Doctors of Darkness Boxed Set

by Ellery A Kane

  Agent McKinnon retreated to the corner and took out her cell phone, pretending not to watch us. A well-worn valley of worry marked the space between her eyebrows. I didn’t have a grandmother—she died before I was born—but I imagined she would’ve been something like that. Crotchety, but concerned.

  “Does she know you?” I asked my mother, though the answer seemed obvious.

  “She thinks she does, but that’s not important right now. There are things I need to tell you.” I wondered how long she’d been thinking of this speech. Hours? Days? “You must be confused and upset with me, and you have every right to feel that way. The name Bronwyn is the one I chose when I moved to Texas. The one I chose for me and you. It means white, fair, the color of innocence.” Her speech—hollow and rehearsed—told me she’d been practicing for years.

  “So it’s true then. You’re Clare Keely? A psychologist? Seriously, Mom.”

  She blinked, blinked, and blinked again, as if her old self was too much to bear. “How did you find out?”

  “That’s where you want to start? How about, I’m sorry I lied to you.” My jaw set, I shook my head at her. “Levi told me. I didn’t believe him at first. But clearly, I was wrong.”

  “I am sorry, Samantha. Of course, I am.”

  “Why did you change your name? And you never told me you lived in California.”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to take the chance of him finding us … you. This is exactly what I feared would happen.”

  “Cullen? Cutthroat Cullen? That’s who you mean by him?”

  She swallowed hard. “He was a therapy patient of mine. I worked at San Quentin, the prison near here. It was my first real job as a psychologist.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Cullen was obsessed with me. He became obsessed with me the more we worked together. He thought I had feelings for him. It was so bad, I had to quit my job and move away. He made up lies about me, lies that made it so I couldn’t be a psychologist anymore.” I let out a long, rattled breath, and my mother rubbed my back. “It’s a lot to take in, I’m sure. But I lied to you to protect you.” Funny how the words Levi used to reassure me were completely insufficient coming from my mother.

  “Five minutes are up.” Agent McKinnon signaled to us with a tap of her watch.

  “Coming,” my mother said, wrapping her arm around me. But my questions kept marching. They would not be denied. I wriggled away.

  “Did Dad know about all this?”

  “Of course he knew. It still stings, you know, how right he was. He never wanted me to work at San Quentin in the first place.” She seemed lost somewhere far away, somewhere I’d never been and couldn’t go.

  “The notes Cullen left … that last one about knowing your secrets. What did it mean?”

  My mother shrugged. “He’s crazy, honey. Delusional. You can’t make sense of somebody like that.”

  ****

  “So let’s talk about him.” Agent McKinnon pointed to the center of the desk, where she laid a photograph of Levi in his police uniform. “Levi Beckett.” She had a way of making him sound guilty without saying anything at all.

  “He’s not involved in this.” Not true, though I still wasn’t sure how. “I mean, he didn’t break the law.” Another swing and a miss, but only if you were being by the book about it, which McKinnon definitely was. “He didn’t touch me.” Nope. I suppressed a smile. “And he certainly didn’t hurt me. He saved my life.”

  “Did he tell you to say that, Samantha?”

  “No. It’s the truth.”

  “I see.” Agent McKinnon made a note in the file. “Did he say where he was going?”

  “He told me it was better I didn’t know.”

  My mother patted my arm. “You don’t have to protect him.”

  “I’m not protecting—”

  “He’s obviously very good-looking. Probably charming too.” She fingered the corner of the picture, smudging it a little. “It’s okay if you fell for that. I won’t be mad.”

  Agent McKinnon gave a sage nod that seemed meant for my mother. “It happens to the best of us.”

  I shook my head, all the while contemplating a secret of my own. If they knew about the kiss, they’d probably assume I was completely brainwashed. A full-fledged member of the Cult of Levi. “Yes, he’s handsome and semi-charming, but I’m not boy crazy like Ginny, Mom. He told me he was on administrative leave. He told me everything.”

