Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

Diana lay still, an IV taped to her hand. Her left wrist was swollen and blue, and the other revealed a bracelet of purple, a stark contrast to her pale skin. She looked thinner. And so tiny.

  He pulled the only chair next to the bed and sat down, covering her free hand with his. She tried to open her eyes. The good one focused on him. She strained to smile, but couldn’t. He found a tub of petroleum jelly on the bedside table and spread some on her dry lips before she fell back to sleep.

  “You’re going to be all right,” he said, hoping she heard.

  The doctor entered the room and motioned Lucier to follow. After introducing themselves, Doctor Mendoza said, “She needs rest, Lieutenant, lots of rest. She’s been through a traumatic ordeal.”

  “What’s her condition? Tell me everything.”

  “That’s something I’ll discuss only with the family.”

  Lucier moved in closer and spoke softly but with a hint of menace. “I can get a sex crime unit over here with a rape kit and tie this place up for hours, if that’s what you want. You’ll have to talk to them.”

  “This is unorthodox,” Mendoza said.

  “I’m a friend, and I need to get this guy. I’m mad, Doctor. Make me madder.”

  Mendoza studied Lucier, then sighed, defeated. “In addition to what’s obvious—the bruising and swelling coupled with severe dehydration—Ms. Racine was sexually penetrated multiple times. We took swabs, so you’re not scaring me with the rape kit business. I want you to get this guy as much as you do. Given her size, she’s lucky it’s not worse. There’s tissue damage, two broken ribs, contusions on her stomach and thighs, and a laceration on her back. Those will heal in time. The psychological part will be more difficult. She answered my questions when your man brought her in, but she was seriously shaken. That fear isn’t going to fade as easily as her bruises. Given her weakened condition, one more attack and a broken rib could have punctured a lung or she could have died from internal bleeding.”

  Lucier grunted, paced in a circle to relieve the rage inside him.

  “When she recovers, I’ll suggest she sees a therapist. I mentioned that to her parents, but I don’t think her father’s psychologically inclined. Not uncommon. I’m about to tell them the rest.”

  “He’ll do what’s best for her, I’m sure.”

  “I’ll try to keep him out of her room as long as possible. He’s a rather abrasive little man. He could upset her. But go on back if you need to talk to her. She might be able to help you get this maniac.”

  “Can she talk with a dislocated jaw?”

  “Correction: swollen, bruised, but not dislocated. The old man’s overdramatic. She may hurt, but she can talk. Not for too long, though.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Lucier patted the doctor’s shoulder and went back into Diana’s room. She forced a smile when she saw him, and his spirits rose. “You’re awake.”

  “Barely. They’ve given me something. I’m groggy as hell.”

  “Did you hear me before? You’re going to be all right.”

  “Water, please.” Lucier held her head forward and put the straw to her mouth. She drank greedily, pulling back when finished.

  “How do you get to be all right after this, Ernie? How?”

  “Time heals all wounds.” He pushed her hair from her forehead. “You’ll see.”

  “All I can see…is his…face. All I can feel is…my own fear. How does that…ever get to be all right?”

  “Shh. It’s my fault. I should have gone with you instead of Harris.”

  She winced and moved her free hand to her chest. “You can’t think like that. This man is crazy. He would have found a way to get at me sooner or later. How is B. D.?”

  “On the mend. He’s a lucky man. The knife missed his heart. It was Macon, wasn’t it?”

  “How did you know?”

  “We took our best shot. He seemed the most likely candidate. Can you tell me anything that might help us find him?”

  “You’d think after three days but…I can’t.” She reached for his arm. “I think…I think he might have taken someone tonight, Ernie.” She swallowed and drew a few short breaths before speaking. “That was the game. He takes someone, kills her, then when he brings me something of hers—some clothing or trinket—I was supposed to use my psychic powers to tell him where the body was. If I couldn’t, I’d die.”

