Severed Relations

by Rebecca Forster

  Now Elizabeth was sitting in a comfortable yet far-from-comforting office. A dark couch hugged one wall, and a box of Kleenex was conspicuously perched on the back of it. The desk was covered with unimaginative gadgets and leather accessories. A fichus tree thrived near the window and Elizabeth thought that was impressive. It was difficult to get a fichus tree to grow indoors. Elizabeth sat in a gold tweed armchair that wasn't cheap but it was ugly. Behind her the door of the office opened and a woman came in. She was short, plain in middle age. Her hair was sliced off just below her ears, and round tortoiseshell glasses magnifyied her brown eyes.

  "Hello, Elizabeth. It's been a long time."

  "Fifteen years, Doctor Templeton."

  "How is your mother?"

  "She's fine. My father is still alive, but he's in a nursing home. We don't see him," Elizabeth said.

  Doctor Templeton nodded, but she didn't smile. There was nothing to smile about where Elizabeth's family was concerned. The mother had been suicidal, the father dictatorial and Elizabeth so concerned with keeping everyone happy that she had worked herself into half a dozen phobias by the time Doctor Templeton met her.

  Happily she was a quick study – or a gifted actress. After a year of therapy she finished college with honors and announced she would help others by becoming a nurse. Had it been anyone else Doctor Templeton would be pleased, but it was Elizabeth declaring herself healthy and that was worrisome. Doctor Templeton had wanted to continue therapy for at least another year but Elizabeth, having put every duck in her phobic brain in a row, politely said goodbye, thanked the doctor and went off into the world. Doctor Templeton had assumed Elizabeth to be fine until she read the paper and saw what had happened to her children. She was glad to see her back although she would have been happy just to know that Elizabeth was seeking help somewhere. The doctor took her chair behind the desk. Elizabeth had grown into a beauty in spite of the gray hair. Now Doctor Templeton would see how else she had changed – if she had changed at all.

  "I am so sorry about your children," the doctor said.

  Elizabeth nodded. She smoothed her black pants, her black blouse. She touched her pearls and then her hair.

  "I am happy you're here. I want to help in anyway I can," the doctor said. "Where shall we begin?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. Back and forth and back. Her long hair rippled across her shoulders and her lips were pulled tight. Any person in her situation would be fighting off hysteria but Doctor Templeton knew what Elizabeth was doing: she was compressing her rage, tamping it down with a shovel honed out of a determination Doctor Templeton had seldom encountered in any human being. Elizabeth was creating a strategy to control herself. Doctor Templeton didn't want to give her a chance to do that because she was after honesty and sometimes it was hard to get that out of Elizabeth.

  "Have you cried, Elizabeth?" Dr. Templeton asked.

  "Of course. Every day."

  The last was a lie. She had cried in shock when she found her children. She had wept a little at the morgue, but she had easily controlled those tears. Still, she thought admitting to tears everyday was what the doctor wanted to hear.

  "I see." Doctor Templeton did not believe her because Elizabeth's eyes were bright and clear. "Are you eating? Sleeping?"

  "Yes."

  Another lie.

  "Dreams?"

  "No."

  The truth.

  "But you are angry."

  "Yes."

  The truth.

  "What angers you the most?"

  "That my children are dead when they shouldn't be."

  "Of course. And the nanny. I understand their nanny also died."

  "That doesn't make me angry."

  "Then it makes you sad," Doctor Templeton led her.

  "No, it doesn't make me sad."

  "What does the woman's death make you feel?"

  Elizabeth's eyes widened. It was not the question she was expecting.

  "It makes me feel nothing. How could I feel anything about her when my children are dead? When they died because of her?"

  "Is that what the police say? That the nanny brought someone into the house?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. She looked at the middle space over Doctor Templeton's shoulder. "They don't say anything yet and I don't want to talk about Rachel. I don't."

  "Then what's next on the list of things that make you angry?"

  "That I can't just handle this on my own. I don't want to be here talking to you. My husband doesn't know about you."

