Red Rain: Lightning Strikes: Red Rain Series #2

by David Beers

  Susan smiled. “That’s true?”

  “Yeah, it’s true,” Kaitlin said as her own grin died. “I’ve got a million things like that, and each one can probably be dismissed, but cumulatively—well, I trust my feelings. And I’m feeling that someone is watching me because I helped you. Did you find the guy who did this yet?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “He’s going to try to kill me.”

  Susan leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. “Where do you feel like you’re being watched?”

  “At my apartment. I live alone.”

  “When?”

  “Late at night. I look out my window but I never see anything.”

  “I can help if you want me to,” Susan said.

  “You guys put me in this situation. How can you help?”

  “I can offer protection,” she said. “We can put someone outside your apartment until this is over.”

  “And what if they just start following me when I go somewhere else? What if they follow me to work or out one weekend, your guys are going to be there too?”

  “They can,” Susan said. “If you’re in danger, it’s our job to make sure you’re safe.”

  “He’ll wait, whoever it is. He’ll wait until there’s an opening.”

  “Kaitlin, he doesn’t have forever. We’re tracking him down. Right now my partner is working toward catching him. If he hangs around you, and we’re watching, he’s done. Completely.”

  “Can I think about it?” Kaitlin said.

  “Of course. Here ….” Susan reached into her purse and pulled out one of her cards. “I’m writing my cell on the back. Call that whenever you want.”

  The girl reached across the table and took it. “Thanks,” she said.

  16

  A Portrait of a Young Man

  “Two years, huh, John?” Dr. Vondi said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Two years ago you came in here for the first time. You were thirteen.”

  “Has it been that long?” John said.

  Dr. Vondi nodded. “A little longer for your mom … What do you think you’re getting out of this?”

  “Like, from talking to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  John paused, thinking, and Dr. Vondi thought too. He hadn’t stopped thinking since last night, knowing that John was coming. Two years was a long time, a long goddamn time when you considered the patient was John Hilt. Vondi didn’t know if he could go on any longer, because he knew what they were doing here. Toying with each other. No one giving all their thoughts and so they danced instead of fucking.

  “I guess it’s good to talk about school. I don’t really talk to anyone else about it.”

  “I’m just wondering, John, if you think it’s a good idea to keep coming here?” Vondi said.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Delicate. Be delicate.

  “I’m not seeing a lot of growth. I’m not sure that I can help anymore.”

  “What were you trying to help me with?”

  The kid was smart, which was part of the problem. He always had questions that Vondi hadn’t thought of, and wasn’t prepared to answer. Which made any conversation tough and potentially full of landmines. Therapy wasn’t supposed to be like this. A war with landmines littered across the field.

  “I wanted to understand you better and I thought when that happened, I could help both you and your mom.”

  “You mean the fact she thinks I killed Harry, right?”

  “I mean your relationship overall,” Vondi said.

  “And you haven’t helped it? She doesn’t ever even think about Harry anymore,” John said.

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “She doesn’t talk to me about it.”

  Dr. Vondi sighed. “What I’m getting at here, John, is whether or not you want to continue seeing me. Do you? Do you think there’s any value in this for you?”

  John looked out the window and was quiet. Finally, after perhaps a full minute, he looked back to Vondi. “Yes, I want to keep seeing you. I don’t think you’re helping me any, Dr. Vondi, nor my mother, because you’re lying to yourself. Which is fine. Necessary, maybe. I want to keep seeing you because I don’t think you’ll stop thinking about me one way or another, and I don’t want you … investigating anymore, like you did a year ago.”

  * * *

  “He told me that I won’t be able to stop thinking about him, and that he wants to make sure he can monitor that.”

  Vondi looked at Lori from his chair. This was the first time he had ever revealed any of the conversations he held with John. Hell, the first time he revealed a single therapy conversation to anyone.

  “What did he mean by monitor?” Lori said.

  “He meant keep tabs on me. He meant make sure that I don’t dig too much into his life.”

  “Why would you do that?” Lori said.

  “Because … because there’s something to him that I can’t uncover. I don’t know what it is; I don’t think he’s Clara, like you do, but he’s different than any other person I’ve met, Lori, and I want to know what makes him tick.”

  Lori nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “I almost stopped seeing him, that’s how the conversation came up. I told him that I wasn’t sure I could help him anymore, and I don’t think I can.”

  “I didn’t think you saw him to help him, I thought you were seeing him to help me understand he isn’t Clara,” Lori said.

  “I was. In the beginning. But I can’t do that either. I can’t understand him, Lori. Do you? Do you know your son? I’m not asking whether you think he’s a killer; I don’t want to go down that path right now, but I’m asking if you actually feel like you know him.”

  Lori shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never known him or understood him. It’s not just that he keeps his own counsel, it’s like he knows that if he were to open up, everyone would see what’s inside him. Everyone would see—and I know you don’t want to talk about it—that he’s not normal, that the world would call him a monster or something.”

