A Gift for Dying

by M. J. Arlidge

  A dog barked on the street outside, snapping Adam out of it. Taking a final swig of his cold coffee, he seated himself at his desk and began the task of messaging his patients. For a few days, they had got either the answering machine or an out-of-office email, neither of which explained the reason for his sudden disappearance. Now he had to articulate it, but as most of his clients knew nothing of his private life, he was able to get away with saying that it had been ‘a family emergency’. He felt a fraud – it was much worse than that – but it saved him having to divulge more.

  Working his way through the list, he soon came to Kassie. He skipped over her, to contact a couple of clients further down the list, but soon returned to her name. What should he do? He’d said he’d help her, but then had vanished from her life. A part of him still wanted to help her, despite what she’d said to him last time, despite a lingering resentment that she had kept him from Faith during her awful ordeal. But did he have the emotional resilience right now? He felt guilty enough being away from Faith for half an hour. Torn, he ran his finger down the list, searching for another, less complicated case.

  The intercom buzzed furiously, making him jump. Crossing to the door, he picked up the receiver and looked at the flickering image on the little screen. Instantly he recognized her. Kassie was staring at her feet, swaying slightly back and forth, but now looked directly up at the camera. Adam’s first instinct was to replace the receiver, to pretend there was no one at home. But that seemed childish and Kassie’s expression was so earnest that instead he found himself buzzing her in.

  He walked back to his desk and waited, listening to the creak of the floorboards as Kassie climbed the stairs. Moments later, she was standing in front of him, breathless and agitated.

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Kassie, I had to take a few days off. Are you ok?’

  ‘Yes. No …’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Adam replied carefully, marvelling at how quickly it was possible to slip back into the doctor/patient dynamic.

  Kassie paused now, catching her breath, trying to calm herself. Adam had the distinct impression she didn’t want to appear too ‘crazy’ in front of him.

  ‘It’s happened again …’

  Adam could tell by the intensity of her gaze what ‘it’ meant.

  ‘I went to the NA meeting, like I promised … and I saw it. Different person, same thing.’

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘We don’t have time. We need to warn her.’

  ‘Kassie …’

  ‘You know her. Rochelle … the group leader. I don’t know her last name, or where she lives, but you have her address, right?’

  ‘I might do,’ Adam replied, evasively. ‘But let’s wind this back a bit. Tell me what happened.’

  Kassie clearly wanted to push back, but Adam’s tone was firm.

  ‘I went there,’ Kassie said impatiently. ‘When it was my turn to speak, I looked up at Rochelle and … I saw it. It’s the same thing, exactly the same as with Jacob Jones … Excruciating pain and that horrible, crushing fear.’

  Adam stared at her, alarmed by the change in her demeanour.

  ‘I don’t remember exactly what happened after that – I lost it a bit, I think – then the next thing I know she’s got me a cab and is running out the door. I went after her.’

  ‘You followed her?’ Adam asked, incredulous.

  ‘Yeah,’ Kassie replied, unnerved. ‘I followed her to the “L”, but she gave me the slip.’

  ‘Kassie …’

  ‘What else was I supposed to do?’ she protested. ‘She’s going to die tonight and she has no idea.’

  ‘We need to talk about this Kassie,’ Adam pushed on, talking over Kassie’s attempted interruption, ‘but if it’ll reassure you, I’ll call Rochelle. I’ll apologize for today, check that she’s all right –’

  ‘No, we need to go round there. She’s got hours at the very most.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because that’s what I see,’ Kassie insisted, visibly angry now. ‘I know how people die, I know when they die. It’s today, trust me, she is going to die today.’

  ‘Kassie, we’ve talked about this. This is not your job. Your job is to kick the drugs and concentrate on getting better –’

  ‘You think I’m nuts.’

  ‘No. I don’t like that word and I would never say it about you –’

  ‘You look at my record, my … history and … and you write me off as –’

  ‘No. A hundred times no.’

  ‘Then try and understand that this is real. This is happening. You said that you would help me, that you would go with me.’

  ‘And I will. But think about it for a moment, Kassie. You told me previously that everything you “see” is set in stone. What difference can your intervention possibly make?’

  ‘I have to do something. I can’t just abandon her to that.’

  ‘But if it won’t make any difference?’

  ‘Maybe it will. Maybe I can save her.’

  She was staring at him defiantly, her chest heaving, as she tried to contain her emotion.

  ‘And if I can help her then … then maybe I can help myself.’

  It was said hesitantly, even a little fearfully. And now Adam got it. Kassie’s grim prediction of her murder had continued to occupy him, despite the weight of his recent loss. He saw now that Kassie’s desire to ‘save’ Rochelle was driven as much by self-interest as by common humanity. If she could subvert one of her visions, if she could prove that her ‘gift’ was fallible, then maybe she could wriggle out of her own death sentence. It was scary to see how deeply she had been seduced by her alternative narrative of events.

  ‘I know this feels very real to you, Kassie. And that it scares you. But, trust me, everything’s going to be ok. First, we need to get you home, so you can get some rest, then maybe we should talk about other approaches. Consider some short-term medication perhaps –’

  ‘For God’s sake –’

  ‘But I said I’ll call Rochelle. We can do it right now –’

  ‘We need to go down there.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes! I’m fifteen, Adam.’

