Autumn's Rage

by Mary Stone

  And Gerard…the abuse he endured…

  Autumn remembered that desolate, helpless feeling of being a child at the mercy of a monster. Who would she be if she’d been forced to endure her father’s mistreatment for the entirety of her childhood?

  Eighteen years of abuse may very well have made “Dr. Autumn Trent” nonexistent.

  It was unfair how some people were born into wealth and privilege, or even just kindness and normalcy, while others—by no choice of their own—came into existence bound to houses of horror.

  And the lucky ones…how easily they labeled the others. Psychos. Freaks. Trash. Junkies.

  Mere twists of fate…

  And yet, many times what the person was born into wasn’t as telling as what the person was born with. Numerous ongoing studies had proven through brain scans of convicted killers that there was a significant difference in the size of the amygdala when the criminal’s scans were compared with the general public.

  A psychopath’s amygdala was significantly smaller than an ordinary individual’s. Because of its control over the emotions, a shrunken amygdala could explain the lack of remorse or empathy that enabled a killer to carry out his or her deed.

  A true psychopath didn’t have to swallow their guilt for heinous acts they committed because they had little to no ability to experience guilt to begin with.

  The scans also displayed another abnormality. Psychopaths had much lower levels of activity in the prefrontal cortex areas of their brains. This area corresponded with concentration, as well as impulse control and aggression.

  They’d essentially been born with a defect of sorts, making them prime candidates for a future of killing. By no fault of their own, they’d entered the world with an invisible mark that may, or may not, allow them to become cold-blooded monsters.

  The most interesting part was that there were many people with similar abnormal brain flaws who never committed a single violent act throughout their lifetime. These individuals, though almost never clinically diagnosed due to a lack of cause for such examination, were referred to as “high-functioning psychopaths.”

  Surgeons, CEOs, lawyers, politicians…many were capable of becoming the next notorious serial killer plastered across the nation’s news networks. Their success could, in part, be attributed to their incredible immunity to stress and fear.

  But triggered at an early age by abuse, trauma, or abandonment amongst many other acts of cruelty and injury, their future likelihood to kill grew substantially.

  The fact that some killers’ brain scans were perfectly normal threw another log onto the fire. Regular people with unremarkable brains could also commit horrible wrongdoings. An infant with no defect whatsoever could become the next Ted Bundy.

  The reasoning for why a diagnosable psychopath didn’t become a killer when other “normal” specimens did was controversial. This was where the nature versus nurture debate came into play.

  The two factors crossed at some hazy, undefinable point where a human’s fate was decided.

  Autumn believed that she could help stop those trains before they derailed. With early intervention and proper treatment, so many of those stories could play out tragedy free.

  Her largest frustration lay in the fact that she couldn’t possibly ameliorate the futures of so many anonymous minds. Human limitations burdened her every single day of her life.

  Autumn attempted to shake off the heavy thoughts. She needed food. Water. Some time to breathe in air that wasn’t drenched in sadness and despair and overwhelming discontent.

  Agent Parrish had apparently known this before she ever set foot in the lobby, and though she still questioned his motives in assigning her those particular cases, she was grateful to be immediately whisked away.

  Aiden chose a nearby deli. As soon as they entered the establishment, Autumn beelined for the restroom.

  Wash your hands. Splash fresh water on your face. You’re fine. You trained for this. Buck up.

  She left the ladies’ room somewhat refreshed and fast-tracked to the table Aiden had selected. Now she could deal with the impending conversation, or at least attempt to.

  Aiden had granted her peace and quiet thus far, but Autumn knew that short reprieve was over. A waitress appeared, jotted down their order, and left them alone with two tall glasses of iced water.

  The SSA gave his lemon a hearty squeeze. “Okay. Status update. Have you gained any useful information from the patients?”

  Autumn met his gaze squarely. “Well, apparently, green eyes are highly offensive.”

  Aiden cocked his head. “Oh really?”

  “Absolutely. Also, I will never look at goats the same.” Autumn gave an overexaggerated shudder and dropped a straw into her glass.

