by Blake Pierce
Detective Ryan Hernandez was, in addition to being a colleague she worked cases with regularly, her boyfriend. It felt weird to use the term but there was no way around it. They’d been going out semi-regularly for almost as long as Hannah had been living with her. And though they hadn’t taken that final physical step, both of them knew it was close. The anticipation and awkwardness made for an interesting work environment.
Jessie was jolted out of her thoughts by the opening door. Out stepped Hannah, looking neither upset nor closed off. She looked oddly…normal, which, considering everything she’d been through, seemed odd in and of itself.
Dr. Lemmon followed her out and caught Jessie’s eye.
“Hannah,” she said. “I want to talk to Jessie for a few minutes. Do you mind waiting here briefly?”
“Not at all,” Hannah replied, sitting down. “You two come on out when you’re done deciding just how crazy I am. I’ll just be alerting the state to your massive HIPAA violations.”
“Sounds good,” Dr. Lemmon said warmly, not taking the bait. “Come on in, Jessie.”
Jessie settled into the same loveseat she used for her own sessions and Dr. Lemmon sat down in the chair across from her.
“I want to keep this brief,” Dr. Lemmon said. “Despite her sarcasm, I don’t think it helps for Hannah to worry that I’m sharing details of what she says with you, even though I assured her I wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t or couldn’t?” Jessie pressed.
“She’s still under eighteen so technically, as her guardian, you could insist. But I think that would undermine the trust I’m trying to develop with her. It’s taken a while to get her to open up in any real way. I don’t want to put that at risk.”
“Understood,” Jessie said. “So why am I in here at all?”
“Because I’m worried. Without getting into specifics, I’ll just say that apart from one session where she displayed a bit of emotion at what she’s been through, Hannah’s been largely… unruffled. In retrospect, after having gotten to know her, I suspect that single display of emotion may have been for my benefit. Hannah seems to have disassociated herself from the events that transpired, as if she was an observer of them, rather than a participant.”
“That doesn’t seem surprising,” Jessie said. “In fact, it feels uncomfortably familiar to me.”
“As well it should,” Dr. Lemmon agreed. “You went through a period like that yourself. It’s a fairly common way for the brain to make sense of personal trauma. Compartmentalizing or disconnecting from traumatic events isn’t unusual. What worries me is that Hannah doesn’t seem to be doing that as a way to protect herself from the pain of what happened to her. She seems to have simply erased the pain from her system, almost like a hard drive that’s been wiped. It’s as if she doesn’t view what she suffered through as suffering so much as simply things that happened. She’s narcotized herself from viewing them as things that have anything to do with herself or her family.”
“And I’m guessing that’s not super healthy?” Jessie mulled as she shifted nervously in her seat.
“I’m loath to put a judgment on it,” Dr. Lemmon said in her usual measured style. “It seems to be working for her. My concern is where it can lead. People who aren’t able to tap into their own emotional pain occasionally escalate to a point where they can’t recognize anyone else’s pain, emotional or physical. Their ability to feel empathy disintegrates. That can often lead to socially unacceptable behavior.”
“What you’re describing sounds like sociopathy,” Jessie pointed out.
“Yes,” Dr. Lemmon agreed. “Sociopaths do exhibit some of those hallmarks. I wouldn’t formally diagnose Hannah as such based on our limited time together. Much of this could simply be attributed to deep-seated PTSD. All the same, have you noticed any behavior that might dovetail with what I’ve described?”
Jessie thought about the last few months, starting with the inexplicable, pointless lie about the television this morning. She recalled how Hannah had complained when Jessie insisted on taking a sick stray kitten they’d found hiding under an alley dumpster to a vet. She remembered how the girl would go silent for hours, no matter what Jessie did to draw her out. She thought about the time she took Hannah to the gym and how her half-sister had started punching the heavy bag without any gloves, pummeling the thing until her hands were raw and bleeding.
All those behaviors seemed to match Dr. Lemmon’s description. But they could all just as easily be interpreted as a young woman working out her inner pain. None of it meant she was a budding sociopath. She didn’t want to get anywhere near that label, not even with Dr. Lemmon.
“No,” she lied.
The therapist looked at her, obviously unconvinced. But she didn’t press, moving on to another priority.
“What about school?” she asked.
“She started up last week. I placed her in that therapeutic high school you recommended.”
“Yes, she and I discussed it briefly,” Dr. Lemmon acknowledged. “She didn’t sound overly impressed. Is that your sense as well?”
“I believe the way she put it was ‘how long do I have to hang out with these drug addicts and suicides-in-waiting before I can go back to a real school?’”
Lemmon nodded, clearly not surprised.
“I see,” she said. “She was slightly less forthright with me. I understand her frustration. But I think we need to keep her in a secure, highly supervised environment for at least a month before we consider transitioning her back into a traditional high school.”
“I get that. But I know she’s frustrated. She was supposed to graduate this year. But with all the time she’s missed, even at a traditional high school, she’s going to have to go to summer school. She isn’t psyched to finish up with, as she called them, ‘the burnouts and halfwits.’”
