by Mitch Goth
Kellen Monello sat in the same place she always sat on her Wednesday afternoons. The room was bland, rather neutral and tasteless. The seating was beige, the walls were white, the only things that graced the walls were several large college degrees. Kellen had looked this room over from top to bottom over the course of her visits, and it never got any more interesting. Despite the disinterest the room brought her, Kellen could always count on the conversations being engaging. But like the room, the talks were only that way because they had to be.
Sitting across from Kellen in a tall armchair was her therapist, Dr. Remi Fromholt. Remi was a tall, slender woman, who's build spoke of power. It wasn't a power she flaunted, Kellen doubted she was even aware of it. It didn't show so much while Remi was sitting down, but the moment she stood, the good doctor grew far more foreboding. Kellen admired this woman's look. Even through her middle age, Remi was nothing short of flawless. Her long black hair was darker than the next great oil spill, but in the best way possible. All over, Dr. Fromholt was a strong contrast to the simple, often disheveled look Kellen gave off.
From her shoulder length, undone brown hair and faded blue-green eyes, to her naturally unsure expression, Kellen Monello was her doctor's opposite. She figured that was why she trusted Remi so much. Kellen didn't trust herself most of the time, and could only deduce that she wouldn't be so trusting of anyone who resembled her either.
"So," Remi said after a few moments of silence, "tell me about the nightmares."
"Take your pick," Kellen replied, eyes towards the floor.
"The ones you called me about, the flashbacks."
"It's always the same damn thing." Kellen chewed at her finger nails as she spoke. "I'm back to being young, a careless girl, a stupid girl."
"Go on," Remi eased Kellen through the story.
"I wake up, in my old bed, in my old house and hear something down stairs." Kellen bit at her fingers with more ferocity. "I go to check it out. I hear my parents. I figure it's gotta be them, it's gotta be them. But I take the steps down anyway. I go downstairs, and that's when I hear commotion from the living room." She put a hand over her mouth.
"Do you want to go on?"
"Yes I do, but can you give me a damn minute. If you had a story like this, would you be able to let it fall out of you all at once?"
"No." Remi shook her head. "Take all the time you need."
Kellen continued, "There are sounds in the living room and before I can reach the bottom of the stairs a gun goes off, two shots. That's when my dad falls into the front hallway, blood just pouring out of him. There's a huge ruckus in the kitchen, like a damn bomb went off. Then nothing but our back door slamming. I ran to my dad, but he was gone. My mom was in the living room, she'd died before he had. And that was that. You've heard this story about a million fucking times already, Remi. I don't understand why the hell I need to say it all over again. Can't you understand that it's natural for me to be in duress for the rest of my life?"
"I understand that something like that is a lifelong ordeal, Kellen. But you haven't had a flashback dream in over six months. I just want to know the cause."
"There's this case I've been working on. Some serial killer down in Texas, killing girls and dumping them in fields and ditches. I'm not sure why they keep sending me shit about it from down there. I'm all the way in Washington, what the hell am I supposed to do about it? But hell, it's my job, it's what I went to school for, it's what I want to do. But they just keep piling shit on top of shit and still, no one has an ounce of evidence. Not so much as a tire track or foot print, it's mind boggling. The locals can't find shit, the state troops can't find shit. What makes any of them think the FBI is gonna find anything, from my little cubicle a thousand miles away? What the hell am I supposed to do?"
"Is all the stress getting to you?"
"Wow, Remi, you are a goddamn sorceress. I sit here, eating away my cuticles, talking about my parent's murder and some hick jackass slasher and you come to the ground breaking conclusion that I'm stressed? You're really showing that doctorate off, let me tell you. I should pay an extra arm and leg per hour for you."
Kellen felt bad for being so harsh. Although she knew it made little sense to take it back. For one, she knew that trying to take back what was already said was about as useful as trying to unshoot a deer. Along with that, she was certain Remi had thick skin. Kellen's words never seemed to bother her in the slightest. So despite knowing she'd overstepped, Kellen didn't speak a word of apology.
"No need to be defensive, I'm just trying to pinpoint the cause of your backsliding," Remi remained calm. "The reason I asked is that you wouldn't bring up the case unless it had something to do with why you're having your dreams. Does it?"
"Well, not the case itself."
"What then?"
"I got a letter from someone, about the case. It was something I'd never gotten before."
"What?"
"A tip. I mean, I've gotten tips before, but nothing like this. I got this note on my desk a few days ago, telling me to check surveillance footage from camp grounds and parking lots in the area."
"Has that shown anything?" Remi inquired.
"No conclusive evidence yet. But that's not the odd part. I mean, it's odd to get a tip that isn't eyewitness testimony, much less someone telling me how to do my job. It's all about the source. The letter came from the Texas Maximum Security Penitentiary."
"A prison?" Remi cocked her head in confusion.
"Yeah, it came from an inmate named Ezra Grazer. I looked him up, and he's in for twenty five to life for killing twenty-seven people in Dallas five years ago."
"Jesus, why did he send something to you?"
"Couldn't tell you." Kellen shrugged. "But I don't even know how he was aware I was in charge of the investigation of this guy. I have no clue how he knew anything about the murders from inside a prison. It's got me thinking about a lot of things, and the more I go over what this guy has done in my head, the more I return to that night. I talk to killers all the time, but I never dwell on them like this. I need to know more about this guy, but I can't just go to Texas and he sure as shit can't come to me. The more I think about it, the worse I am, and I just can't stop."
"Have you thought of taking a few days off?" Remi asked. "Someone in your position takes an extra toll in a job like that and you ought to account for it, Kellen. You'll burn yourself down if you don't."
"I can't take time off now. Not with that piece of shit still out there killing people. This Ezra guy is just making my job all the more terrible. I can't get that damn tip out of my head. How does he know anything?"
"Does your boss know about the tip?"
"Not yet, I just told some techs to go over footage, nobody else knows anything. Once I can get a yes or no on whether the tip means anything, I'll tell the higher ups, they'll probably be in contact with Grazer soon after that. But, until the scanning all ends, I can't be sure of anything, and I can't control anything."
"What if the tip comes out positive?" Remi inquired.
"Someone will have to pay Ezra Grazer a visit." Kellen chewed at her fingers again. "And it will end up being me."
"Why shouldn't it be? He sent the letter to you after all."
"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of, Remi." Kellen looked back to the ground and gave a muttering repetition to herself. "That's what I'm afraid of."
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