  Doctor Templeton nodded. "Would he be upset that you're here or would he be happy?"

  "Happy," Elizabeth answered. "He has been upset with me for a long while because I liked staying home. He made me go on this trip, you see. We went to Paris. That's when it happened. When we were in Paris. I told him if he made me go something awful would happen. I told him."

  "So you're angry at your husband? You blame him for this?"

  Elizabeth heard the doctor but her gaze wandered as the woman talked. She looked out the window behind Doctor Templeton, and into the window of an office on the other side of the street, and imagined a window on the other side of the building, looking into another window…

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "What can he do to make you not angry with him?"

  "I want him to show me how sorry he was for changing our lives, for side-lining me. A nanny. A housekeeper. I didn't need that. I didn't want that. And now he excludes me. We can't start rebuilding if he won't include me." Elizabeth plucked at the upholstery on the armchair. Her voice rose but her words were clipped. "He leaves early for work. When he comes home he goes to his study to work."

  Elizabeth leaned forward. Her hands were now clasped in her lap. She lowered her voice even though it was only the two of them in the room.

  "I've gone into the garden in the dark. I stand behind the bushes so I can see through the windows into his office. He's not working, Doctor Templeton. He just sits there staring."

  Elizabeth righted herself. Her hands were on the arms of the chair again.

  "He's such a liar. I'm sure he's lied to me before but now is not the time. He just doesn't want to talk to me so he lies and then he runs away to work in the morning."

  "So you want him to talk about moving forward even though it's only been a few days since your daughters died. You would like him to stay home with you, is that correct?"

  "I want my husband to be a man. Life isn't fun and games anymore. All this time, it's like we were playing a game: making money, having children, making me go places I didn't want to go. What good was any of it? Shouldn't we talk about that?"

  "Many men don't know how to do that so they do what they know. They go to work to take care of the family."

  "No. No. No." Elizabeth's voice rose as her fists pounded lightly on the arms of the chair. "A real man doesn't just ignore the bad things that happen. Sam is an attorney. He's a rich man. He's a smart man, but he is selfish. He takes no responsibility. He acts like nothing has changed."

  "Elizabeth, do you remember how we talked about your mother and father? Do you remember when we made a list of what was good and loving about them and what was not?"

  Elizabeth nodded. The list of good things had been very short.

  "What was the one thing I asked you to do when we made that list?"

  "You asked me to be fair and to see my parents as individuals with strengths and weaknesses."

  "That's correct. Now I want you to be fair to both your husband and yourself. Can you do that?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth said but it was clear it would be difficult.

  "Okay, then. First, let's look at the big picture," Doctor Templeton said. "People, Elizabeth, deal with life events differently. Some are proactive, the way you are being. You long for a resolution and you are ready to assist in finding it. Isn't that true?"

  "Yes. Yes. I see something isn't right and I takes steps to rectify the situation," Elizabeth agreed.

  "And that i
s a strength," the doctor said. "Your husband, according to you, wants to hide his head in the sand. He goes to work, he avoids you to keep from facing the reality of your life now. Is that how you perceive his actions?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I want you to consider that your husband goes to work because it is a familiar place to him. It is a place where he can mourn."

  "How selfish." Elizabeth shot out of her chair and stepped behind it. She grasped the back of the chair and dug her nails in. "Don't you see that is selfish? He is not mourning – he's licking his own wounds. He's feeling sorry for himself."

  "How can you know that?" Doctor Templeton asked.

  "Because I know him. He marginalized me before this, he made us go away from our home, he left our children with that woman. Now he should be home. We should talk about it. That's the only way to move on. I am willing to do whatever it takes. I talk to the police. I make sure I know what is going on with the investigation. He doesn't talk to them at all."

  Doctor Templeton smiled. She opened her hands. "There you are, Elizabeth. You are two people mourning in two ways. I imagine that your husband finds your strength, your surety, and your righteousness intimidating. I think he might be afraid of you, Elizabeth. He is afraid to be found lacking."

