Autumn's Rage

by Mary Stone

  And he could always use her skeleton as a Halloween decoration. Waste not, want not.

  “Justin…Justin, please don’t be scared. It’s just me. Just your big sis. Nothing to be afraid of, okay? I promise.” Winter addressed him like he was still that six-year-old boy she’d abandoned.

  Justin knew that was how she viewed him. She couldn’t overcome the sentiment. Her “love” for him was instinctive, and she didn’t know how to stop. Hilarious.

  There were the rare occasions when a particularly clear flash of Winter as a kid…as his big sister that he adored…assailed him. Some foreign softness would tug at his chest for mere seconds, and then pass away entirely.

  The brief recalls made him furious. Justin didn’t want to remember a day in his life where he’d loved anyone or anything. Including his sister. The sooner she was dead and six feet under, the better.

  He’d been done with caring for her years ago. So many years. But she wouldn’t accept that—couldn’t accept that.

  Winter was making a huge mistake by refusing to acknowledge who he truly was, and that error would be the death of her.

  She’s an unclean whore, anyway. Her death won’t matter anymore than her dirty, pointless life.

  Justin stuck a thumb in his mouth.

  “Can you try to be brave? Could I just visit with you for a few minutes? Would that be okay?” Her face tensed with concern and sadness.

  He nodded but remained wide-eyed. “Okay.”

  Winter approached him with extreme caution. She stopped when only a few feet lay between them. He noted how her blouse rose and fell nicely over her twin peaks. All the fun he could have with his sissy…how exciting.

  I could totally kill her right here, right now if that damn whitecoat wasn’t pretending to care about her safety.

  His sister was so genuinely concerned. He struggled to swallow his laughter.

  “Justin, a staff member was murdered in the hospital today.” She tilted her head and studied his face as though she feared the information might break him.

  He shivered and rocked again. Faster now. “I really believed I’d be safe here. This was supposed to be a safe place. Safer than a prison cell. But now…now I’m not safe anywhere.” His eyes filled with tears.

  I was never safe anywhere, and that’s your fault, you bitch. The things he made me do…while you were off baking cookies with your grandma.

  Justin’s hands trembled with the desire to kill his sister. He hated her. He would always hate her. Every last damn atrocious activity he’d been forced into…

  Her fault. He would hate her for all eternity.

  Winter shook her head. “Justin, I promise you. You are safe. I will make sure you are safe. I’m going to do better. I’m going to be the big sister you deserve.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  Idiot. Bigshot FBI agent who can’t even hold her shit together. How is she buying this? How is she that stupid?

  “I’m going to speak to Autumn and make sure I’m well informed on your sessions,” Winter assured him fervently.

  Justin hung his head in dramatic disappointment.

  She really was that stupid.

  Or maybe she thought he was stupid enough to believe her. Autumn wasn’t allowed to share what they discussed in private. Duh.

  “When I talk to Autumn…I mean, I know she can’t share what we talk about. She’d lose her job. And that’s not her fault, really. But I would be a lot happier if you came around more. So we could talk.” He met her eyes, detesting how similar they were to his own.

  Half-sister. That means nothing. You’re the slutty half that needs to admit your sins. And pay for them. And die.

  She was holding back an obvious tidal wave of tears. Justin eyed her quivering lips and imagined slicing the plump, pink flesh right off her face.

  Would Winter still be pretty without a mouth? Would Agent Douchebag still want to screw her then? Doubtful.

  “Listen to me, please. Your recovery means the world to me. I’ve been lax with visits, but I guess I was afraid to push you too much or too fast. I didn’t want to just push you away.” Winter clasped her hands, still staying a safe distance from him.

  Could you really push away someone who wanted to kill you in the slowest, most torturous way possible? They were essentially on different planets. No push needed. What fantasy world was she attempting to live in?

  Winter had clearly convinced herself that they had some type of magical bond—some imaginary relationship.

  Maybe she was the crazy one. Maybe she needed to be locked in a room somewhere.

  Justin liked that idea.

  “Well, I guess.” He rocked slowly and offered her a timid smile. “Maybe there’s a silver lining to the tragic death of that nurse. If you and I can truly reconnect.”

  She shook her head like a bobblehead doll. Her excitement was abhorrent.

  “Yes. We’re going to make the best of this. We’re going to reconnect. I’ll make you my number one priority. I’ll be here with you every step of the way while you get better.” Winter stepped forward and surprised him with a fierce hug.

  He allowed the embrace, greedily inhaling the scent of her black hair. A soft mix of floral and fruit…intoxicating. Slutty, obviously, but alluring as hell.

  I’m beginning to understand why Douglas had such a hard-on for you.

  Justin squeezed tighter, enjoying the way her breasts pressed against his chest. His sister was well endowed. Delicious. Scrump-diddly-umptious.

  I’ll fulfill your desire for you, Grandpa. I’ll make sure she knows we’re both taking her. You’ll be with me.

  That would, of course, have to wait until he had a decent amount of time to play. Certain tasks could be rushed when necessary, but torturing and enjoying Winter’s body before he ended her disgraceful existence would be one dream he carried out with slow, careful precision.