  Vondi nodded, waiting a few seconds in silence before speaking. “Part of what he says is true. I don’t think I can just let it go. My mind wants to understand what it doesn’t, and it wants to get to the bottom of whatever is going on with your son.”

  “Then stop seeing him,” Lori said. “If it’s bothering you so much, stop. You haven’t changed my beliefs about what he is. All his therapy has done is confuse you. I’m not confused. In fact, I don’t worry about it much anymore.”

  “And what about him wanting to see me?”

  “I can stop that,” Lori said.

  “What do you think is best?” Vondi asked.

  “I think that it’s probably a good idea we stop his therapy. I’m not sure what you’re wanting to get out of it. I like you, Dr. Vondi, and you have helped me, but I’ve told you for years that John is live fire and right now you’re playing with it. You should let it go, like I have.”

  * * *

  Lori sat in her car, hands in her lap, keys in her hand. The car was in Dr. Vondi’s parking deck, or rather his office’s parking deck. She walked down here ten minutes ago and hadn’t moved since.

  Dr. Vondi just went from harmless to dangerous.

  In a single conversation.

  The whole point of him seeing John was to convince Lori that she was wrong, and now, whether he knew it or not, he was coming around to see John as she did. He would see Clara reborn.

  Had Lori done this?

  She knew the answer was yes. She should have never let John start seeing Vondi. She knew the truth, but she wasn’t going to get her son hurt, no matter what. Vondi, though? When he finally came to the only possible conclusion, what would he do?

  And John saying that he wanted to keep tabs on the doctor?

  Christ this was going too far. John was too smart. Smarter than Alicia and smarter than his parents. John knew that Vondi thought along the same lines
as she did now, and …

  Does that put Vondi in danger?

  Lori closed her eyes, trying to block out the world around her.

  What do I do? she wondered.

  No answer came. Ceasing John’s therapy with Vondi was the best course of action, but would the doctor drop it, or would Lori seeing him weekly keep John on his mind too much. And what if he did start investigating? What would he find?

  Lori didn’t know because Lori didn’t dig into John’s world. She told Vondi she wasn’t thinking about John anymore, but that was only cover. She thought about John all the time, and now this added to it. Two options came to Lori’s mind. She could stop seeing Vondi, but would that truly cure him of this obsession? If his desire to know John drove as strong as she thought, and Vondi said, then maybe not. Maybe he would keep looking into her son.

  The other option was to send John away.

  Somewhere Vondi couldn’t find him.

  17

  Present Day

  Scott put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. From all his inquiries, Dr. Gerald Vondi’s brother was still alive and this number would connect Scott to him.

  “Hello?” a voice answered.

  “Hi, my name is Scott Hilt and I’m looking for a Robert Vondi. I was hoping this number was the right one,” Scott said, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

  “This is Robert. How can I help you, Mr. Hilt?”

  The man’s voice sounded old and frail, but intelligent, as if the man’s body was giving out before his mind.

  “Well, sir, I’m calling about something that I doubt you’ll have much information on, and something that might be sensitive. I want to apologize up front.”

  A pause, and then the man said, “I’m pretty old and there isn’t much sensitive to me anymore. I don’t get a lot of calls, so talking to anyone right now is better than no one. Go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “A long time ago, my wife and son saw your brother professionally. They both saw him for years.” Scott paused. “Lori and John Hilt, though I doubt those names mean much to you. My son is now a grown man and my wife has passed, but she left some fairly damning letters about him—my son. The tough part for me is, my wife wasn’t of a sound mind, especially toward the end of her life, and I’m wondering if any of your brother’s files or notes still existed. I know, a really long shot.”

  “Hmmmm,” Robert said, stretching the noise out. When he finished, he didn’t say anything for a few more seconds. “I don’t know about files, to be honest. I know that I have a bunch of his stuff, but I’ve never gone through it. I also don’t know if he took a lot of notes. I know that he didn’t during his sessions—he told me that one time, said taking notes during a session took you away from really paying attention to the patient. Gerald’s been dead for a long time, and I don’t have any use for the files. I think they’re up in my attic. You’d have to come get them, though. On my income, I’m not paying for shipping.”

  “Do you know if there are any legalities to this? Anything that could get us into trouble?”

  “Hmmmm,” Robert said again. “Probably, yeah, but I'm too old to care. It's up to you?”

  A jolt ran through Scott’s spine, adrenaline pumping into his system. Files. Maybe they would help and maybe they wouldn’t, but he certainly wouldn’t have to sit here looking at Lori’s notebook. And to be honest, he was also too old to care.

  “That’s not a problem, Mr. Vondi. Where are you located?”

  “I’m in Houston.”

  “That’s about five hours from me. Do you have a day that would work best?”

  “I’m free anytime. Just give me a call before you come and I’ll have them all ready for you.”

