I wondered if he had come for his usual questions, or if my name had come up in the morning's investigation of Nick. Had Meredith said my name?
"What do you know about the five individuals who walked out of Sommersfield Mental Hospital?"
I relaxed, maybe it was just the usual.
"There's no such place as Sommersfield," I said tiredly, repeating the approved story. "Sommersfield is a hoax created by the internet." Sommersfield was the town the Bellingham Psychiatric Institute had been in. Sommersfield Mental Hospital had been its name before Dr. Bellingham had rechristened the awful place.
"I applaud you for keeping up with the cover story, but drop it," said French. "I still believe you know something you haven't told us. Tell me about the five."
"I don't know shit," I said. "I've heard your story of what these five individuals did, but I didn't see it. I didn't see them. I have no idea who they are or where they've gone." There's some truth here, some lies, all mixed together in a kind of stir fry. I did see the Five - but what can you really tell without sounding crazy? Five mental patients that seemed like monsters, ones that according to the radio burned down the whole town. I did see them. I suspected they had something to do with Ashborn's experiments in that final wing, but I didn't really know what they were, who they were, or where they went. All I could tell French is that I had seen them, which wouldn't help him, and of course wouldn't help me, as it would mean French would feel I really did know more, and he'd be coming to see me for the next ten years. I guess then we could start celebrating anniversaries.
"You know something," said French, spending more time watching my eyes than really listening.
"I don't," I said, "but you'd be out of luck getting it from me even if I did."
French gave me a long, lazy headshake, then he pushed himself up out of his chair by the arm rests. "Mr. Keats - John - I know you think what you know is inconsequential or irrelevant, but it would help us. We need it. Mark my words, one day you'll be coming to me, begging to share what you know. I only hope it's not too late then. Not for the lives that would be lost."
He turned and shared a look at me, probably a domineering tough guy look that gets all the informants quivering in their boots, but I stared back, defiant. I didn't know anything of value, and what I did know was mine to hide, mine to keep from incriminating myself in whatever investigation he had. We shared this look for a long moment, then he turned and left. No goodbye, no so long, no toss of a business card. It was okay, I already had a stack of his cards in a drawer.
A moment after the door swung closed, it reopened and Sally came in, carrying her laptop. She sat down in the client chair, spinning it back toward me and putting her laptop on the edge of my desk.
"What have you got on Jennifer Daw?" I said, rubbing my eyes.
Sally cocked her head. "You sleep okay?"
"You too?" I said in exasperation. "I'm sleeping as terribly as always. What have you got on Jennifer Daw?"
"Snappy today," said Sally, ignoring my sour look. "Okay, there's good news and bad news on Jennifer Daw. The good news is that I found some interesting things about her. The bad news is that you aren't going to like them."
"You don't even know why I want to know about her, why do you assume it's bad?"
"Oh, knowing you, it's probably bad," she said, turning to her notes on the laptop. "Jennifer Daw was an artist - a painter of some small renown. Not really well known, but she was footnoted in a few articles on the state of modern art... of course, that was nearly two decades ago. I can bring up some paintings of hers' - the ones that survived - but that's not really what you're after, is it? Your cases are never about art."
I thought about Hornswaggle and moving through images. I figure if art existed from two decades ago, he'd be using it, but I doubted it existed. However if it did exist, I definitely didn't want to see it. "Let's skip over the art for now. I feel like from the way you're talking there's a big bump in the road coming up for Jennifer."
"And you'd be right - how's murder-suicide work for you?"
"No shit?" I said.
"According to the news article, she took a gun and killed her husband. Then she swallowed a whole bunch of medication before the police showed up."
"So she's dead?" I wondered how Nick had been talking to her.
"Nope! The pills should have killed her, but the paramedics flushed her system quick enough. Well, maybe not totally fast enough, as she was really addled and incoherent, even months later when she stood trial. You're not at all going to like where she ended up."