  She had a lot to pay for. And she was smoking hot. What a wonderful combination.

  I’m going to have so much fun with you, Sis. So much fun.

  He had his own hard-on now, but Winter was too emotional to notice.

  The whitecoat escorted her out, flashing Justin a glance that clearly indicated he’d taken note of the impropriety.

  But the guard hadn’t said or done anything to intervene.

  He’s probably hoping I’ll let him watch. I bet he’d even keep an eye out if I promised him a turn.

  Justin smiled. While the idea of taking Winter right there in this room before passing her on to other greedy hands was appealing—so appealing—he had plans for her that didn’t include this hospital or any dumbass whitecoat.

  In fact, if anyone laid a hand on his sister, he’d have to kill them.

  She was family, after all.

  9

  Autumn arrived at Virginia State Hospital ten minutes early, a bright smile plastered on her face. Challenge, test, show of trust—she’d concluded overnight that she didn’t care.

  If Aiden wanted to stick her in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Satan, she would accept the task with grace. She’d spent a ton of time and a shitload of money earning her degrees. Dealing with the criminally insane was her chosen career.

  Today’s interviews were an expected part of her job and also the most riveting aspect of working in her field. Analyzing the inner workings of Aiden Parrish’s mind was neither. And frankly, she didn’t have the energy to waste mulling over the SSA’s intentions.

  Aiden arrived at nine sharp, followed immediately by Mia and Chris. Her fellow agents appeared completely calm, and Autumn was determined to not let her anxiety betray her.

  Aiden ushered them into a quiet corner of the lobby. “Okay, Agents. No need to drag this out. You all have your assignments. We have the necessary warrants in place that will allow us to access needed patient background. The charts are pulled and waiting at the nurses’ station.”

  Autumn glanced toward the desk area. Brenda Daly was observing them patiently.

  “I’
d prefer to get these interviews done by lunchtime, but don’t rush. Every one of these patients had contact with Evelyn Walker the day of her murder. Their input matters more than our time frame.” Aiden focused on Chris, who’d repeatedly expressed his opinion about this “asinine assignment.”

  Chris Parker didn’t believe criminals in a mental hospital had a lot to offer the FBI by way of helpful information. Autumn surmised that his close-mindedness would be directly displayed in his corresponding lack of results.

  He nodded toward the waiting nurse. “Let’s get to it.”

  Autumn couldn’t reach her stack of charts fast enough.

  Brenda eyed her warily as she approached. “Your boss either considers you a genius or hates your guts.” She passed the appropriate pile of folders to eager hands.

  “I’m aware.” Autumn grinned despite her racing heartbeat. No need for Brenda to be any more stressed than she already was.

  Autumn hadn’t settled on a particular order when she went over the shortlist details of her patients the night before. Every single one of her assigned individuals could star in their own horror movie series.

  Autumn headed for the conference room, where two guards awaited her first patient request. Aiden had granted her sole use of the conference room in light of the level of insanity he’d allocated to her.

  Of course, he’d managed to do this in a way that didn’t quite acknowledge how severely he’d tasked her. And she’d returned the nonchalance without fail.

  Time to work.

  “Murphy Tobeck, please,” she calmly requested of the nearest guard.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Shackled?”

  Autumn shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “You might change your mind,” he mumbled, and the two men exited to gather her first patient.

  Autumn shook off the comment and studied Murphy’s chart as she waited.

  Although Murphy was a twenty-seven-year-old man, the sudden death of his father when he was thirteen had caused his seemingly permanent regression to the developmental level of a four-year-old.

  He spoke, behaved, and generally functioned as a small child. While age regression wasn’t necessarily uncommon, the studies addressing the specific prevalence of such behavior amongst hospital admitted patients was severely lacking.

  Many hospitalized patients exhibiting regressive behavior were simply referred to as “agitated.” The high frequency of “agitation” diagnoses on record suggested that the occurrence of acute regression was much more prominent than the medical community realized.

  The cause of Murphy’s regression had always been obvious. He was traumatized by the unexpected passing of his father, who had smothered to death after falling into a grain bin.

  The fact that Murphy never “returned” to age-appropriate behavior made him a bit of an anomaly. Most patients were able to process their trauma through a mixture of cognitive behavioral therapy and medication.

  Murphy had “processed” his quite differently.

  He’d first developed a fondness for smothering small animals in his closet. As his physical age increased, so did the size of his furry victims.

  But the closet remained a necessary part of Murphy’s “hobby.”

  His mother had attempted to downplay the carnage when she found mice, then squirrels, then raccoons dead in her son’s closet. Surely this was a stage that Murphy would grow out of, just as the doctors had promised he’d come out of his regressive behavior.

  When he progressed to killing the family dog, his mother caved and sent him to an institution to “get better.” The doctors released Murphy less than three months later, and his mother was confident the treatment he received had done the trick.

  The regressive mannerisms were still present, but there had been no more nasty surprises in his closet for mommy. That was, until a year later when she found Murphy’s ten-year-old brother dead on the small patch of carpeting previously reserved for his experiments.

  He’d told his hysterical mother that his brother was fine. Daddy was lonely, and now he had family to keep him company in heaven.