  “How exactly did you view goats before today, Dr. Trent?” Aiden kept a straight face and a monotone voice, unflinchingly holding her stare.

  Autumn shook a finger at him. “You gave me the worst ones.” She searched his face for acknowledgement of his guilt.

  Aiden Parrish stared back at her with tranquil indifference and admitted nothing. “I gave you the most complicated cases because you are a doctor of psychology. You were best suited for the—”

  “Worst ones,” Autumn finished for him as she attempted to ignore the growling in her stomach.

  Aiden gave her a slight grin. “For the most difficult patients, yes.”

  And the truth was, she wanted the very worst, most difficult cases. Craved them, even.

  The brain fascinated her, and never more than when it didn’t work properly.

  “You can’t pretend that you didn’t find your patients intriguing.” Aiden toyed with his napkin, daring her to challenge his statement.

  “Walter Weber wanted to take my eyes out.” Autumn kept her voice low, but her tone was vicious.

  “Walter Weber wants to take everyone’s eyes out. Don’t consider yourself too special.” Aiden was quiet while their waitress placed plates packed with sandwiches, huge pickles, fries, and salads before them. She added two small cups of soup and flashed Aiden a suggestive smile before heading to her next table.

  Autumn chucked a crouton at Aiden’s chest. “Parker would have been more than happy to take on the challenge, and you know it.”

  “The threat to Agent Parker’s hair was too monumental.” Aiden tossed a pickle in his mouth, ignoring the breaded assault.

  Autumn sputtered out a laugh despite her agitation. Walter probably would have had a few choice words for Chris’s magnificent haystack.

  “That could have been an epic showdown. Wasted opportunity.” She took an enormous bite of her sandwich, the rye and pimento creating an instantaneous pacifying taste sensation in her mouth.

  Aiden squirted a tidy pile of ketchup next to his fries. “You were the most qualified, Autumn. I wasn’t punishing you. I wasn’t testing you. I matched you based on your ability.”

  Autumn sobered and gazed across the restaurant, sandwich in hand but momentarily forgotten. “Walter was disturbing, but Murphy. Murphy was just…sad. I’m not sure which is worse.”

  “Murphy’s case is very unique.” Aiden stirred his soup in a slow, steady rhythm, noodles and chicken chunks surfacing in quiet turns.

  “The nurses in that hospital…” Autumn envisioned Evelyn’s body dropping through the ceiling of her elevator car and forced the mental image away. “I don’t know how they deal with that level of derangement day in, day out. I realize they’re trained to take care of sick people, but I’m not sure nursing school prepared them for all of that.”

  “I would imagine they grow a bit desensitized. Calloused,” Aiden mused, and the indifference in his tone had her glancing up to study his expression.

  Speaking from experience, SSA Parrish?

  “Evelyn didn’t. All of that work and dedication yet she still managed to stay soft. Gerard Helmsey called her his friend.”

  Tracing a finger down the condensation on her glass, Autumn waited for her words to take
effect. Did Aiden remember enough of Helmsey’s background to understand her meaning?

  Aiden’s head snapped up, and she could almost feel him reading the convict’s history. “But Gerard Helmsey doesn’t talk. He spoke to you?”

  Autumn bobbed her eyebrows just once. She’d been pretty surprised at the time. “First of all, he does speak. He has two catchphrases which I’m very sure you were thoroughly aware of before assigning him to me. And he didn’t say another word until I brought up Evelyn.”

  “Oh?” Aiden leaned back in his chair.

  She had his full attention now. “When Helmsey said ‘friend,’ he appeared to be very sad. When I asked him if there was anyone Evelyn didn’t seem to get along with, he said ‘Baldwin’ followed by ‘bad man.’” Autumn’s nostrils flared in disgust as she stabbed a tomato with her fork. “Baldwin. Bad man. The implication is clear. I believe—”

  “Hold up.” Aiden pointed his spoon at her. “I’m no more a fan of Philip Baldwin than you are, but it’s important to note that only the implication was clear. An accusation of specific physical action taken against Ms. Walker wasn’t given. Not even close.”