“One step at a time,” Dr. Lemmon said, unflustered. “Let’s move on. How are you doing?”
Jessie laughed despite herself. Where to begin? Before she could, Dr. Lemmon continued.
“We obviously don’t have time for a full session right now. But how are you managing? You’re suddenly responsible for a minor, you’re navigating a new relationship with a co-worker, your job requires you to get in the heads of brutal murderers, and you’re dealing with the emotional fallout of ending the lives of two serial killers, one of whom was your father. That’s a lot to juggle.”
Jessie forced a smile.
“When you put it like that, it does sound like a lot.”
Dr. Lemmon didn’t smile back.
“I’m serious, Jessie. You need to stay aware of your own mental health. This isn’t just a dangerous time for Hannah. The risk of you backsliding is significant as well. Don’t be cavalier about that.”
Jessie dropped the smile but kept the stiff upper lip.
“I’m aware of the risks, Doc. And I’m doing the best I can to take care of myself. But it’s not like I can take a spa day. The world keeps coming at me. And if I stop moving, I’m going to get run over.”
“I’m not sure that’s true, Jessie,” Dr. Lemmon said softly. “Sometimes if you stop moving, the world circles back around and you can hop back on. You are a person of value but don’t be arrogant. You’re not so indispensable in this world that you can’t hit pause every now and then.”
Jessie nodded aggressively, sarcastically.
“Noted,” she said, pretending to take notes. “Don’t be arrogant. Not indispensable.”
Dr. Lemmon pursed her lips, coming as close to annoyed as she was likely to ever reveal. Jessie tried to push past it.
“How’s Garland doing?” she asked teasingly.
“I’m sorry?” Dr. Lemmon said.
“You know, Garland Moses, profiling consultant for the LAPD, helped me find and rescue Hannah, older, scruffy-looking in a charming, devil-may-care sort of way.”
“I’m familiar with Mr. Moses, Jessie. I’m just not sure why you’re asking me about him.”
“No reason,” Jessie said, sensing she’d hit a nerve. “He just mentioned you a while back and something about his tone gave me the impression that you two were chummy. So I was wondering how he was doing?”
“I think that will complete our time today,” Dr. Lemmon said brusquely.
“Wow,” Jessie said, smiling for real now. “You really shut that down fast, Doc.”
Dr. Lemmon stood up and motioned for them to head to the exit. Jessie decided to ease up. As they reached the door, she turned back to the therapist and asked the question that had been eating at her for the last few minutes.
“Seriously, Doc, if Hannah is heading down a road where she has trouble feeling empathy for other people, is there any way to reverse that?”
Dr. Lemmon paused and looked her squarely in the eye.
“Jessie, I’ve spent thirty-five years of my life trying to answer questions like that. The best answer I can give you is: I hope so.”
CHAPTER THREE
Lizzie Polacnyk got home seriously late.
She’d expected to be back from her study group session at California State University—Northridge by 7 p.m. But they had a big Psychology 101 exam tomorrow and everyone was quizzing each other relentlessly. When they called it quits for the night, it was after nine.
By the time she opened the apartment front door, it was almost 9:45. She tried to keep quiet, remembering that Michaela had a 6 a.m. call time both earlier this morning and tomorrow and was probably fast asleep by now.
She tiptoed down the hallway to her bedroom and was surprised to see a dim light leaking out from under Michaela’s door. It wasn’t like her to stay up late when she had to be up by 5 a.m. She wondered if her longtime friend and more recent roommate had simply been so tired that she fell asleep with the light on. She decided to peek in and turn it off if need be.
When she cracked open the door slightly, she saw Michaela lying on her back without the covers on. Her pillow partially obscured her face. She only had the reading lamp on so it was hard to be sure but it looked like she hadn’t even changed out of her outfit from the day, a cheerleading uniform.
Lizzie was about to close the door when she noticed something odd. The skirt was riding down near Michaela’s thighs so that her crotch was exposed. That seemed inappropriate, no matter how exhausted she was.
Lizzie debated whether to throw a sheet over her friend. Considering what Michaela did for a living, it seemed like forced modesty. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to walk in on her. Still, Lizzie felt her Catholic girls school upbringing kicking in and knew it would gnaw at her all night if she did nothing.
So she gently pushed the door open and stepped inside, quietly walking over to the side of the bed. She got halfway there when she stopped cold. Now with an unobstructed view, she saw the gaping holes in Michaela’s chest and stomach.
A thick, wet pool of blood had oozed out of the sliced up uniform and surrounded her entire torso, slowly seeping into the bed sheets. Michaela’s eyes were clenched tight, as if keeping them closed could have protected her from whatever happened.
Lizzie stood there for several seconds, unsure how to react. She felt like she should scream but her throat had suddenly gone dry. Her stomach gurgled and she briefly feared she might throw up.
Feeling like she was in a strange dream, she turned and walked out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water. When she was confident that she would be able to speak, she called 911.
*
The date was going well.