  Murphy added to his mother’s terror by admitting that he was planning on doing the same to his eight-year-old brother as well. “Just for fun, though.”

  His sense of guilt was nonexistent.

  He’d immediately been committed to a juvenile asylum. Shortly after this placement, the bodies of five missing teenage girls from different areas of the county Murphy resided in had been found inside an abandoned house three blocks from his own.

  Each body was in a separate closet. This time, Murphy hadn’t only smothered them—he’d raped them while taking their lives.

  Physically, the boy had developed exactly as any other male. His new needs and desires had only heightened his enjoyment of witnessing the life drain from another living creature’s body.

  Murphy had immediately admitted to the murders, unable to comprehend why everyone seemed so upset about them.

  Transferred from the juvenile facilities the same week he turned eighteen, the general consensus amongst Virginia State Hospital staff was that Murphy Tobeck was a “lifer.”

  While in custody, he’d attempted on three different occasions to shove his nurses into nearby utility closets but had never been able to successfully carry out his well-known plan.

  A guard, orderly, nurse, or doctor always intervened.

  And Murphy asked the same question every time they dragged him back to his room. “Am I going to get a time-out?”

  Autumn scanned the room multiple times for any type of doorway that even resembled a closet. She certainly didn’t want to offer Murphy inspiration.

  One-hundred-percent closet free.

  This made interacting with Murphy much less unnerving.

  Without the availability of that key component to his favorite activity, Autumn believed any immediate threat to be minimal. Chaining the patients up wouldn’t encourage the most agreeable of moods.

  Then again, Murphy had made the list of interviewees based on his obsession with asphyxiation. There was a possibility that he had evolved and no longer required a closet. If this were the case, Murphy Tobeck could land himself on the suspect list regarding Evelyn’s strangulation with little to no effort at all.

  By omitting the use of cuffing, Autumn was aware that she could be placing herself in more danger than she’d like to admit. With guards and her Krav Maga skills at the ready, though, she was comfortable with the risk.

  The twenty-seven-year-old squealed with delight as the guards brought him to the chair placed directly across the table from Autumn. This blond man-child was genuinely happy to meet her.

  “Hello, Murphy. I’m Dr. Trent. Would you be okay with us chatting for just a bit?” Autumn smiled widely to assure him that there was no “stranger danger.”

  He returned her friendliness with childlike enthusiasm. “Of course! We could play too, if you want!”

  Autumn stiffened but retained her grin. “We’re just going to talk today.”

  His face went somber. “I know. We probably have to talk about serious stuff, right? You’re a doctor. Doctors always wanna talk about serious stuff.” His disappointment was evident.

  Autumn observed as he pulled his legs up and crisscross applesauced them in his chair.

  Twenty-seven-years old.

  “Well, I do have a few questions to ask you, Murphy. But the first one isn’t serious at all, I promise.” Autumn grabbed her pen and prepared to take notes. Murphy’s blue eyes grew wide with excitement. “My first question is, how are you doing today?”

  He giggled and threw his hands in the air with unhindered glee. “I’m doing great. So great. Today is so sunny! This would be a great day for the beach.”

  Autumn humored him. “Have you ever been to a beach, Murphy?”

  “No,” he replied, his expression sobering. “But someday I’ll go.” He smiled at her again. Murphy was at least six feet tall, but Autumn instinctively w
anted to cuddle him close like a preschooler.

  She was beginning to understand how easy the mistake of letting her guard down around Murphy could be. He was so authentically sweet…but he would never leave this place.

  Murphy was a developmentally stunted psychopath. He would never stop smothering and raping for pleasure.

  He couldn’t even understand why he wasn’t supposed to do such things.

  Evelyn Walker had noted in his chart several times that he’d happily told her how fun his killings were.

  Autumn worded her next question carefully. “Murphy, I read that Evelyn is one of your regular nurses. Did you happen to speak with her yesterday?”

  Murphy beamed at her. “Evelyn is the best nurse in this whole entire hospital! She’s the nicest lady in the whole wide world! My favorite!” His adoration instantly troubled Autumn.

  He appeared to have no idea that Evelyn was, in fact, dead. Murphy was clueless about the tragedy. And while she knew he could be faking, the idea was doubtful.

  He was fundamentally a child. Children were known for telling the truth mostly due to the fact that their young brains hadn’t perfected the ability to lie.

  That usually came later.

  What disturbed her most, was that based on his history, sudden loss could trigger an even more extreme regression. Returning to the infantile stages was a very real possibility for Murphy, as was a heightened desire to smother and rape as a self-soothing mechanism.

  Instead of pondering whether he had evolved and murdered Evelyn, Autumn now worried that Evelyn’s murder might trigger his evolution.

  “And you spoke with her yesterday? You were on her patient rounds list.” Autumn tried to focus on the case instead of Murphy’s mental instabilities.

  “I see her every day. Well, not today. Sometimes she gets a day off, but that’s on Sunday. Evelyn goes to church on Sundays.” Murphy held his hands together as if to pray solemnly but burst into giggles instead.

  “Was she happy yesterday, Murphy?”

  You are walking a fine line, Dr. Trent.