  Elizabeth cocked her head, finally hearing something that made sense. Slowly, she took her seat again and the doctor went on, encouraged by her attention.

  "Imagine you and your husband are refugees Elizabeth. Some refugees run from the horrors of war with their belongings on their back. They scratch for food where there is none. They carry their children incredible distances when they, themselves, are almost too weak to stand. They do superhuman things in order to survive. Others run from the same horrors but they don't get far. They give up."

  Dr. Templeton picked up a pencil and slid it through her fingers, almost hypnotizing Elizabeth with the fluid movement and the tone of her voice. Like a sleepwalker, Elizabeth came round the chair and sat down, hanging on the doctor's every word.

  "You and your husband are refugees on the same road. You both may want to walk it and get to a better place, but you might be the only one with the strength to do so. You can't shame your husband into walking the road with you, but you might be able to give him a reason to do that. Do you understand? He needs a reason, Elizabeth. Your husband perceives that he cannot and did not perform his job as protector. He goes to work to make amends."

  "My children were my work," Elizabeth said with great sorrow. "My home was my office. It's empty now and silent and frightening, and yet I can't bear the thought of being anywhere else. I can't stand not knowing the reason this happened. Rachel, I can understand, but my children? They were just children."

  Taken aback by Elizabeth Barnett's inability to acknowledge that the nanny's death was a tragedy, Doctor Templeton paused. She would like to explore Elizabeth's detachment, but she would leave that for another day. It had, after all, taken Elizabeth a very long while to even acknowledge her mother was not a disposable human being after watching her father abuse the woman for so many years. The doctor smiled and stayed on point.

  "Understood, but your husband has no frame of reference to know what your days are like without your children. He didn't stay home before this happened; it seems illogical to him to stay home now. He goes where he is accepted because the one thing he fears the most is you. He fears your rejection, Elizabeth."

  The doctor waited a millisecond.

  "Perhaps, Elizabeth, he needs you to just open your arms. Do you think you could stop on your road long enough to embrace him? To pick him up? To show him how to walk with you? Do you think you could do that?

  "Elizabeth? Are you listening?

  "Could you do that, Elizabeth?"

  CHAPTER 27

  DAY 5 – AFTERNOON

  "Well hi there you two! Drive safe; drive happy! Welcome to Bargain Rent-A-Car. How can I be of assistance today?"

  The girl behind the counter was clad head-to-toe in a uniform of neon orange and her greeting was so fierce that a lesser man than Finn might have turned tail and run. As it was, he was simply left speechless, so Cori greeted her and added a flash of her badge.

  "Hi there back. I'm Detective Anderson. This is Detective O'Brien." Finn tipped his fingers to his brow. The girl giggled. Cori said: "Is there a supervisor around?"

  The girl leaned over to check out Cori's credentials. When she was done she bounced back on the balls of her feet and said:

  "Nope. He went out to a late lunch and hasn't come back. I think he has a girlfriend, but I'm not supposed to know." The girl planted her elbows on the counter. "I'm happy to help you, though."

  "Okay, Jenny, that would be great." Cori pulled the girl's name smoothly off her nametag.

  "Super. It's been slow so it's kind of nice to have someone to talk to. That's the only thing I don't like about this job. It's a long time between customers mostly."

  Finn had no trouble believing that. Most people who lived in this neighborhood didn't have two cents to rub together much less the bucks to rent a car. In fact, it was not the kind of neighborhood Finn would want a daughter of his working in. If boredom were the only thing that befell this pretty teenager before she quit this job she would be lucky.

  "We're interested in one car in particular, possibly rented sometime in the last week of March. Blue or dark grey. Four-door. Possibly a late model Ford Contour," Finn said, using the same words he had spoken to the five different salespeople at five different Bargain rental sites. The tire molds were consistent with this model but it was a standard tire so they couldn't be positive the Contour was their car. Still, it was a place to start.

