He stared at Sarah. Was she different? Was there a hint of Rachel in her now? Now that he’d recognised the unease he felt in his own daughter? What was it? He stared at her. He felt like he was looking back in time thirty years. He felt like a child. Why was she here? Why—he remembered the rave, the mannequins. The pictures of the girls. The distorted faces, never matching up with the bodies? But what if they did? What if the faces were on the bodies? What if each woman was complete? What then? Their face would be fixed, their features normal, their hair would match—
Charlie stumbled. Grabbed onto the bar. How had he never seen it? He rushed to the television, switched the channels until he found the news. Waited, hoped that they’d show some footage of the rave. He knew they wouldn’t show the pictures of the women themselves, but maybe artist renderings? It didn’t matter, he turned away, began pacing. If the right faces were with the right heads, and the right hair was matching, then all of them. All of them, if he could see them before they were mutilated, he would bet anything that all of them would resemble Sarah.
He looked back at the bar, his sister standing there, smiling at him. The first time since he’d ever began hallucinating her. She was smiling. This was all to do with her. It always had been. In some weird way, Ethan was, grieving? He sat back down on the stool. How could he use it though? How could he use it to trap Ethan? Should he call, leave an anonymous tip to the police? That they should look into Sarah Gardner? That—
The phone was ringing. Charlie answered.
They’re all Sarah, he said.
What?
It wasn’t Ethan.
Who is this? How’d you get my wife’s phone?
Charlie’s heart raced. This wasn’t his phone. Who’s phone was this? Had it been swapped when he was out cold at the rave? He almost dropped the phone as if it would burn him. But he listened on—
This is Detective William Davidson of the South Australian Police Force. How did you get my wife’s phone?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sometimes I think about killing myself, but I don’t think I have the guts like my sister did, Charlie said. Repeating it again for effect. The psychologist said nothing, just listened. She looked at him quizzically, allowing him to keep talking. He hated this. The space, as she always said. A safe space for him to say whatever he wanted. But sometimes he wanted a reaction. He wanted some sort of knee jerk from Fran.
Nothing? he asked.
What do you want me to say? she replied.
Well it’s a pretty big statement, no? You get students coming in all the time saying they want to off themselves, do you? Charlie said, frustrated.
Charlie, you’re a psych student yourself. You know, I’m sure, that you’re saying this for effect. I think you have no intention of committing suicide, just as much as I don’t. You’re saying it as a call for attention. You just want someone to listen. As I’ve said earlier, you’d wished your sister had asked for help.
Charlie grunted. Standard answer. Going in circles now. He sat up from the couch. Well, then why do I keep circling the drain? Keep rehashing the same old subject?
Fran, who he’d been seeing for a while now, frowned. You’re frustrated today, aren’t you? Better to admit it than pretend as if it were otherwise. What’s wrong?
What’s the solution? Charlie asked. I come here, all the bloody time, like all these other yahoos, and what? When does it end?
Pain never ends Charlie. Our memories—
Are apart of us, and our lives are lived many times over. Yeah, I remember, Charlie said. I must strive to live now. I get it. But what’s the end?
What do you want it to be? Fran replied.
The end? Charlie had said, To be happy. And he’d meant it. He just wanted to stop thinking about it all. Picturing it. Seeing the frozen face. To not hear his parents crying anymore. But it wasn’t enough to come here. It didn’t distract him from it. It was only magnified. Reliving it all. Rehashing the memories. All of it bullshit. It wasn’t a distraction at all.
Yet that session had been important, he remembered it so vividly because the distraction had come after he left. He was walking back across campus, away from the psych department, when he saw Evelyn. Eve, she had insisted when they met up for a drink that Friday. Straight away he was smitten. Her eyes, the cut of her hair, the way she carried herself. She was like a grown up version of Sarah. He ignored that little voice in his head that screamed of all the psychological problems that would entail. When he told Fran about her he changed a few details too. Didn’t need her analysing his dating life. Hell, he knew it was messed up, but it was as it needed to be, a distraction. In the end he’d been able to convince her to cut her hair short.
But in the beginning, he saw her standing there in the pub, letting her hair down. Shaking it side to side. It was the exact memory that burst into his mind as he watched the woman doing it in front of him now. Except instead of being in a student pub, he was handcuffed to a wheelchair in a living room.
After letting her hair down, the woman moved to the windows and closed the blinds. The man watching her, and him, waited patiently. He held a beer can in one hand and a leather strip in the other. She now stripped down to her nakedness, held out her arms. Did a full spin so that the man could inspect her, Spread her cheeks for him. Charlie turned away, embarrassed. He only looked when the man told her she was allowed to leave. She was almost thirty, by his guess, about the same age as when he’d met Eve.
Part of her working, the man said. She has to be inspected that she hasn’t brought any contraband in. Do it on the way out as well. Monitor her when she’s out too.
The man seemed familiar to Charlie. He’d known him at some point, but even then, he couldn’t recall ever knowing someone this old. The man was at least sixty. Charlie could only stare at him, the taste of disgust in the back of his throat prominent. He couldn’t believe the rehab facility was this strict. But as he’d been told, he wasn’t there anymore.