  Aiden appeared mildly frustrated by his own flawless logic, but Autumn accepted that he was correct. As much as she disliked Dr. Baldwin and his methods, Autumn knew they didn’t have any evidence against the doctor.

  Nothing solid, anyway. Yet.

  Just that a nearly mute patient was willing to break his silence so he could share that Philip Baldwin is a bad man. No big deal. Happens all the time.

  “The nurses, the orderlies, the guards…even the janitors,” Aiden said with grave conviction, “all gave basically the same story, more or less. Evelyn was wonderful, if not a little too hellbent on befriending every patient in the place.”

  Autumn’s eyes narrowed. “And Baldwin?”

  “Every employee I questioned became highly uncomfortable when I brought up their all-knowing medical director. But…no one said one negative word about him other than they thought that he was too strict with protocol.”

  “We already knew both of those things.” Autumn tapped her fingers on the table. “She was one extreme; he was the other.”

  “I suppose the task of keeping his staff safe while also juggling the mental health of the patients is a tight rope to walk on. You have to give the man that much.” Aiden poked his fork at the remainder of his Caesar salad. “A man can be an asshole and still be a good person.”

  Autumn snort-laughed at the unexpected comment. “You think so? I’ve never met anyone even remotely like that.”

  “Well played, Dr. Trent.” Aiden returned her grin and added a defeated nod of approval. “So, with what we have so far, who would you say is next on the interview list?”

  “Baldwin. Definitely Baldwin.” Autumn reached for her purse.

  “Nope.” Aiden threw money on the table before she could even pull out her wallet. “Got it.”

  “Oh, did we somehow travel back to 1955 when we stepped into this deli?”

  Aiden laughed, but true to his stubborn nature, left the cash. “I’ll join you for the interview. We both need to get a better handle on this guy.”

  Autumn stood and followed Aiden out of the restaurant. “Time for the shrink to get shrunk.”

  He chuckled as they walked and opened the passenger door for her. “That’s a horrible line, Dr. Trent. Don’t put that on your business card.”

  Autumn fake-glowered at him and buckled in.

  When Aiden was seated behind the wheel, he stole a brief glance at her. “You ready for more fun?”

  She didn’t even need to think about it. “Always.”

  Aiden’s ice-blue eyes bored into her. “Still excited about joining the BAU?”

  Autumn gazed back, replaying the events of the morning in her mind like a dysfunctional highlight reel. “Yes.” Her mindset was cemented in dedication. “I wouldn’t say the job is easy, but I want to make a difference in this world. This position is the best place for me to do that.”

  “Excellent.” Aiden turned his attention to driving, and Autumn enjoyed the last few minutes of peace before they went head-to-head with Dr. Philip Baldwin.

  The bad man.

  11

  Autumn and Aiden had barely stepped into Virginia State Hospital’s dismal lobby when his phone began buzzing. He silenced the device and turned to her.

  “I have to return this call now. Do you—”

  “Want to go start the interview with Lucifer alone? You bet your ass I do.” Autumn entered battle mode and immediately resolved to go straight to the medical director’s office by herself. “It’s actually for the better. The interview will seem more like a casual drop in this way.”

  Aiden hesitated for a brief moment. “I’ll be there to tag team in five minutes tops. Try not to get into a brawl before then, Dr. Trent.”

  Autumn was tempted to toss him the double bird. An older “sister” at her second…no, third foster home had taught her the gesture. Her younger self had found the maneuver to be of great amusement, even though using it had earned her a week’s worth of solo dish duty.

  She shot him an animated mock glare instead and headed for the stairwell door yet again.

  Elevators were an unnecessary invention anyway.

  Her somewhat labored breathing after making the three-flight climb challenged that sentiment. She really needed to restart her Krav Maga training.

  Her mental to-do list was beginning to get out of hand.

