“You ungrateful little brat. I should’ve left you in the garage with your father. I can still do it. Is that what you want?”
A chill shot through him. He shook his head.
She flashed a smile that didn’t reach her glittering eyes. “All right, listen to me, young man. From now on, you’ll do what I say, when I say it. Now get to your bedroom.”
His feet wouldn’t move. She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him down the hall as if he were a stuffed animal. Once in the bedroom, she locked the door.
With bleary-eyed amazement, he watched her rummage through the closet and take out two long-sleeved shirts. Before he could guess what was happening, she’d tied one sleeve around his wrist and onto the bedpost.
“What’re you doing, Mother?”
She grabbed his other wrist.
“Let me go.”
He bucked and squirmed.
She shoved a pillow over his nose, making him gasp for air.
The bonds grew tighter, digging into his wrists.
“Now you’ll obey,” she said. “I birthed you. You owe me your life, and I can take it away any time, kiddo.”
When he’d given up, she removed the pillow from his face. With a tender smile, she brushed the wet hair from his forehead.
He lay still, watching her.
“Be a good boy. You’re mommy’s little man now,” she said.
“No, I’m not.” He glared into her gleaming emerald eyes.
Her smile chilled him like an ice cream headache.
“That’s no way to speak to your mother,” she said, smacking his cheek.
Everything turned red as helpless rage filled him.
* * *
Tyler awoke with a start.
It took him a few minutes to realize he was in bed by himself in his penthouse on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. He wasn’t a child, but a best-selling author. His dream couldn’t have been real. Probably his imagination working overtime, nothing more.
What he did remember was after Dad died, his mother grew meaner, if that was possible. Then there were the men who showed up in long cars, honking their horns for her to come out. She would disappear for hours, leaving Tyler to fend for himself.
One morning, when he was twelve, Mom didn’t come out of her room. Assuming she’d overslept or not arrived home from the night before, he made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and dressed for school.
As he stepped outside, he noticed the garage door lay open. He better close it or Mom would blame him. Everything was always his fault.
He sensed a difference before he knew what it was. His finger froze over the button. Strange. Something big was hanging from the pulley. He stepped inside for a better look.
What he saw made him gape. Mean Mom hung by her neck, with her eyes glassy and lips purple. She had to be dead. For once something had gone right and his prayers were answered.
After the ambulance was called and the body removed, the authorities stepped in and put Tyler in an institution. At first it seemed like a jail, but once he figured out people didn’t bother him if he kept to himself, he had no problem being there.
Sure, once in a while, he was trotted out for inspection by prospective foster parents. No one wanted him, but he didn’t want them either, so it didn’t matter. Except maybe once.
As usual, he and five other boys were summoned. A not bad looking guy, who kind of reminded Tyler of his father, strolled up and down the line, examining each boy as if he were a piece of meat in a butcher case. Old Melba, the skinny black-skinned social worker, accompanied the man.
They stopped in front of Tyler. His heart beat fast as the man looked him over and smiled. Tyler smiled back. It might not be bad living with this guy.
“You seem like a nice young boy.”
“Mr. Condon, you better think twice about this one. He’s unstable,” Melba broke in, flashing Tyler a condescending look.
“But he seems intelligent,” the man said.
In a loud whisper, Melba replied, “In all good conscience, I must inform you he’s got bad blood. His parents committed suicide.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
He flashed Tyler a regretful look and turned away.
Tyler wanted to scream. He was himself, not his mother or father. That damn Melba. She’d ruined everything.
“You’re a mean bitch. I’ll get even with you,” he said right to her face.
The woman arched her eyebrows and grabbed him by the elbow. “You’re a troublemaker, boy. Blood always tells.”
Right then and there she dragged him to the administrator’s office where he received a lecture and was ordered to read a pile of books as punishment. Little did Melba know she’d been responsible for handing him a reward. Through reading, Tyler entered a whole new world where, instead of being himself, he became the characters in his books.
He grabbed more novels from the institution’s library and devoured them. After a while, he decided he could do better. He’d make up his own fictional world where people like Melba paid for their sins. He kept his writing hidden and used different names for the characters in case someone discovered what he wrote.
How ironic when Melba finally got hers on a boring field trip to Willow Falls, Wisconsin. He’d gotten separated from the group, but when he’d caught up with it he’d heard she’d slipped over the rocks by the waterfall and hit the back of her head. Tyler knew better. Someone threw a rock at her and she’d lost her balance, just like in his book.
What genius. Great minds do think alike.
Power filled him at the thought his books could actually force things to happen in the real world. While in the villain’s viewpoint, he could do anything he wanted. Adopting the guise of fiction, he tortured and killed everyone who’d made him suffer.
He fell further into a make-believe labyrinth, embracing it, substituting the book world for reality, sometimes not emerging for days. The experience was exhilarating, frightening and addictive. Each time he had to have more.