  “What?” Lucier’s voice came out stronger than he meant, and he softened it immediately. “That’s insane.”

  “Exactly. He’s psychic too and wants to prove he’s better. He’ll be back. He has to win. Don’t you see?”

  Lucier could see she was getting agitated. “He won’t get to you, Diana. We’ll nail him before he gets within ten miles of you. I promise.” He brushed a finger to her lips. “No more.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’ve been a damn fool.”

  “Yes, you have.” Her smile faded in concert with her drooping eyelids, and she fell asleep.

  When his cell phone chirped, Lucier hurried from the room.

  “Lucier? Jenrette. A fourteen-year-old girl went missing from a church group party at a local roller skating rink. A friend saw her talking to a tall good-looking guy, and when she looked again, the girl was gone.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Unfinished Business

  Jesus, something’s crawling on my dick. Not something, Alice. He could see her form under the sheet. What a way to wake up. And it only got better. They stopped for bathroom breaks, food, and a beer or two. She turned on the television. He turned it off.

  “I hate screwing to noise,” he said.

  “Noise is good.” She convinced him to make some.

  * * * * *

  Emerging from a shower wrapped in a towel, Macon’s face filled the small television screen in the kitchen. Alice, in the midst of brewing coffee, stood riveted to the news. She scooped the coffee into the brewing basket, flipped it into place, and turned.

  “That’s you, ain’t it?”

  “Sure looks like me, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure does.” She opened a king loaf of white bread. “So, your real name’s Harley?”

  “Yup.”

  “Want eggs and toast?”

  “Why not. Got jam?”

  “Sure do. Grape or strawberry?”

  “Grape.”

  “You do all them things they’re sayin’?”

  He watched her, gauging her reactions. “Sure did.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Excited. You want to eat first or fuck?”

  “Eat. I can’t fuck on an empty stomach.”

  She put the eggs in front of him. Macon forked the yolk and spread the yellow ooze over the rest of the eggs. “You know I’ve got to stay out of sight for a few days.”

  “I figured.”

  “You gonna tell?”

  “Why would I do that? I hate cops. My daddy was a slug. He was a mean drunk, but he was my daddy. Then one night, the meanest cop in town picked him up on a drunk charge. Him and another cop beat the shit out of him. Beat him so bad, he limped from then on, in pain all the time. That just made him drunker and meaner than a rabid dog. He never left the house after that. Just beat up on my mother and sister and me. Later, that same cop tried to get in my pants. Slapped me around good when I refused. Tore off my clothes until the other cop stopped him. I’d never do nothing to help the bastards.” Her face turned red telling the story.

  “That sucks. No wonder you hate them.” He smiled at her between bites of egg. She smiled back.

  “Besides, you’re the best lay I’ve had in years. You on Viagra or something? I ain’t never seen no one get it up again as quick as you.”

  “Blessed, I guess.”

  “What’d you do all them years in prison? A man with drives like yours must’ve been frustrated as hell. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  She didn’t answer.

  �
��If you’re thinking what I think you are, forget it. The first guy that came on to me got his neck broken. No one tried after that.”

  “So what’d you do?”

  “What do you think? Jacked off, that’s what.”

  “You must have had one hell of a sore arm.”

  Macon broke out laughing.

  “You’re not getting bored, are ya?” she asked.

  “No, not yet.”

  She pulled her chair closer to his. “So what’re your plans?

  “I’ve got some unfinished business.”

  “That psychic lady?”

  “Yup.”

  “You gonna kill her?”

  He snorted. “It’d be tough. The cops will be all over her like skin.”

  “I can help.”

  Macon did a double take. Her earnest expression caught him off guard. Sure, she had some wear on her. He felt her life when he touched her. She’d been around the block more times than the years he spent in prison. But the woman did something to him. They were cut from the same rough-hewn cloth.

  “I could leave here today and no one would be the wiser. You’d be in the clear. Just your car gone. Why would you want to get messed up with my problems?”