  ‘But shouldn’t you be running a mile from me,’ Adam replied, irritation creeping into his tone now. ‘If what you’re saying is true …’

  It was a base, disingenuous argument, but Adam didn’t know how else to puncture her belief.

  ‘Maybe,’ she conceded calmly. ‘But you’re the only person who’s ever been prepared to listen to me, to take me seriously, so … perhaps we’ve been brought together for a reason. If I fail, we both lose. But if we can save Rochelle, if we can stop this thing happening …’

  Adam said nothing, silenced by her defiance.

  ‘Please, Adam. I know you don’t believe me. I know I sound crazy. But you have to trust me. You’re the only person I can turn to.’

  ‘I don’t know that now is the best time.’

  ‘I won’t ask anything else of you. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I’ll never mention it again. But I’m not. She’s going to be killed now – tonight – unless we do something …’

  Adam took in the shaking, determined teenager in front of him. He thought of her mother, the cops and teachers who belittled her, the strength of her illness, his promise to help her … and then he thought of Faith, her tears, her bitter anguish, and the silent baby girl he had held in his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kassie.

  ‘Please –’

  ‘I’d like to help you, but I can’t right now.’

  ‘Just do this one thing for m—’

  ‘No.’

  It had obviously come out harder than he’d intended, as Kassie flinched. Softening his tone, he took a small step towards her.

  ‘I need to be with Faith right now.’

  Kassie stared at him, scarcely believing what she was hearing.

  ‘And you need to
go home. I’ll call you in a couple of days, or if you want to talk to someone today, I can refer you to a colleague who –’

  ‘You promised me you’d help me.’

  ‘Kassie, I’m doing what I can, but –’

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  Kassie turned on her heel, furious.

  ‘Kassie, please don’t go. Let me drive y—’

  The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Adam alone.

  44

  She killed the engine, extinguishing the lights. Moments earlier, they had illuminated the grim, urban vista of South Morgan Street, a horseshoe strip of warehouses and trailers on the banks of the South Branch Chicago River, but now the outbuildings were lost to the darkness.

  ‘Ready?’ Gabrielle asked, turning to Miller.

  ‘Hundred per cent,’ her deputy replied cheerily, patting the holster under her vest.

  ‘Easy now. We just want to talk to this guy,’ Gabrielle admonished her gently, picking up a flashlight and climbing out of the car.

  It had taken some ringing round, but eventually they’d found a colleague from CleanEezy who thought he remembered the street where Redmond had his trailer. Further checks revealed a riverside unit that had been hired three months before, using one of the aliases Redmond favoured. Now it came into view, perched on the river bank, framed by the shimmering darkness of the Chicago River.

  Gabrielle’s eyes darted left and right, as she crept towards it, searching for signs of movement, for possible dangers. But the road, which was usually bustling and busy during the working day, was deathly quiet tonight. Her pace slowed as she reached the trailer and she raised her arm, signalling for Miller to hang back. Was it foolish to come here so light in numbers? Gabrielle had toyed with a show of force, descending on the remote trailer with a full team of officers, but had decided against it. Redmond was still only a suspect, she told herself, and, besides, a heavy-handed approach might alert him to their presence, which was the last thing Gabrielle wanted. There were plenty of possible escape routes – the river, the scrubland behind the trailers – and she couldn’t risk him slipping through their fingers.

  The trailer’s heavy-duty door was securely locked with three industrial padlocks, so Gabrielle moved past it to the nearest window. She intended to dart a look inside, but as she peered through the metal grille, she saw only her faint reflection staring back. Moving closer, she saw that some kind of material, black and impenetrable, covered the window inside. There was another window further along, but this was similarly protected. This was not a place which welcomed visitors.

  Gabrielle turned away, wondering what secrets it contained. As she did so, her eye fell once more on the river, which continued its steady, swirling flow, and the muddy banks that bordered it. Bending down, Gabrielle scooped up a finger’s worth of mud and shined her flashlight on it. It was a deep black, just like the caked deposits on the tyres of Jones’s Lincoln.

  ‘Any sign of life?’

  Gabrielle turned to find Miller approaching cautiously.

  ‘Nothing so far,’ Gabrielle replied, wiping the mud from her finger.

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘There’s not a lot we can do. We can set up eyes on the place, but other than that …’

  Miller nodded as if agreeing, then said:

  ‘Do you want to take a look inside?’

  A frown settled on Gabrielle’s brow.

  ‘Not without a warrant.’

  ‘Those windows are old and flimsy,’ Miller continued, unabashed. ‘And you get a lot of disreputable types down by the river at night …’

  Her meaning was clear. And it was true it would take a day or more to get a warrant. But even though Gabrielle yearned to know what lay behind the blank exterior of the trailer, there was no question of risking any future prosecution by breaking protocol.

  ‘When you’re a little more experienced, Detective Miller, you’ll understand why that’s not a good idea. But I appreciate your enthusiasm.’