I dreaded the response I now expected.
"Bell County Psychiatric Hospital," said Sally.
"Fuck," I said. Another mental hospital. After Bellingham I said I'd never set foot in another again, and yet here was another. It didn't matter if Bellingham was vastly different from all others; it had ruined me on nearly all hospitals, mental and otherwise.
"Still there, from what I can find, or rather what I can't find," said Sally. "That's a long time to be checked in there." She paused. "So what do you need her for? The Nick Cavalos case?"
"Uh, that one may be done with," I said hesitantly. "We might not be getting paid for it. Nick was found dead this morning."
"Oh God, that's horrible!" said Sally, covering her mouth. We didn't really deal with death in my cases, so she had never had a chance to get used to it.
"Yeah, tragic," I said, half sarcastic, half seriously. I still hadn't processed my own feelings about Nick's death, especially as a witness to it.
"So how is Jennifer Daw involved?"
"This is... this is something personal," I said.
Sally cocked her head again, her brow scrunched. "John, what's going on?"
"It's nothing I want you involved in," I said.
"That sounds bad."
"Trust me, I know."
"You know I want to help you if I can," she said.
"I know, but other than research, I don't want you involved. The less you know, the better. You just look up what I need you to, and then you'll be safe. You have a brighter future than working with me, so I don't want my work to mess up your life."
"You don't have to be so overprotective, I'm twenty years old! Sometimes you sound like my dad."
"I think he would agree with me on this one," I said.
"You're dropping in my estimation from cool boss to buzzkill uncle. The one who wouldn't buy us beer."
"I'll still buy you beer, but I'm not buying you the shitty beer I see most college kids drinking."
"Lonestar is perfectly fine beer!"
"I've heard that argument, and all my years in Austin have yet to convince me of it. But keep telling yourself that."
She stuck out her tongue at me. "If I'm going to be treated young, I'm going to act that way."
"You got anything else on Jennifer Daw? Asking as your less-cool boss, not the beer buying uncle."
"That's mostly it so far," she said. "The easy stuff that you can Google. I'll keep looking."
"Me too," I said, loading up my browser. I made a show of staring at my screen until Sally gathered her laptop and left. Once the door closed, I let go of my mouse and leaned back in my chair.
A mental hospital. Shit. I ran my hand through my hair and thought about that for an hour, not even bothering to research. Just the idea of stepping foot in one filled me with anxiety. But Nick had spoken to Jennifer, so he had to have visited her in the hospital. Which meant I did too. There were no other leads on Hornswaggle, and we desperately needed information on him. Right now we'd die if we encountered him again. And it would be easy to find him again. All it would take was Meredith coming to my office to yell at me, carrying a doll or shirt from the show.
That sudden thought chilled me. All it would take was her coming to my place of work, not even intending to hurt me, and that demon would be here. I had seen the doll which hung from her bag like I had on my phone. She had even given me that doll, so it might have been some unconscio
us prompting from Hornswaggle. I suddenly realized that I needed to be out of my office, the one public place someone might have a reasonable chance to find me.
I grabbed my backpack and left my office.
"I'm going out," I said to Sally.
"Anyplace in particular?"
"Nope, nowhere in particular. Don't know when I'll be back, if I'll be in tomorrow, all that."
"Are you... going underground?" she said with a scrunched brow.
"If anyone is looking for me, tell them you haven't heard from me, then call me and tell me who was looking for me. In fact, don't call, just text. I'm not taking any new cases until further notice."
"At all? What am I going to do, then?"
"Research?"
"I doubt this will take me much longer, there's not a lot of to find on someone who's been incarcerated for twenty years, and if there's more to find it might not be digital. I'm going to be bored real soon."
"Then do your homework. You're a student, don't you have class work?"
"I have today's done already! And I wouldn't do it at work... that's disrespectful."
"Well, then I hereby give you permission to do homework at work... with all official respect still maintained."
