a man who dresses up to look like Hillary....”
Patty was shaking her head in disagreement.
“I don’t know why he’s lying about it now, but I swear to you, Eliza, I know what I saw. It was Hillary Greyson. She was wearing Monica’s dress when she got out of the cab....”
Officers had recovered Monica’s dress in the bathroom upstairs at the Greyson house. It was stained with Kathy Greyson’s blood. The finding had confirmed the connection between the murders, though police officials were still puzzled by how the murders were related. What did Kathy Greyson have in common with the Morrisons?
As a witness, Jake Bentley had been questioned until it proved to be a superfluous exercise in frustration. He had insisted that it was a young, thin-framed man in his late teens or early twenties. He denied having any knowledge as to why the perpetrator targeted them. He maintained that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and speculated that the Morrison house had just been a random location that the killer had happened upon.
Dr. Bentley had responded to the questions calmly and unwaveringly, yet something about his demeanor aroused suspicion. He knew far more than he was letting on. Investigators probed into his connection with Dr. Morrison. The two had worked together as colleagues a number of years back at the Whiteshore Psychiatric Hospital where Dr. Morrison had held the position as Chief Neurologist up until his death. Dr. Bentley had moved on to private practice, with an office closer to his home in Summerville. He had explained that he and Dr. Morrison had been discussing some of his patients to determine if they would be viable candidates for an investigational drug Morrison had developed. He explained that they were still in the early stages of their planning—that the drug had not yet gotten approval and that the patients were never even made aware of its existence. Dr. Bentley told the investigators all about Neuronentin and how Morrison had hoped that it would prove useful in curbing aggression.
Phone records revealed a pattern of correspondence between the two doctors consistent with what Dr. Bentley had asserted. Yet, the investigators smelled deceit. Dr. Bentley was withholding crucial information. They suspected that the doctors were engaged in unauthorized research, but they could find no records to validate their theory.
Currently, they were working on a different theory—that one of their mentally ill patients was responsible for the murders—someone sick in the head who became fascinated with Hillary Greyson and mimicked her savagery. They were currently battling legal physician/patient confidentiality issues to determine if they were on the right track.
Patty had been going on about Hillary and how she was afraid that the crazed teenager would eventually find them.
“I know what they’re saying on the news, that it was probably a patient or a former patient, but Hillary was never Jake’s patient...not that they’re admitting it was Hillary.”
“Maybe she was Dr. Morrison’s patient.”
“Not that I know of. I really think Monica would have mentioned it to me.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Maybe,” Patty said doubtfully, “I just don’t see why Jake is lying about it. It’s almost as if he’s protecting her or something....”
Or something, Eliza thought to herself. Jake Bentley wasn’t protecting Hillary…he was saving her for himself.
“I know,” Patty continued, “that’s ridiculous. Why would he protect the girl who destroyed his life?”
“When do you expect Jake back?”
Eliza took notice of the pained look that came across Patty’s face.
“He left before I woke up this morning. He didn’t leave a note. I have no idea where he is, when he’s coming back or how to get in touch with him.”
“Any ideas where he might be?”
Patty shook her head.
“It’s like he’s a different man. The Jake I used to know died that day. Now he’s cruel and nasty and uncaring....”
“I’m really sorry, Patty. I’m sure in time he’ll work out his feelings and things will get better for you two.”
Patty wasn’t so sure about that. Not unless Jake’s penis miraculously regenerated. Even then, would the former Jake return after all he’d been through? She couldn’t imagine what it was like to have to sit by and watch your friends get slaughtered by a merciless psychopath. She couldn’t imagine all of the pain that he himself had endured...the stabbings, the burns.... But did it give him the right to mistreat his family?
“Are there any leads in the investigation?” Patty asked, shifting the topic away from Jake. She didn’t have the strength to keep wondering about him.
Eliza shook her head.
“Nothing at all.”
“What about the prints from the crime scene?”
Eliza winced at the memory of the crime scene that she had compromised. She hadn’t gotten as much of an eyeful as the other officers there, but what she had seen was more than enough to fill her dreams with fright. She had never before seen human intestines or any part of a human that belonged on the inside for that matter. Nor had she ever smelled anything as repulsive. Even now—so far removed both in time and space from the atrocities—the thought of that vile smell made her stomach lurch.
“Eliza? Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”
“I’m sure, Patty. And to answer your question, we didn’t get anything useful back from forensics.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Hillary Greyson’s prints were found everywhere at the scene, which confounded everyone since she was dead. The forensics team had been accused of reporting scientifically implausible results. Yet, repeat tests had yielded the same questionable results leading officials to conclude that Hillary must have been a guest in the Morrison home prior to her death.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Patty said.