  “And what exactly did he say about that?”

  I replied with a casual hunch of my shoulders, a no-big-deal shrug. “Something about bribing an officer to get his sister out of trouble. A burglary, I think. Or drugs, maybe. It didn’t seem so bad.”

  My mother’s sigh implied it was the most ridiculous statement I’d ever made. Then Agent McKinnon joined in. Coach Crowley would’ve been quite impressed by their double-team. “Did he tell you it was his fault she got in trouble in the first place? He put her up to it. Might’ve even been there when she broke into the place, but the cops couldn’t prove it. And she wasn’t about to give up her brother. Not to mention the fact he used his position to acquire information he wasn’t entitled to, falsified airline procedure documents, and flew with his service weapon outside of an official capacity.”

  I deflected my own frustration with my loyalty to Levi by fueling a vigorous defense. “I’m sure there’s an explanation. He’s not a bad guy.”

  “Do you have one?” Agent McKinnon couldn’t hide her Cheshire cat grin. “An explanation?”

  “I assume it has something to do with his dad and Cullen. That’s what his friend, Snip, implied. Maybe you should ask my mother.”

  “Believe me, Samantha, I already have. But your mother has a history of being a bit … shall we say … evasive when it comes to Mr. Cutthroat.” Her sarcasm was palpable.

  Turning to my mother, I held out my hands, empty and ready for an answer. “Well?”

  “I—I don’t know. I provided therapy to both of them … Levi’s father and Clive Cullen, but—”

  “What about the EME?” I ignored my mother’s gasp. “Why aren’t you trying to find them?”

  “How did you know they were Mexican Mafia?”

  “Uh, Levi. The horrible snake-in-the-grass con man who has me completely snowed. He seems to know a lot more about you than I do.”

  My mother shook her head at Agent McKinnon. “I’m sorry. Eighteen going on nineteen, but still very much a teenager. Thanks for reminding me of your immaturity, Samantha.”

  “Why is the EME after me? Why did they call me the whore’s daughter? Is that one of the secrets you buried?”

  Nonplussed, Agent McKinnon spoke while my mother stared straight ahead, her face flushed. “It seems the Mexican Mafia has a bit of a grudge against your mother. In fact, we found a photograph of you in Marcus Guzman’s pocket. Apparently, he’s the nephew of a high-ranking member … ” She paused, locking eyes with my mother. “ … Arturo Ramirez.”

  “Another friend of yours, Mom?” I knew I was out of line, but I didn’t care. Not one bit. Maybe I was immature after all.

  A flinch was my mother’s only reply, and McKinnon continued. “He’s a shot caller for the EME. Guzman may have kidnapped Ginny thinking she was you.”

  I scrunched my face in confusion. “But he’s dead.”

  “Yes. Very. His throat was cut.”

  “By Cullen?”

  “We’re looking into that. There’s a possibility they were working together. Or more likely, Cullen was using Guzman. He’s good at that … using people. After he killed Guzman, the EME went looking for you. They have associates all over the city. And when they want revenge, they get it. You’re lucky to be alive, Samantha.”

  Screee. Holding a trembling hand over her mouth, my mother fled the room, and guilt set in, heavy as a stone on my chest. I s
tood, ready to chase her, but Agent McKinnon stopped me.

  “Let me talk to her. Woman to woman.” I nodded as she hurried out the door, resigned to the fact that a complete stranger had a better chance at an honest conversation with my mother. From the desktop, Levi still smiled at me. I like you, Sam. So I reached to flip the photo over. That’s when I realized the file sat on the chair, open. Practically begging to be read.

  I only saw one page. One part of one page. Sometimes knowing a little is worse than knowing nothing at all. Agent McKinnon didn’t even scold me when she caught me looking. She must’ve known what I read was punishment enough.

  ****

  A ghost of my mother returned. A pale shell discarded on the beach. Hollow inside, so all you hear is air rushing through. She looked past me and folded into her seat. The only sign of life was in her hands, shaking a little, but she slipped them under her thighs to quiet them. “I’m okay,” she told me before I could ask.