At the institution, no one cared what he did. He was a fixture to be fed, clothed and educated. If he escaped into his writing world, no one paid attention. No one could guess what lay beneath his model student veneer. His hungry mind ate up the courses offered, though his favorites were computer technology and biology. Through long hours in the lab, he learned to take apart a computer and how to design and set up programs.
Because he was smart, he never fit in with the other guys. The girls were a different story. They hung all over him, but they didn’t matter. They were unreal characters to be manipulated for pleasure and release.
Tyler was smart enough, so he should have seen it coming, but for some reason he didn’t pay attention. He’d become so engrossed with his fantasy world, he’d lost track of the passing years. When he turned eighteen, the blow hit him. He was thrust out of the institution and forced to fend for himself, with no family or friends to support him.
To survive, he had to work. He put his computer knowledge to use and became a technician by day. As soon as he got home at night, instead of watching television or going out for drinks with the other workers, he escaped into writing. It carried him through what might have been lonely hours.
Reality and fiction blurred. His plots and images grew complicated and graphic, fixating on solved and unsolved murders, as if he’d actually been there.
That might have been enough for him, if not for chance. On his twenty-eighth birthday, he grew restless. Instead of writing, he flipped the channels on the television’s remote and landed on a commercial promoting Max Rex’s latest bestseller, Liar.
Tyler had read it. It was good, but not half as good as anything he’d written. The question preyed on his mind, Why should Rex receive all the adulation?
Tyler knew he was better, but for other people to know it, he’d have to share his secret world. All this time his writing had been a private part of him, not something to be trotted out and examined by the public. With irritated fascin
ation, he charted the growth of popularity for Rex’s mystery. The last straw came when Liar jumped up to first place on the New York Times bestseller list.
In a fit of pique, he dashed off a submission to Rex’s editor. Less than two weeks later he got a call requesting the entire manuscript.
Almost four weeks to the day, the phone rang again. “I want it. Do you have any others,” the editor asked.
A sense of elation filled Tyler as he hung up the phone. The man had confirmed what Tyler already knew. He had talent. Soon the world would realize it.
He dialed Max Rex’s agent and relayed the generous offer he’d received from the publisher. A bidding war ensued, with Tyler gaining a larger advance than before. Not long afterward, Tyler became an “overnight success” and could do no wrong. As more of his books were released, his star ascended. The adulation became as addictive as writing.
He was making a fortune doing what he’d always done: inhabiting an imaginary world. Masterpiece after masterpiece flowed from his fertile brain, each one more successful than the others. And that’s how he’d gotten where he was today. Through all the bad times, he’d persevered because he had his writing to fall back on.
Now he was reaching out for more. Julie was like a heroine in one of his novels, yet real. He craved to experience the joys of love with her, but if he bared his soul, what would she find?
He was afraid of the answer.
Chapter Eighteen
Three months slipped past since Julie had been diagnosed with hypoglycemia. It wasn’t easy to forego sugar and sweets, but she did so religiously. Her rewards were fewer dizzy spells, fewer headaches and more endurance.
During that time, Dade graduated from his mobile chair to crutches, then back to his own power.
The office was super-busy. Her master plan to leave and pursue writing seemed to have slipped off the agenda. Dade had been through so much, she hated to remind him of her departure, but she had to or she’d never be free to pursue her dream.
As they walked back from the Commission, she broached the subject. “Dade, you do remember I’m still leaving the firm. You need to find a new partner. Have you thought of anyone yet?”
They drew even with the office building. He turned to her.
“Damn it, Julie. Don’t do it. You’re too good to leave. Why the hell change?”
Her heart sunk. All along, Dade had been in denial.
“I might be good at it, but I’m also sick of it. Besides, I might be just as good at writing. I’ll never know unless I try.”
“That’s a heavy gamble. Why not stick with what works?”
“I’ve made my decision. You can’t talk me out of it.” Sticking her chin out, Julie slipped into the revolving door ahead of him.
Dade easily caught up with her as she waited by the elevator. “What happens when you’re sick of writing and want to come back? By then I’ll have another partner. Once you’re gone, there’s no return.”
“I know that. I don’t expect any favors.”
With lips pursed, she stepped into the elevator. They silently rode upstairs.
On the way past Dee’s desk, her assistant said, “A few more cases came in while you were gone.”
The trapped feeling closed in on her again, making Julie groan. At one time new cases were a joy because they meant more money coming in. Now they were an additional chore. She had to leave, the sooner the better.
Sighing, she skimmed the claim sheet on the first case to see if it was worth pursuing.
Dee’s high excited voice broke in on the intercom. “Julie, you’ve got a call on line two. It’s Tyler Jensen,”
Well, how strange. After Tyler had refused to kiss her goodnight on their one and only date, she hadn’t expected to hear from him again.
“Julie, how are you,” he asked, as if no time had elapsed since their last meeting.
“I’m fine, now.”
“What do you mean? Did something happen?”
She filled him in on her health scare. “It could have been a lot worse. According to my doctor, as long as I pay attention to my diet and eat regularly, I should be fine. So far, it seems to be working.”