"This is something serious, isn't it?" she asked.
"I... I don't know. But I'm worried."
"If you're worried, then I'm worried."
"Don't worry, be a carefree college student. Let me worry."
"Uncool uncle again," she chided me.
"This time I'm going to take the hit to my ego," I said. "You let me worry, you just tell me if you find something."
I called Charlie from my car to share my findings, but got his voice mail. His answering message said he was likely on shift if I was hearing it. I guess he didn't answer his phone while on duty.
Since I was trying to avoid the office, I got lunch and then drove around for a while, trying to get an idea. Theoretically, I could have gone to try to visit Jennifer Daw. The Bell County Psychiatric Hospital was up past Temple, Texas, so maybe two hours out of Austin. I could have been there and back in an afternoon. But I was avoiding it. Maybe I wanted to go there with someone else like Charlie. Maybe I wanted him to talk me out of it.
I just didn't want to go.
I went home. It was late in the afternoon and I realized I could beat most of the rush hour traffic by admitting defeat and packing it in for the day. I had started the day tired and I wasn't getting any fresher, so this seemed a good idea.
When I pulled into the parking lot in front of my apartment building, something stank. I don't mean there was an actual smell, I mean that something didn't feel right. Just a feeling, a danger signal, a Spidey sense. I didn't have a good reason to think it, but years at the job had me trust this intuition. If something feels wrong, look for evidence it is wrong. You'll often find it. If you don't, then you have a solid reason to distrust your intuition. But you'll often find intuitions of danger are worth listening to.
I scanned the area, looking first at the stairs to my apartment. I didn't see anyone there, nor anyone right near it. I saw a guy walking his dog, but I had seen that guy before. I knew almost none of my neighbors besides Franny, but I knew what they looked like, how they dressed, and their habits. This guy was fine. My vision passed over an outdoor cat basking in the sun. Other than that, no one walking around. I started scanning the parking lot. I finally honed in on a beat up green hatchback and found the problem.
It wasn't Hornswaggle or his allies, but that didn't make this less of a problem for me. I fumbled in my glove box for my go-bag. I pulled out my gun, the one I had thankfully remembered to grab from Charlie's condo. It was nothing fancy, a Sig Sauer pistol that had helped me when things got grim in Bellingham. I didn't like using it, I didn't like carrying it, and I didn't like escalating conflicts by showing it. But there were times I needed it, times I should carry it, and I found that was typically more times than I initially thought. Bellingham had taught me that. This time I was risking escalation, but I think intimidation was the call here. I kept the safety on but carried it in my hand. In my other hand I dialed a number on my phone, but did not press call just yet.
Since I was pretty sure I hadn't been seen, I got out of my car slowly and kept low. I crouch walked through the parking lot, keeping myself behind cars. There was empty space between me and the hatchback, so I made a final run the last ten yards. Then I lunged forward and leaned down on the driver's side door, pushing my weight against it.
Yes, now I was sure it was her. The blonde girl who had tried to stab me, the Seer from some organization of future tellers. She still had her white shift of a dress on, but she wasn't wearing her band around her eyes. After my sudden impact against her car, she turned to look at me, fear in her eyes. They were big blue eyes, which would be pretty and alluring on some other girl who hadn't tried to murder me the day before.
"So you can see!" I said.
She tried to open the door, but my weight against it stopped her. She'd need to get on her side and kick against it if she wanted out that way. Instead she pressed the button to lower the driver's side window while she grabbed at her knife. I guess she had found a replacement. When the window was almost far enough down that she could stab the dagger out at me, I brought up the pistol, pointing it right at her face.
"How about you freeze and put down the knife slowly," I said.
She froze, but she didn't let go of the dagger. She said nothing, but her shocked face had turned into a snarling mask of hatred.
"Look, I'm not your enemy," I said. "And I don't want you around. Get it in your head that I'm not evil. If I was, I'd have killed you while I had the jump on you."