  Scott looked at his watch. The day was too late for him to make the drive now.

  “How about tomorrow?” he said. “I can be down there at eleven in the morning.”

  “Works for me. I’ll see you then.”

  * * *

  How the hell has no one caught him yet? Alan wondered.

  Three murders in two years, all of them on Hilt’s campus, or right across the street if someone wanted to be technical. His best friend died when they were pre-teens. Now these two people, one that attends the same meetings as Hilt and the other worked in the same goddamn building.

  Six murders surrounded the son-of-a-bitch. Six that Alan could see. How many more were there that he couldn’t see? And how in the hell had no one put these pieces together until now.

  Because he went overseas. Had he done it all here in the States, someone would have caught on, and he’d be in jail. Or dead.

  So what was going on in the man’s head now?

  He was getting reckless. That’s what Alan thought. Whatever was wrong with this guy, whatever fucked up connections in his head made him do this, they were growing more fucked up by the day. Three in two years while in England. Two in two weeks now.

  So how was Alan going to catch him?

  He understood that he wouldn’t find any evidence at either of the crime scenes, and this trail of dead bodies was nothing more than circumstantial evidence—a first year law student could get the case thrown out of court.

  Yet, Hilt was slipping. He blew the second guy’s head clean off, and that wasn’t his modus operandi. It created more blood, more clean up. And if he was slipping, losing control of his murderous compulsion, then turning the heat up even more might cause something to break inside him.

  You do that, then you tail him. He’ll kill, or try to, and you’ll have him.

  Turn up the heat.

  The guy hadn’t even lawyered up yet, which was insane. Did he really think himself invincible? That he couldn’t be caught because he’d gotten away with it so far? Alan supposed those questions didn’t really matter; as long as he wasn’t lawyered up, Alan was free to talk to him as much as he wanted.

  * * *

  “John, the detective is back.”

  “The same one from last time?”

  “The same.”

  John sighed into the phone. “Wait five minutes and then send him in.”

  “You got it.”

  John hung up the phone and heard Harry immediately.

  “Why the fuck are you seeing him again? Why would you allow him to come in here?”

  “I want to know what he knows.”

  “John, he doesn’t know shit,” Harry said. “If he knew anything, he wouldn’t be stopping by your secretary to ask to see you. He’d come in with cuffs and you’d be walked across the floor with your head down. He’s doing this to scare you. Plain and simple.”

  “And if I don’t see him, how does that look?”

  “WHO CARES HOW IT LOOKS? YOU’RE FIGHTING FOR YOUR LIFE HERE!”

  John stood up and straightened some of the papers on his desk.

  “What if he knows about Father Charles?”

  “He doesn’t. It’s a missing person until they find a body, and a missing person doesn’t go to Detective Dick Face. Don’t let him come in here, John. Use your head.”

  The knock on the door ended the conversation.

  “Come in,” John said from behind his desk.

  Detective Tremock opened the door. “John, how ya doing?” he said, closing it behind him.

  “I’d be better if you weren’t here, truth be told.”

  “Oh, I know that’s right,” the detective said.

  “So what have I done now to deserve you coming back?” John looked down at his desk.

  “I wanted to talk about something interesting I found,” the detective said as he walked across the office.

  “Oh, well, before we get started on that,” John said, leveling his eyes at Tremock. “Don’t ever fucking visit my wife again. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand, but I’m sorry to tell you, you don’t have any control over who I visit or what I talk about. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a cop and can go where I want.”

  A cold rage spread acros
s John’s body, his muscles tightening and his jaw clenching.

  He didn’t speak, just stared as the detective made his way to John’s desk.

  “I’ve been doing a bit of research on you, Mr. Hilt.”

  John saw the folder for the first time as Tremock brought it up from his side. He placed it on John’s desk and then flipped open the cover with a finger. A newspaper article sat on top, and when John saw the headline, he didn’t need to read anything else.

  London Student Found Dead in Park.

  “If you move past the first article there, you’ll see more,” the detective said. “Though, I’m not sure you need to look through them, given that they’re your handiwork.”

  John looked up. “So now I commit every murder, not only in the States, but other countries as well?”

  The detective smiled. “There’s a trail of dead people that follow you from thirteen until now. Harold—you remember him don’t you? Did you have something to do with that too?”

  “Oh yeah, I was a murdering thirteen year old. There’s about fifteen bodies buried beneath my middle school. Have you started digging there as well?”

  “I probably should, huh? But, no, not yet.”

  John looked at the detective, the slick grin still pasted on his face.

  “Anything else? You know why I don’t have a lawyer?” John said. “Because you don’t have shit but a folder with some old newspaper articles in it. Nothing else. You want to pin murders on me, then have some evidence, but until then, stay the fuck out of my office.”

  “No problem. The next time I come, it’ll be with a warrant. Does that work for you?”