“I’ve told you you’re too tied up with the practice and don’t pay attention to yourself. What about that partner of yours? Can’t he carry his load?”
She could say that none of that would matter, but it was too soon to break the news. Nothing was in place yet. Besides, she didn’t care for Tyler’s assumption that Dade wasn’t contributing.
“I can’t complain about Dade. He takes on twice as much as I do. We’re growing so fast it’s hard to keep up.”
“You obviously haven’t had time to write.”
Julie sighed. “I wish I did. I really miss it. One of these days it’ll be different.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Like I’ve said before, ditch the firm. You’re meant for something better.” His voice was so fierce it almost scared her.
“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. It would take a miracle to get Dade to accept the inevitable. The situation was churning and could get worse.
Tyler sighed. “A woman with ideals. Anyway, that’s not the reason I called. Can you break away a few hours? I’ve landed two tickets for Thursday’s performance of Lost Memories at Monroe Place Theater. Come with me. No excuses.”
She did have a proposed decision to do, but it was short and she could easily get it finished on her laptop computer while she commuted. Besides, things hadn’t ended well when she’d last seen him. She would like to get back on an even keel with Tyler. “I need a break. I’ll be glad to go.”
As soon as she hung up the receiver, another new case called. When she was through screening the potential client, she could hardly remember what she’d told him. She must have said something right, since he asked her to send out the claim forms.
Tyler dominated her thoughts the rest of the afternoon and into the next day. The mystery writer’s charisma was so strong she’d felt its pull over the phone line. Also, his advice was sound. Life was too short to waste it on something she didn’t care to do.
The worst part of it all was the effect her decision was having on Dade. Sad to say, her best friend was the chief obstacle to her happiness. Her upcoming departure hurt him, but she couldn’t help it. She had to be practical and couldn’t afford to beg for his blessing. If she meant anything at all to him, he’d respect her wishes and let her go freely.
* * *
On Thursday morning, Julie took extra pains with her appearance. She discarded several outfits until, with time running out, she settled on a gray linen suit counter-balanced by a wispy sheer blouse underneath. It looked feminine yet practical, hopefully a reflection of her personality.
The calendar read November, yet the air felt more like Indian summer. At the Commission, the heat ran full blast, though it didn’t need to be on. When the trial began, tempers flared, matching the stifling air.
Julie’s opposing attorney, the dreaded Barabat, had the nerve to accuse her client, Ralph Watson, of working side jobs while getting workers’ compensation benefits for being disabled.
“You’re insane. Watson obviously can’t work. Show me your proof, Barabat,” Julie said, voice rising.
“No problem.” He smugly held up a videotape. “If you don’t believe me, watch this.”
With a bad taste in her mouth, she watched the evidence of her client carrying large cords of wood, lifting heavy bags and pounding nails. She had no defense. The case was lost.
The tape wound down, but Julie was wound up. She turned to Watson. “Find another attorney. I don’t deal with liars.”
She grabbed her briefcase and stomped out of the courtroom.
Fuming, Julie tromped back to the office. It was cooler outdoors than in the courtroom, but she was so upset she could feel the perspiration crawl down her back. This was it. The sooner she got out of the practice, the better.
* *
*
Sitting at her desk, Julie still couldn’t cool down. She’d trusted Watson and had fought for him, yet he’d betrayed her.
She should put the incident behind her. Such things were bound to happen and were a part of the business. She shouldn’t get upset, yet it still smarted.
A frowning Dade walked past her office on his way to the copy room. Word spread fast at the Commission. He had to have gotten wind of what had happened. Normally, he’d pop in, calm her down and they’d laugh over the antics of some of their prior clients. Not this time.
A sense of emptiness filled her as she blinked back sudden tears. She hated being on bad terms with Dade. It was hell living in limbo, being his partner, but not really. He’d always been there for her and knew exactly what to say to make things right. That was part of the problem. All her life, she’d relied on Dade’s support. He’d been like the training wheels on her bicycle. She wasn’t a child any longer. It was time to grow up.
Julie squared her shoulders and set back to work. She had tons to do today if she were to get out on time. First, she’d call security to arrange permission for Tyler to come up to the office after five-thirty.
After that, she busied herself, plowing through a stack of files, trying not to think too much about her upcoming date. Despite her resolve, her anticipation rose. She could hardly wait for him to come. It would be a relief to get away from all this. The tension made her head pound.
At five past five, she called a halt to the torture. It was time to get ready.
The office was quiet, except for the rustle of papers down the hall. Another late night for poor Dade. She was sticking him with a lot.
She stifled a sense of guilt by reasoning he could be trying harder to find another partner, if he weren’t so stubborn. She didn’t have time to worry about it now. She grabbed her makeup kit and scurried into the bathroom. Once there, she rinsed off the grime of the city and smoothed fresh moisturizer on her face. She smudged the eyeliner on her lid and forced herself to apply it more slowly. Why was she such a bundle of nerves?
Killer Career Page 12