Now, how we feeling today? the man asked. Remember anything?
Charlie had been feeling uneasy all morning. Severe confusion dogging him. The man before had held a mirror up to his face. He looked at least sixty himself, but it made no sense to him. He’d just lost his family in a car crash, he’d lost his use of his legs. Hadn’t he? He wasn’t sixty, he’d just had his forty first birthday. He remembered because Harper came in with—
Answer me dammit, the man yelled, slamming his fist down on the arm rest. His beer fizzing out of the can. A lot of fucking work to get you here. After all this time, starting to piss me off.
The girl returned. She was dressed in overalls. A yellow shirt with a smiley face on it underneath. She came carrying a tray of drinks and food. She placed it down out of reach from Charlie.
What about her? Who she remind you of? he asked.
Charlie watched her, again he thought of Eve. He said this. My wife, Eve.
The man grunted. Dog’s piss she does. You’re munted more than I thought.
It’s dementia, the girl said.
Shut it! The man said lowly.
You know it is.
Charlie looked between them both. I-I have dementia? Did they find this after the car crash?
See? she said.
I said shut it slut. The man threw his beer can at her. I know what he’s fucking got. It’s why we got him out. He was going too far gone, dangerous to everyone. He was a bees dick from being in the asylum.
The girl sat down in a chair. Legs straight, back straight, not relaxing. Charlie now realised her shape. If her hair was tied up, as it had just been, she was the gardner. He said it to her. She agreed.
It’s how I kept tabs on you. Once she was old enough to work, and trained enough, the man said.
Sorry what? Kept tabs on me? Charlie tried to move, forgetting he was handcuffed. His wrist clanged. Scars covered his skin.
You remember nothing, the man sneered. Charlie Gardner. The PK Killer. Thirty women dead, at my hands! The man
yelling now, spittle flying from his mouth. Never bloody caught. Nothing?
Charlie shook his head. Who was this man? hethought. Why would I know that? he said. Did I work with you in the prison system?
The man smiled. The only thing you did in the prison system was stuff your life to shit. What about Jesse Mullins? That get your mind in gear?
Charlie repeated the name to himself. Jesse Mullins. The name familiar on his tongue. He said it out loud. Saw a face. His hand retracing an action, putting something in his pocket. A razor. Jacket pocket. He exhaled sharply.
That’s got it, the man said.
I killed her?
As good as, the man said, smiling. Gave her the razor to do herself in. Except she was cooked. Did another two women in as well. Put your career in the pisser. Nearly destroyed your marriage. How I rediscovered where you were.
Me? Charlie asked. But I don’t know you. I mean, I feel that I do. But, if I could just—His hand clanged. The handcuff pulled tight. Again. Why am I trapped like this? And why am I in a wheelchair? He asked.
Fuck his head is twisted, innit? The man said, laughing.
You hit him too hard, the girl said.
Charlie looked at her, he’d forgot she was there. She looked like Eve. Like Sarah. He remembered her being naked in front of him. The man inspecting her. He turned red, embarrassed for her.
What about Ethan Burke? The man asked. That do anything for you?
Ethan Burke? Charlie turned sharply back to him. How do you know that name? He was, he was my friend as a child. My sister was kidnapped when his parents were killed.
The man said nothing, peered at Charlie curiously. That he was, he said. That he was.
Did you know him? Charlie asked.
The man looked at the girl now. Give him some food and a drink. Not too much. Don’t want him thinking it’s a hotel here. Quick like. He made to jump at her and she started quickly. He laughed. You ever trained a dog? Hah, course you haven’t. I know everything about you Charlie Gardner. Well I have. Trained many. And you know what? I’m not for that pussy positive reinforcement bullshit. Dogs are wild animals, even if we say they’re domesticated. Always remember, he stopped to lick his lips. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the corner of his mouth. Always remember that a mutt is only a few starving days from eating you. If it ain’t eaten in a while you’ll start looking pretty good. Slice you up a little so they can smell the blood? Forget it. That’s why you gotta train ‘em with force. He swiped the air. The girl flinched. An’ you always got ‘em under your thumb. Even when they get a bit cocky. He was eyeing the girl now.
She moved towards Charlie with a plate and drink. When she was near Charlie leaned in, whispered as soft as he could. Did she need help? Was she in trouble? She heard him, remained still, then a small smile passed over her lips before being hidden. She lay the plate on his lap. Then left him.
The man said something about him having already said that to her. But he didn’t hear it. Once the food was on his lap he realised how hungry he was. Charlie forgot the ideas he had. The memories swimming through his mind of his daughters. Of a wife. A paradox, he’d been told enough times. His immediate memory allowed him to know that his family were dead. But the brain had, maybe due to the damage and sheer extremity of his case, altered his long term memory. The year leading up to the crash was absent. Everything in the brain is there, he recalled a doctor telling him. But the brain has a lock and key system that we still can’t understand.