In the back of her mind, Jessie started to wonder if tonight might be the night. She was almost reluctant to wish for it. Her relationship with Ryan was the most stable thing in her life right now and she was hesitant to do anything to complicate it.
She’d spent most of the evening at the charmingly cheesy Italian restaurant complaining about how things were going with Hannah. She recounted the basics of her conversation with Dr. Lemmon and lamented the lack of forward progress they were making in helping her half-sister adjust to her new normal. It was only when Ryan excused himself to go to the restroom and she looked around the restaurant that Jessie realized just how self-centered she’d been.
The place, a legendary if cheesy San Fernando Valley haunt called Miceli’s, was darkly lit and romantic. The vibe was heightened by the fact that Ryan had somehow secured the one table on the second floor, in what amounted to an indoor balcony overlooking the rest of the restaurant. But until now, she’d been mostly oblivious.
She’d also barely registered until he left that he’d hardly spoken all night. Instead he sat patiently as she prattled on about her domestic troubles, barely letting him get in a word. In fact, now that she thought about it, she didn’t recall asking him a single question all evening.
As the guilt washed over her, she saw him leave the restroom on the floor below and deftly navigate his way through the maze of tables to the stairs. As he did, she noticed something else—almost every woman who could get away with it cast a glance his way. Who could blame them?
The man was hard to ignore. Six feet tall and two hundred pounds of what looked like marble, with unassuming, short black hair and welcoming brown eyes, he walked with the quiet confidence of a man who didn’t need to impress anyone.
And if these women knew what he did for a living, they’d be even more intrigued. As the lead detective for a special unit of the LAPD called Homicide Special Section—HSS for short—his cases all had high profiles or intense media scrutiny, often involving multiple victims and serial killers.
And he was here with her. It had taken a while to get to this point. He was in the final stages of a divorce after six years of marriage. Jessie had been single a little longer. Her marriage had ended more dramatically, when her now ex-husband attempted to frame her for killing his mistress. When she’d uncovered his plan, he tried to kill her. He was currently incarcerated in a prison in Orange County.
Ryan sat down across from her and she reached for his hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve been totally dominating the conversation. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” he said. “That drug kingpin assassination wrapped up today.”
“You never called me in to help,” she noted, pretending to be hurt.
“It was pretty cut and dried. We didn’t really need the services of any fancy profiler for that one.”
“Who cares?” Jessie protested. “Call me in anyway. At least then we can spend a little time together, even if I might have to bail at some point.”
“How romantic,” he said. “Nothing like making googly eyes over a dead body.”
“We do what we’ve got to do,” she said, shrugging. “Besides, for my last case I was assigned to work with Trembley, who—no offense—isn’t exactly my dream partner.”
“Hey,” Ryan mock-protested. “Detective Alan Trembley is a solid professional and you should be honored to work with him on any case you’re assigned.”
“He’s quite boring.”
“I resent that on his behalf,” he said, trying to scowl. “Besides, not having you with me allows me to plan your birthday without you hovering.”
“You’re planning something for me?” Jessie asked, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t even know you knew when it was.”
“I’m a detective, Jessie. That’s kind of in my wheelhouse. I wouldn’t even mention it except that I need you to make sure your schedule is clear on Thursday evening. Cool?”
“Cool,” she agreed, blushing slightly.
He smiled back and she felt a rush of warmth come over her. Someone going to the trouble to learn her birthday and organize something for it would normally have made Jessie illogically anxious. But somehow, because it was Ryan, she felt comfortable with the idea, even excited.
She wondered if he might be planning an early gift of an intimate nature for her tonight. She was about to hint at the idea when his phone rang. She didn’t recognize the ring
tone. Whoever it was caused Ryan to frown. He mouthed sorry as he picked up.
“Detective Hernandez,” he said.
Jessie watched as Ryan listened to the voice on the other end of the line. The frown on his face became more pronounced with each passing moment. After waiting silently for about thirty seconds, he finally responded.
“But Valley Division’s already there. Won’t it be too late?”
He was quiet as the other person responded. After another twenty seconds, he spoke again.
“I understand. I’m on it.”
Then he hung up. He stared at the phone for a moment as if it might speak directly to him. When he looked up, his eyes were steely.
“I hate to do this but we have to skip dessert. I have to check out a crime scene and if we don’t leave now, it might be too late.”
Jessie had rarely seen Ryan look so uneasy. He waved at the server to get her attention, handing her a pile of bills from his wallet when she hurried over.
“Too late?” Jessie asked. “What does that mean?”
Ryan stood up and indicated that she should do the same. He was already headed for the stairs when he replied.
“I’ll explain on the way.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jessie forced herself to wait.
Whatever this was about, it had Ryan on edge and she didn’t want to make it worse. She sat quietly in the passenger seat, allowing him to reveal what was going on when he felt comfortable.
“Are you sure you’re okay coming?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she assured him. “I texted Hannah that a case came up and that she shouldn’t expect me back before she goes to bed. We’re good.”
“You could have rideshared from the restaurant,” he reminded her.
“I wanted to come, Ryan,” she insisted, again biting her tongue despite the desire to ask additional questions.