  “I don’t know.” She poured a cup of coffee, dumped half a bowl of sugar in it, and took a giant gulp. “Ya know, I’ve spent my whole life in this boony hick town. By lookin’ at me, you gotta know I ain’t no prize. Been married twice. Last divorce gave the kids to my ex-husband. Called me an unfit mother. I didn’t argue. They was right. Booze, drugs, you name it. I’ve done ’em all. I’ve cleaned up my act some. Oh, I still drink, still do a little weed, but don’t matter. People around here never forget.”

  She put her hands under her breasts, lifted them. “You see these? They grew big when I was thirteen. That’s all men ever saw in me. I used to charge a dollar to let the boys look, two dollars to touch, and three for a nibble. My daddy did ’em all for nothing.”

  Macon looked, felt himself swelling. “You undercharged.”

  Alice laughed. “Probably. You heard them guys last night. Hell, I’ve done ’em all. To them I ain’t nothing more than a used piece of ass. Hey, you might feel the same way. I ain’t smart enough to figure it all out. But one thing I know: right now we both need someone.”

  Macon gulped his coffee. “You’re honest, I’ll give you that.”

  “Never could lie. You’re the most exciting man I ever met, Harley. Somehow all them things you done turn me on. Crazy, ain’t it?”

  “Hell, you’re as fucked up as I am.”

  “Sure am, and now I’m gonna show you just how right you are.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The Little Brown Box

  After Lucier obtained temporary reassignment from his captain, he commandeered a desk in Jenrette’s station and set about the task of tracking Macon. Beecher, Halloran, and Cash went back to New Orleans per the captain’s orders, while Amos Moseley returned to his boat, saying if Ernie needed him for any reason, he’d be available.

  Worried that Macon might make another try at Diana, Lucier asked Jenrette to assign a twenty-four-hour guard at the hospital. Jenrette complied. He also arranged a room in the local boarding house for Galen and Blanche Racine. The same boarding house where Lucier stayed.

  Lucier slapped the folder on the desk. “Nothing. The man’s disappeared off the face of the earth. No car, no reported sightings. Nothing. Now a fourteen-year-old girl is missing.”

  “Do you think she’s still alive?” Jenrette asked.

  “Personally, no. Macon doesn’t leave witnesses, and up until he kidnapped Diana, he never left clues either. He knows this time it’s death row, and she can put him there.”

  “You’re kind of sweet on this little girl, ain’t ya, Ernie?”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Yeah, McCoy, I am. And before you say anything, I don’t believe in interracial relationships any more than you probably do, but as much as I tried to ignore this one, I couldn’t.”

  “You’re assuming something not in evidence, son. It’s a different world out there now. Not like when I was growing up. Hell, back then no one I knew would ever vote for a black president. If that don’t tell you something.”

  “Still, it’s different when it hits home. What if your daughter wanted to date a black man?”

  Jenrette took his time answering. “Well, I don’t have a daughter, but if I did—and I’m being honest here—I wouldn’t be thrilled. But it’d be her choice, wouldn’t it? Can’t fight things like that. Besides, I read it won’t be long before more than half the population’s gonna look like you.”

  Lucier laughed and shuffled a few papers on his requisitioned desk. “There’s going to be some people who won’t be happy with that.”

  “They’ll get over it. Eventually.”

  “Enough digression for one day. Back to work. Any cars reported stolen?”

  “Nope, just a fourteen-year old girl.”

  “What do you say we call on the missing girl’s parents?”

  “They’re not in my county, but I’m sure they’ll talk to us.”

  * * * * *

  Renee and Barton McClellan lived in a red brick ranch-style house much like all the others on a street that boasted neat yards, flowerpots at the front door, and two compact cars in the driveway. Today, in addition to the cars of friends and family, television vans, reporters, and camera crews cluttered the street. The temperature had cooled, and dark clouds were rolling in from the west.