"Your actions will not be your own," she said. "Doom will follow in your wake!"
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Get some new material. I don't want to fight you."
Her eyes flicked down to the gun, and I saw a miniscule amount of tension in her. I brought up my other hand to show her my phone. "In case you were getting the idea that you wanted to solve this impasse by us murdering each other right here in the parking lot, the cops could be here really quick." 911 was dialed but not called on the phone, plain enough for her to see.
She smiled. "Don't you think they might decide the man holding a gun on a helpless girl in a car was the threat? I'm getting carjacked."
Huh. I was surprised to hear something other than fanaticism.
"So there is a real person in there after all!" I said. "Except this is my home and you still have a dagger. I have an open carry license, so my gun would be put in my belt by the time the police arrived. Again, I live here."
I do actually have an open carry license. Not because I ever want to carry my pistol open and exposed, but more because of the legal liabilities. Since I did occasionally have to use a gun, I wanted the maximum amount of situations I could use it without law enforcement bringing me up on charges. So I sat through the courses and paid the fee to get the license. Threatening someone with the pistol in a parking lot was still illegal, but I wouldn't be doing that when the cops showed up.
"You're going to bring about our doom," she said sullenly.
"And there goes that real person," I said. "Go, get out of here. At the very least you're not killing me tonight. I'll shoot you if you attack me. Better luck next time."
She stared at me for a long moment, anger in her eyes, her mouth a tense line. Then her hand let go of the knife and instead turned the key in the ignition. I stepped away as she backed the car out of the spot, still glaring at me. For a split second I wondered if she'd risk my shot by trying to run me down, but when she put the car in gear, she turned away from me and drove out of the lot.
I put my phone away and ran my fingers through my hair, the pistol slack at my side. That girl and her organization were going to be a problem. I couldn't be on guard forever. I had to convince them I wasn't the foreboding threat they thought I was. But I really didn't fully know why they thought I'd bring
about doom, so arguing against that would be hard. That all assumed that they even would listen to reason. My intuition said they wouldn't. Another problem with no solution.
Despite running off the Seer, the uneasy feeling I had did not disappear. It was as if someone had sprayed down the whole lot with fear musk; there was something that just seemed to seep up from the asphalt. I turned my head, looking around for some other source of danger, but I didn't notice anyone else, just the usual residents coming and going. I looked at the stairs to my apartment and wondered - did I want to try to retreat to the safety of my home or would that be giving myself away?
The sun had just started to descend, but it was otherwise a bright sunny day. I could hear cars, the buzz of a lawnmower, and the idle closing of car doors in a farther off part of the apartment complex. On the face of things there was nothing wrong. This was a calming scene, even urban idyllic. So why could I not calm down? Why did I feel like something was still wrong?
I waited a long minute, standing in the parking lot, looking for some sign. I had tucked the pistol in my waistband because I didn't want to alarm any of my neighbors. So I was just that guy standing in the parking lot, completely tense, looking and listening for a danger he couldn't find. I started to think I looked silly. Maybe I was silly. I shook my head and finally decided that lack of sleep and the events of the night before were taking their toll on me. I walked over to the stairs and began climbing toward the landing which included mine and Franny's apartments.
My unease didn't calm on the stairs. Now I had the feeling of being watched on top of my previous discomfort. Had the Seer returned? Did she have an accomplice? Or was there something else?
I reached the landing and pulled out my keys. Everything looked okay as I approached my door. I put the key in the lock and was about to turn, then I saw it. Did I notice it, or had I simply remembered Nick's apartment? I don't know. But I looked up to the lamp near my apartment door - every apartment in the complex had one, and it was on a timer to come on when it was dark and turn off in the morning. But its illumination didn't concern me right now. From its fixture hung a tiny figure. Hornswaggle. I lunged toward it as soon as the realization hit me. My fingers barely closed around it before a large hand closed around my throat and I was slammed into the door.
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