  “You’ve both had a long day. It’s probably a good idea to get a hotel room and get some rest. We can help you with that. It goes without saying we recommend you stay close by.” She waited for my mother to acknowledge her. In the awkward silence, I nodded instead. “We will be sending a couple of officers with you. Standard procedure for your safety. When we have some information—”

  A stern voice interrupted her from the doorway. “Excuse me, Agent McKinnon, there’s something you need to see.” He extended a hand inside, passing her a cell phone with a sturdy black cover that looked a lot like my mother’s. “This just arrived.”

  Agent McKinnon studied the screen as I studied her. My mother addressed the wall with a vacant stare.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Another message?”

  Ignoring my question, Agent McKinnon tapped my mother’s arm. “What do you make of this?”

  I peered over her shoulder. One new text message, a picture attached.

  We both know this is between you and me. It always has been. You know where to find me. And you know what I’m capable of. Come alone unless you want her blood on your hands. They’re already as red as mine.

  I felt still, unnaturally calm, as if I stood smack-dab in the eye of a tornado, watching the entire world spin into chaos around me. Only Ginny’s face was visible in the photo. Unlike in my dream, she wasn’t peaceful. Not at all. Her skin unmarked, the terror was in her eyes. Still morning-glory blue at their centers, but milky red everywhere else. And wide. So wide. I couldn’t look away.

  “Any idea where he might be?” The ghost next to me said nothing. “I know it was ages ago … ”

  “A lifetime.” Finally, she spoke.

  “Right. I know you’ve been through a lot, Ms. Bronwyn. It must be difficult to remember.” McKinnon’s sympathy seemed practiced. I supposed it was.

  “Impossible. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Maybe he hinted at something.”

  “Like what?”

  “A place. A person. Somebody who might be helping him.” McKinnon paused. “Rodney Taylor, for example. Has he been in touch? Do you think Cullen would know how to reach him?”

  My mother snapped back in her chair, sudden and sharp. Her cheeks aflame, her mouth a small cave, she blinked back tears. Rodney Taylor—whoever he was—knocked her back like a sucker punch to the gut.

  “Think hard,” McKinnon encouraged, seemingly oblivious. “You know what’s at stake.”

  “I am. And yes, I know.” Agent McKinnon relented with a nod, and my mother’s silence grew deep and wide like a river too treacherous to cross. I wanted to yell at her. To tell her Ginny’s life depended on her. But I stopped myself. The way she wrung her hands, she seemed broken. Finally, three soft words, “There is something.”

  Agent McKinnon reached for her pen. “I’m listening.”

  “He always talked about an old friend who had a cabin somewhere in Vermont, I think.”

  “Can you give me anything more specific? You never mentioned this before.”

  Before. There it was again. Evidence of some other life. Pre-Samantha. “Umm … I don’t have a name or anything if that’s what you mean. I’d actually forgotten all about it. But one time he told me if he ever got out, that’s where he’d be headed.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Agent McKinnon left me with the ghost.

  “Mom, are you okay? You seem—” She was already up and dragging me toward the door.

  “We need to leave now.”

  “Are you crazy?” She certainly looked it. Alien. Unhinged. “Why?”

  “I’ll explain everything in the car.” I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “Now, Sam.”

  “Okay, okay. What about the cops? Did you just lie to them?” It occurred to me I didn’t know my mother at all. Not really. Not as a person.

  “By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone.”

  november 12, 1996

  Clare plodded up the hill toward the prison gate, a poisonous mix of dread and anticipation sloshing in her stomach. Usually a three-day weekend did the trick, restored her sanity. Not this time. She’d spent most of Saturday on her knees, staring down the throat of the toilet puking up Friday’s regrets. By Sunday, she was empty, save for that awful, familiar feeling she’d done something wrong. And of course, she had. So many things. Starting at the beginning. The slumber party. Why did you let him touch you? There was no answer for her own question or the guilt that grew inside her like a seed—slowly, slowly, and then all at once. Until she couldn’t stand it. That’s when she broke down and called Neal. I saw Rodney, she told him. And then he came over.