  Lucier’s heart wrenched at the sight of the girl’s parents, average middle-class, hard-working Americans—the foundation of the country. He remembered the pain of losing a child, of losing three children, but he knew their fate. The McClellans didn’t know whether their daughter was dead or alive, whether treated well or in the hands of a perverted monster. Lucier hoped they hadn’t read or heard about the sexual aspects of Macon’s crimes. No parent wanted to think such things. Hope lingered in their hearts as words of prayer spilled from their lips. Maybe this is worse than finality, but remembering back, he thought again.

  A local reporter interviewed Mrs. McClellan with all the pathos that contributed to a good story. The cameraman filmed her begging whoever took her baby to please, please return her. They would give everything they owned to get her back. No questions asked. Tears fell from her red, swollen eyes. Mr. McClellan sat off to the side, dazed, staring into space, unable to comprehend the confusion around him. When the interview ended, Renee McClellan took a seat next to her husband and tried to break into the other world that had possessed him.

  Jenrette showed his identification and waved off the reporters who badgered him with questions. “We’re sorry to intrude, ma’am, but we’d appreciate if you could answer some questions for us. It’s important.”

  Mrs. McClellan patted her husband’s hand and got up, gesturing the two officers to follow. She wiped tears from her eyes with a handkerchief and led them into the kitchen.

  “This is a terrible time for us, especially for my husband. He’s not handling this very well. Jenny was…is…the world to him.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us about the man who spoke to your daughter?” Lucier asked. “Anything at all.”

  “I’m afraid we weren’t there. A few parents chaperoned the party, but no one saw anything except one of Jenny’s friends.”

  “Is she here now?”

  “No, she’s at home. She was really upset when she found out about Jenny.” Mrs. McClellan focused on Jenrette. “We’ve told her time and time again not to talk to strangers. She was old enough to understand. She’s a good girl. Never a problem. Went to church with us every Sunday, even on Wednesday nights for dinner. She’s a good girl.”

  “I’m sure she is, Mrs. McClellan,” Jenrette said, “but this man is handsome and charismatic. She wasn’t the only one taken in by his charm.”

  “A reporter on television said he kill
ed two women. You think that’s what he did to my Jenny?” She leaned against the kitchen counter for support. Her chin rippled with the effort to hold back the tears.

  “We hope not, ma’am,” Jenrette said. “We’re doing everything in our power to find her.”

  “Can you tell us where Jenny’s friend lives?” Lucier asked. “We’d like to talk to her.”

  “The sheriff’s deputy has already done that. She told them what she remembered.”

  “You never know. Sometimes people know things they don’t even know they know.”

  * * * * *

  Lori Carteret, her hands in constant motion, wore the typical teenage uniform: tight T-shirt cropped above the waist and jeans cut low enough to display an ample amount of midriff. Clothes that would make any father want to lock his daughter in her room and be thankful if he had sons.

  “When I saw Jenny talking to that guy last night I felt kind of jealous. I mean, he was hot. He had this great body, you know, tall, with muscles on his arms and washboard abs under a tight T-shirt. His hair was dirty blonde and kind of long, and he had this way cool sexy voice.”

  Lucier showed her Macon’s picture.

  “That’s him. I’m sure,” Lori said.

  “You heard him talking to Jenny.” Lucier asked.

  “Yes. I told that to the other policeman.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “He was playing with her locket, telling her how pretty it looked on her. He said he knew someone who would like to see it. I was so jealous. I wondered why he picked her and not me. I mean Jenny’s cute and all, but—” She looked at Lucier. “Now I’m glad. Isn’t that an awful thing to say?” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her nose. “I feel really bad about that.”

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty, Lori.” Lucier knew firsthand about survivor’s guilt. “Did you notice his car?”

  “I looked for Jenny and saw a small silver car driving out of the parking lot. I figured she’d gone inside to skate. When time came to go home no one could find her. That’s when I told Mrs. Chenard what I saw, and she called the sheriff.”

  “Can you remember anything else?”