But for Eliza, things were beginning to make sense. Her visit had paid off. She had acquired some good, solid information from Patty. Now all she needed to do was to speak to Jake. She was hoping that he would arrive while she was still there
, but she didn’t want to take up any more of Patty’s time. She stood and extended her hand toward Patty.
“Thank you again for meeting with me on such short notice.” She pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen from her purse and scribbled her contact information. She handed the paper to Patty.
“Can you please have Jake call me as soon as he can? And if you remember anything else, please let me know.”
“I will,” Patty said. “You believe me, don’t you?” she asked with a hint of relief. “About Hillary, I mean.”
How could she lie to the poor woman who had been told everything from “your mind was playing tricks on you” to “you’re crazy?”
“Yes, I believe you. I don’t know how but I think she’s still alive.”
“So the police are searching for her?”
Not exactly.
“We’ll find her, Patty, she’s bound to slip up soon.”
“You know, I still get nightmares,” she said as she walked Eliza to the door.
“Yeah, me too. Take care, Patty.”
As Eliza walked to her car, self-doubt and nervousness overpowered her. What was she thinking? What was she doing? How did she expect to track Hillary Greyson on her own? She had been relieved of duty. She had no business pursuing this. Then again, she had a feeling that Jake was out there somewhere doing the same thing. She felt inclined to help him, to protect him. More than that, she had her own selfish reason. Hillary had murdered children and Eliza despised child murderers. If she couldn’t pursue Hillary as a police officer, she would pursue her as a vigilante.
She was well aware of the girl’s penchant for violence and torture. But as far as she knew, the girl used had mostly knives and household items to kill her victims. Eliza had turned in the pistol she used on duty, but she still had her own handgun. She was confident that it would be sufficient to aid in detaining Hillary, even if it meant killing the vile young girl. Eliza had no qualms about that at all.
First things first. Eliza reached over to the thick file folder on the passenger seat beside her. Before leaving the police station, Eliza had stealthily copied documents pertaining to the Hillary murders and the so-called “Hillary Copycat” murders, which she knew were committed not by any imposter, but by the girl herself. She pulled out the sheet on the top of the pile. It had information about Jake and Patty Bentley.
According to Patty, Jake had left the house early that morning and had not returned home all day. Did he take off on some lead that she was unaware of? Or were things just so volatile at home that he needed his own space? Eliza didn’t have much to work with, but she intended to try to find him. She would first go to his office. Maybe he was taking shelter there away from everything. The only other place she could think to find him at was his house. Patty did mention that he hated the apartment and wanted to return home. Maybe that’s where he was...lying in wait, hoping that Hillary would return there so that he could exact his revenge. He’d get away with murder too. You can’t kill a dead person....
It didn’t look promising when Eliza drove into the parking lot of Jake’s psychiatric office. Hers was the only car in the lot. Still, she was there, so she walked up to the front door and knocked. As expected, there was no answer. She turned the doorknob. It was locked. Disappointed, Eliza returned to her car hoping that she would have better luck at the Bentley house.
The twenty minute drive to the Bentley residence was fraught with tension and doubt. What if she was doing the wrong thing? Should she just take the captain’s advice and spend her time off getting professional help? Yet how could she just muzzle the nagging voice inside of her that begged for justice? It was the reason she had chosen to become a cop. After her daughter had been brutally raped and murdered, it became her life’s calling to help rid the streets of such violent scum. She did it in her daughter’s honor and to help prevent another mother from experiencing the hell she was unable, even to this day, to escape. It may have been a bad idea. Yes, she was certain that it was a bad choice. Still, Eliza made up her mind once and for all. With or without Jake, she would find Hillary Greyson. She would find that baby murderer and bring her to justice.
Hence, it was with a heavy heart that she pulled into the empty driveway. Hoping against hope, she walked up the beautiful stone paver walkway feeling defeated. With a heavy sigh, she rang the doorbell thinking, here goes nothing. Then a dreadful thought crossed her mind. What if Hillary had been camping out at the Bentley house? Eliza took a few steps back as if she expected the murderous teen to throw open the door and lunge at her with a butcher knife. A gun would definitely stop her. The problem was, she didn’t have her revolver with her.