  "Oh sure, we've got a ton of those. They're really inexpensive, but they're good cars. We pride ourselves on renting good cars. I can look up the March rentals if you want. I could do it right now. I'd be happy to do it right now, if you want. Do you want me to do that?"

  Cori dipped her head and rubbed her nose. She couldn't look at Finn knowing his eyes were probably permanently stuck in the ceiling position. This much girl-energy was hard to take even for another girl.

  "That would be super," Cori said.

  "The one we're looking for would have been rented either by a man with light brown, wavy hair, medium height or a man with frizzy red hair. They might have come in together," Cori said.

  "Oh, those two guys."

  The girl gave the detectives a sweeping nod and that was all it took to give Cori and Finn their second wind. Finn moved to the counter and stood shoulder to shoulder with his partner. Cori was nearly vibrating with excitement but her poker face was on.

  "You remember them, then?"

  "Oh, sure. They didn't talk much. Usually people talk more when they come in here. They tell me why they need a car, and where they're going, and stuff like that." Jenny's right hand punctuated her sentences because she talked so fast it was almost impossible to hear it in her speech.

  "Did they say they were from out of town?" Cori pressed.

  "No." Neon Jenny shook her head. "I just assume most people are. Those two came in just before I closed on Thursday so they were my last contract. They didn't buy any insurance or anything even though I told them it would be for their own protection and everything. Some people think we're trying to rip them off, but we're not. I swear."

  She stood up straighter and laced her hands on the counter.

  "Anyway, I remember the one guy because his hair was really, really red. I thought maybe he dyed it at first. I shouldn't have said anything, though. He was pretty mad when I asked him that. He didn't yell or anything, but I knew he was mad. It was kind of scary."

  "Can we see the paperwork?" Finn asked, glad that the redhead hadn't left neon-Jenny in the same condition he left the three people in the Barnett house.

  "Oh, sure." Jenny was gone and back in a blink. She put a three-page document in front of them. "Here we go. His name was Charles E. Manson."

  Finn's gut clenched at the moni
ker. These were sick bastards, indeed. Thankfully, this girl was too young to remember who Charlie Manson was.

  "Which one filled this out?" Cori asked as Finn studied the information. He couldn't swear the printing was the same as on the condolence card found in the cemetery, but it looked darn close.

  "You know. I'm not really sure. I think it was the brown haired one. He was very weird. I don't remember what he looked like but he was real fidgety. Kind of like those people with that disease where they shake all the time?"

  "Parkinson's?" Cori asked.

  "Yes, but not exactly. I don't think he was sick, I think he was just nervous but in a weird way. Anyway, to be honest, I was checking availabilities on the computer and when I got back it was all done, so I don't know which one of them was Charles Manson. I gave them number forty-seven and they left."

  "That's just what we were looking for. Think you can make us a copy of this?" Cori asked.

  "Sure." Jenny swiped it back and turned around to a copy machine at the same time Cori turned to Finn.

  "Don't you just love it when things go right."

  "Someone up there is watching over us," Finn muttered and then he raised his voice. "We'll be needing you to put a hold on that car, if you would, miss."

  Jenny flipped a smile over her shoulder just as the machine started chugging.

  "I can't. It hasn't been returned yet."

  Finn shook his head. He turned and put his elbow on the counter as Cori sighed.

  "Chutes and ladders, O'Brien," she reminded him.

  "I was hoping to stay atop a ladder just a wee bit longer on this one," he said. When he saw Cori's disappointment he added: "No worries. Jenny will be putting a face to the bogus name, which will give us a real name – or at least a string of alias's we can run down – and that's worth its weight."

  Cori smiled. She would like to believe it was going to be that easy but there were ten million people in Los Angeles County, a billion ways to get rid of a car and not enough cops to go searching for a Bargain Rent-a-Car. Unless there was a body in the trunk and it started to smell, this was going to be low priority for the boys in uniform. Jenny's I.D. was a long shot. Still, you never did know when the cop Gods would smile on you.