  Autumn wasted no time heading straight to the administrative wing once she reached the proper floor. Part of her hoped that Aiden’s call would delay him longer than he’d guessed. She had a lot to say to Dr. Philip Baldwin.

  The door to the medical director’s office was shut, and her first knocks brought no response. Autumn frowned at the door and knocked harder.

  Still nothing. She peered through the frosted glass insert and eyed a blurred figure inside. Faint sounds emanated from the room.

  Someone was obviously in there, and she was ninety-nine percent sure that “someone” was Philip Baldwin.

  Autumn gave the door a light push, and just as she’d hoped, it hadn’t been latched completely. She stepped into the office and instantly caught sight of the doctor leaning back in his chair. He was wearing noise-canceling headphones and facing the side wall.

  She approached with caution, not wanting to startle the already high-strung man, but her efforts were in vain. Baldwin turned his head a marginal degree, spied her standing before his desk, and ripped off his headphones after yelping like he’d been stung by a bee.

  “How did you get in here?” he barked, slamming a fist on his desktop.

  Autumn wasn’t sure if the doctor was angry because he’d left himself so vulnerable inside a hospital full of the criminally insane or because she’d had the nerve to enter his holy sanctuary uninvited. “I apologize. But the door was open, and I did knock several times. You didn’t answer.”

  Dr. Baldwin’s sneer was vicious. “I am under no obligation to cater to you and your ill-timed visits. Do you barge into other people’s private spaces on a regular basis, Miss Trent?”

  Autumn returned his growl with a sweet smile. “Doctor Trent.”

  Baldwin gripped the arms of his chair. The man sure did seem to have an anger management issue. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

  “And I only barge in when I have important questions to ask. This just happens to be your lucky day, Dr. Baldwin.” Her smile appeared to be infuriating him. She attempted to widen her grin.

  “Dear god, you people don’t know when to quit.” Baldwin threw his hands in the air. “I’ve talked about the murder enough. I’ve already given the FBI access to the patients’ files and the personnel records. What more do you want?”

  Autumn, calm and collected, scanned the walls of Baldwin’s office, deciding not to remind him that he gave access to the records and charts because he didn’t have a choice. “There seems to be quite the lack o
f video surveillance footage in this hospital, Dr. Baldwin. Why keep the camera recordings so minimal?”

  “My methods of running my hospital are none of your concern.” His stare would have frozen ice in an instant.

  Autumn glanced at the discarded headphones. The muffled squawks of two female voices resounded through the office from the cushioned speakers. They were joined by a male, and after prattling back and forth for a few moments, the individuals emitted dull laughter.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Or did you possibly replace the video monitoring with an audio surveillance system?”

  His angry scowl was replaced by surprise, but only for a brief instant. Looking down at his desk, he gathered scattered papers together. “What in the world do you think that would achieve, Doctor Trent?”

  “Well,” Autumn sat with bold prerogative in a chair directly across from him, “perhaps patients would speak more freely if they didn’t have a camera pointed at them. That method could work well for talk therapy and for keeping tabs on your staff.”

  Philip tensed ever so slightly. Barely visible. But Autumn caught the micro-reaction.

  She didn’t give him time to argue. “Of course, Dr. Baldwin, the patients and employees would have to be aware of the recordings, for legal purposes. But the technique has promising possibilities.” Autumn crossed her legs.

  Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. “You might want to save your opinions for when they matter.”

  Autumn wondered how exactly Dr. Baldwin had become so frigid and disdainful. Surely he had his own backstory of pain that had led him to be this man. “Let’s talk about the conversation you had with the victim, Evelyn Walker, the day of her death. I’ve been told that your nurse was quite upset afterward.”

  Baldwin lifted his chin. “That was a work-related conversation. She was out of line. As her boss, my job requires doling out the occasional reprimand.”

  “Could you expound upon the reasons for that particular reprimand, Doctor?”

  Poke the bear. Poke the bear until you get what you want.

  “That’s private information. In hindsight, I do, of course, regret the timing of the conversation.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples. “But I will say that I am not sorry I instructed her on how to properly deal with the patients.”