  Miller looked disappointed, but took the admonishment in the spirit it was offered. Turning away, Gabrielle walked back to the car, deep in thought. She had come here hoping to find Redmond’s hideout, but was leaving empty-handed. There were certain indicators linking this derelict place to their kill site, yet they had no concrete evidence that Redmond still used the trailer. All they could do for now was put out a general alert for him and hope an eagle-eyed officer or member of the public spotted him.

  Irritated, Gabrielle climbed back in the car and fired up the engine. Despite their best efforts, they were no nearer finding their elusive prime suspect. Where was Redmond right now? And, more importantly, what was he up to?

  45

  Rochelle closed the door, securing the deadlock and sliding on the chain. She had checked and double-checked that she wasn’t being followed but, after today’s strange events, she wasn’t taking any chances. She did a quick circuit of the house, making sure that the windows were locked and that the French windows were secured. Finding everything in order, she headed for the kitchen, slumping down on a chair, relieved but exhausted.

  She needed a drink. A shot of bourbon, a glass of wine, something to calm her down. But even as she contemplated dragging her bones to the fridge, she remembered her resolution to call Kassie’s outreach team. Sighing, she went back into the hall, dug her cell phone out of her bag and scrolled through her Contacts. Predictably, given the hour, Kassie’s social worker did not pick up, but Rochelle left a brief, measured message, outlining her concerns, signing off with a suggestion that they speak in the morning.

  Her duty done, Rochelle dumped her phone on the table. As she did so, it pinged loudly – flashing up an alert. The last few hours had been so unsettling, so confusing, that she’d forgotten that her favourite show was going to start soon. The drink would have to wait. She’d have a quick shower, then she’d call Kat, see if she wanted to come over. They could watch Scandal, eat Ben & Jerry’s, empty a bottle of Pinot. Cheered by this thought, Rochelle afforded herself a brief smile, then skipped up the stairs to her bedroom.

  46

  His eyes followed her as she entered the room, wondering what she was going to do first. He had watched her on many occasions and discovered that she was a creature of habit. Normally, she would step out on to the balcony to grab a quick cigarette, before changing out of her work clothes. Other times, she would collapse on to the bed and lose herself in her phone, scrolling endlessly through Facebook. If things were bad, however, if she was tearful or agitated, she would shower straight away.

  She was already undressing, unzipping her dress and stepping out of it. From his vantage point in her closet, he peered through the slats, watching intently as she slung the dress on the floor, then sat down on the bed to peel off her tights. He had no fear of discovery, she always tossed her clothes aside, leaving them on the floor until bedtime. A more fastidious person might have given him trouble, but not her.

  She was down to her underwear now, a pretty matching set. Arching her back, she unclipped her bra, then slid off her pants. Then she stepped casually over her discarded underwear and walked into the en suite bathroom. Moments later, he heard the shower door shut, then the familiar groan of the pipes as the water started up. It was a sound which always made him smile, for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.

  He counted to fifty, tempering his desire to hurry to her, then quietly emerged from the closet. He darted a look towards the bathroom – the door was ajar, but he could see the shower screen was nicely steamed up – then padded quickly but quietly over the carpet. Placing a gloved hand on the handle, he eased the door fully open. Stepping inside, he checked his progress once more, waiting to see if his arrival had been detected. But Rochelle seemed oblivious, humming quietly to herself as she showered.

  Now was the time to do it, now was the time to act, but he hesitated, unable to resist the sight in front of him. Blurred though his view was by the condensation, he could still make out the
curve of her thighs, the swell of her breasts, her long, blonde hair hanging down behind her. Already he could feel his arousal growing, but this was no time for self-indulgence, so he took a decisive step towards her, pulling the bathroom door gently shut behind him.

  47

  Adam paused on the threshold, as he slid his key into the lock. He was trying to remain calm and composed, but he suddenly realized that he felt nervous. Crazy, really; this was his home – the pretty little row house he had always returned to with such enthusiasm – and now he was overcome with trepidation about what he might find on the other side of the door.

  He knew he was being foolish. Faith had battled with depression as a young woman, but she was much more resilient now and wasn’t the dramatic type, so he knew he wouldn’t find anything bad bad. It was just that it hurt so much to see her in pain. For the past few days, she looked like she had been hollowed out by her experiences. Adam had spent his whole life dealing with other people’s problems – the emotions and crises of total strangers – yet dealing with Faith’s anguish was proving difficult. He found it so hard to keep his own feelings in check when the woman he worshipped crumpled in front of him.

  Turning the key, he stepped inside. All seemed calm, all seemed quiet … except now he heard the kettle boiling. Unaccountably, this simple domestic act raised his spirits and he hastened into the kitchen, where he found Faith, dressed in jogging pants and top, leaning against the counter.

  ‘Ta dah!’ she joked grimly, highlighting the fact that she was dressed.

  ‘I’m impressed.’

  He was trying to sound jovial, but it sounded forced. He could see Faith was making the effort, but her eyes revealed her pain.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ she continued, her tone unreadable as she turned away to make herself a cup of tea. ‘I went into the studio today.’