Slowly and cautiously, Eliza reached for the doorknob. To her surprise, it was unlocked. She knew that she shouldn’t open the door and trespass into the Bentleys’ house. Yet, Eliza did just that. She chided herself for feeling so nervous as she entered the house. She tried telling herself that it was just the trespassing that unnerved her but deep down she knew better. She was afraid to confront Hillary. Would she still feel this way if she were armed?
She slowly walked from room to room in the house, listening for signs of movement, checking hidden corners and opening every door that she happened upon. The coast was clear, at least downstairs. Her heart rate accelerated as she slowly made her way up the stairs. She stopped at the top as she pondered whether to turn left or right. She decided to turn left and walked down the hall to the last bedroom. It was the master bedroom and it was empty.
Letting the tension slowly slip away from her, Eliza continued checking each door and potential hiding spot. There was no sign that Hillary had been camping out there. The house was completely empty. Relieved that she hadn’t yet come into contact with Hillary, but at the same time, disappointed that Jake wasn’t home, Eliza began walking down the stairs. She made it to bottom of the stairs when she heard the door open. She froze in place, uncertain as to what she should do.
It was Jake Bentley. He let out a loud startled sound then cursed aloud when he realized it was not Hillary invading his home. It took him a few seconds to recognize Eliza Dunn.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?” He asked angrily.
“I can explain,” she said nervously.
“You had better,” Jake demanded. “Do you have a search warrant?”
“Oh, no, no, no, I wasn’t searching for anything. I came here looking for you. Your door was unlocked so I...I just wanted to make sure Hillary Greyson wasn’t using your home as a hideout.
“That’s ridiculous. I told you all it wasn’t Hillary Greyson. She’s dead for crying out loud.”
Eliza walked down the last two steps and approached Jake.
“No, Dr. Bentley, she’s very much alive and you and I both know it.”
Jake shook his head.
“I don’t know what you’re up to but I’d like you out of my house.”
Eliza didn’t budge.
“Now!” He shouted. Eliza flinched but remained in the same spot.
“Do you hear me? Get out or I’ll call the real cops.”
Jake’s harsh words stung but they also infuriated her.
“It’s because I am a real cop—as you say—that I know Hillary’s alive. I also know that you want to go after her.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I don’t blame you. In fact, I’m after her myself.”
Jake didn’t trust the cop.
“I’d like you to leave now...unless you have a warrant or you’re placing me under arrest.”
“I know you think you can’t be straight with me because I’m a cop but I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m here for me.”
“Why do you think Hillary Greyson is alive?”
“I don’t think she’s alive, Dr. Bentley, I know it....”
Dr. Bentley walked away, leaving Eliza standing in the foyer. She wondered if he was going to call the cops...the real cops. She wasn’t sure what she should do. She could hear the c
linking of glasses.
“Well,” Jake said haughtily, “are you going to join me for a drink or not?”
Eliza released her breath, not realizing that heretofore, she had been holding it. She followed the path Jake had taken and found him sitting in the family room, a glass of light-colored liquid in his hand. Another glass, along with a decanter, sat waiting for her on the coffee table. Jake held up his glass.
“So what’s your poison, Officer? This bourbon is good and smooth.”
Eliza suspected that he’d already had one too many.
“Call me Eliza,” she said. “Sure, I’ll have a little of that.”
She wasn’t a drinker but figured it would assist in talking him into what she hoped would be a joint venture. She sat adjacent to him on a leather recliner.
Jake poured the bourbon and handed Eliza the nearly-full glass.
Eliza looked haltingly at it. There was no way she was going to drink that much. Maybe just a few sips….
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” Dr. Bentley asked. His voice had significantly softened.
“Well, I guess I have two reasons for my visit....”
After a long pause, Dr. Bentley began to grow annoyed.
“Well spit it out already, don’t keep me waiting.”
Eliza noted that his petulance was not in accord with his striking good looks.
“Fine...first I was hoping that you’d be willing to see me as a patient.”
“What? Haven’t you heard, I’m no longer treating patients. I can’t help people. I can’t even help myself.”
“That’s not true, Dr. Bentley...you’re an amazing psychiatrist and I think you’ll feel better about yourself by helping others.”
Dr. Bentley laughed hard and long until he brought on a coughing fit. He had tears in his eyes from his unrestrained laughter.
“Maybe,” he said, still laughing. “Maybe you should be my psychiatrist.”
“I’m not joking, Dr. Bentley, I think—”
“Please, call me Jake, Doctor,” he mocked and continued laughing.
He began to infuriate Eliza. No one ever seemed to take her seriously. She could feel the anger burning her cheeks.
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