  It felt cold in her office, even with the space heater Fitzpatrick loaned her running at full blast. She left her jacket on and opened Cullen’s file to the back. After last week’s lunacy, she was grateful for the reprieve of the Veteran’s Day holiday. It meant she wouldn’t see Cullen for another week. Maybe she could find Doctor Clare Keely by then. The psychologist. The professional. She wasn’t sure where she misplaced her, only that she’d been most certainly lost, leaving a nutcase, a complete screwball to substitute. A screwball who had sex with the reliable, sturdy, boring oak tree. Because after Neal sat up with her and listened to all her half-truths, she owed it to him. It was the least she could do. And just as she feared, he stuck around all morning, all afternoon, all evening. I miss this, Clare. I miss us. Until she finally insisted he leave.

  She found what she looked for wedged between an old time card and Cullen’s rap sheet—an informational chrono from his first therapist at Wasco. She’d remembered it yesterday morning when Neal was moaning into her neck. I love you. One sentence at the end she’d glossed over. She fought the urge to push Neal off her and make a note to herself, even though she knew she wouldn’t forget.

  Clive Cullen participated in individual therapy with the undersigned clinician from March 1991 to January 1992. Mr. Cullen attended sessions regularly and was actively involved in identifying therapeutic goals, including gaining insight into his history of violence with women and learning to better manage his interpersonal relationships. Diagnostic impressions: Personality Disorder Not Otherwise Specified with Antisocial, Borderline, and Narcissistic traits …

  She traced the text with her finger, skimming through until it landed. Bull’s-eye.

  Juvenile court documents indicate no history of early maladjustment or parental abuse or neglect.

  Maybe Fitzpatrick had been right about Cullen snowing her with his Dickensian tales of a wretched childhood. She marked the page with a pink Post-it and pushed it to the corner of her desk, angry with herself. It wouldn’t be the first time a man had duped her. Rodney always played the sympathy card. My wife is screwing her boss behind my back. She won’t even look at me anymore. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Clarie. Probably just off myself. End it all.

  Come to think of it, he wasn’t really that
good at it. But she’d been the ultimate sucker, which made Neal’s offer all the more tempting. Do you want me to hurt him? I can’t believe he had the nerve to talk to you. I’ll do it. You know I will. For you. Clare couldn’t imagine Neal hurting anyone. Still, that wasn’t why she told him no. If Rodney Taylor suffered, she wanted to be the one to do it.

  “Knock, knock.” Startled, Clare spun in her chair, her heart flitting as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. Cullen was grinning from the doorway. In his hand, another ducat she hadn’t approved.

  And there it was again. Dread. Anticipation. “We weren’t scheduled for a session this week.”

  “I know.” He came inside without being invited. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I stopped by to say hello. They discharged me from the infirmary over the weekend.” Clare watched him walk toward her. She forced a tight smile.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” I should tell him to leave.

  “Me too. It was really nice of you to visit me.” He stood next to her and set his hand on the desk. She stared at it. The way he caressed the surface seemed a signal meant for her. He remembers, she thought, as if he wouldn’t. “Is that my file?”

  She nodded, relieved for a place to put her own hands. She turned to the page she’d marked. “I was planning on asking you about it at our session on Monday.”

  “Ask me now.” Clare followed his fingers as they disappeared into the pockets of his prison blues.

  “Did you lie to me about your mother?”

  “I’ve never lied to you. Why would you ask me that?” She turned the file and pointed to the sentence. Cullen threw his head back, revealing the softness of his throat, and laughed.

  “Dr. Perlmutter? That guy didn’t have a clue. He never asked me about my mother. He wasn’t half the therapist you are.” Don’t be a sucker. Clare goaded her pride until it subsided. “Anyway, just because something isn’t documented doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. It’s real even if nobody knows, right?”