He ate ravenously. When he’d finished his small portion, the plate and cup were taken. Charlie was then wheeled to another room by the girl. The man watched from the doorway while she unlocked his handcuff, struggled to transfer him to a bed. Charlie tried to help, but was feeling groggy. They got him to the bed, where he felt like a dead weight, and she handcuffed him to the bedhead. He lay there looking at them both. The man with his hand on her waist, pulling her in close. Her face passive.
You’ll remember soon enough Charlie Gardner. You’ll remember everything. Then he closed the door and the room turned pitch black. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Charlie woke up suddenly in the dark. A noise frightening him. It was the sound of sobbing. He could hear someone vaguely talking. Then the sobbing softening, the person trying to stop themselves. Then the unmistakable sound of someone being slapped. He wondered what was happening in this rehab clinic?
A thin sliver of light was visible under the door. He could smell cooking. The sound of bacon crackling. Someone whistling. He was starving. His stomach grumbling. He wanted to call out to the person cooking. He didn’t know they could cook in the clinic. He began to salivate. He had to swallow. He went to move his hand but it clanged and he felt a dig in at his wrist. Why was he handcuffed to the bed? What was going on? Whoever was cooking had stopped whistling.
Charlie woke again. Darkness. He was thirsty as anything. His throat burning. He tried to swallow but his throat felt thick and unwieldy. Like he couldn’t control his body. He had the vague sense that his legs didn’t work, but he didn’t know why. He tried to move them. But he wasn’t sure if he was so tired that he couldn’t move them, or if he’d lost the ability to do so? He thought about this. About his legs. His brain opened slowly, peeling itself open like a flower, revealing to him a dim memory. He knew his legs didn’t work. Because he could remember a time when his legs did work. A time before the car crash that he remembered had happened. A time when he’d been a journalist, when there’d been a murderer on the loose.
The door opened. He heard it. It was dark even outside the room. He listened as someone entered. He heard the breathing.
Hello? he said.
No answer. He began to think he’d imagined it. That he was dreaming it. When they coughed.
Hello? he said again.
Still nothing. But the person retreated, the breaths leaving. Then the door clicked softly shut. He was alone again.
Blinding light was in his eyes. He swore, clicking the torch off.
You alright? Eve called from the other room.
Yep, Charlie replied. His heart racing. He’d just seen his sister Sarah sitting at the desk next to him. Clear as day. Her legs crossed as they dangled off the edge. He was trying to see something behind the desk, had fumbled the torch.
Now she was gone.
Yeah, I swear I saw a mouse run behind there—you okay Charlie? Eve asked. You’re white as a sheet.
I’m fine, Charlie lied. Just blinded myself with the torch.
She smiled. Not exactly gonna make the final squad, are ya? Reason you’re a doctor. She winked. See it?
No, Charlie said. Haven’t seen a mouse. Or a hole it could get in through, for that matter. He was on his hands and knees, peering behind the stacks of papers and books. He always said he’d destroy anything he didn’t need, but he was bringing the office more and more home. He was an undergraduate, going for his PhD while working and trying to start a family. His thesis had just been approved, it was the long term affect of trauma on family members.
Well the cheese in the trap doesn’t eat itself, she said, leaving him be.
No, he replied. No it doesn’t.
Charlie felt like his mind was losing focus. Felt like it was jumping all over the place. He knew that the brain compartmentalised everything. If it recalled everything it had ever experienced all at once it would break. He’d go crazy and start babbling. But he felt like he was mixing past, present and future. Kept seeing things. Feeling as if he was seeing things, faces, memories from the past. He kept seeing Sarah. She kept appearing. Hallucinations were a big tick in the neurosy box. He knew that. Fran had known that. But now it wasn’t in a text book. Now it was in his life. And it wasn’t as clear cut as he’d always imagined it to be.
When he read the case files, the patients were already crazy. Their hallucinations weren’t small things here and there. Where was the housewife seeing little flowers in vases that weren’t real? Where were the truckers who’
d sworn another set of lights were coming down the highway? He knew everyone had a little bit of crazy in them, but his was starting to turn up the notches.
He’d been reading a story to Harper, when Sarah had popped into being at the end of the bed. He’d yelped. Harper had too, thinking it was something funny in the story. He did it again, trying to cover his tracks. She giggled. He took to it like a dream, letting her laughter wash over him. The doctor said her palsy could degenerate to a state where laughter wouldn’t be possible. The excursion on the lungs would be too great. Of course by that state, breathing in of itself would be too much. She’d require a machine. Sarah had been nodding with compassion on the other side of Eve.
So take it in he did. Then he opened his eyes, pretending to not see his sister, and continued reading.
A light clicked on in the kitchen. Charlie rolled over, saw that Eve was asleep next to him. No way Harper could be up, could she? He got out of bed quietly, as not to wake Eve. Made his way to the hall and tiptoed down to the kitchen.
Sarah was at the counter, making herself a sandwich. Charlie froze. Hallucinations that begun to interact were a sign that symptoms were worsening.
Hello Charlie, she said. Eating her sandwich.
Sarah? he asked breathlessly.
She winked.
But your—
Yep, she said. Eating a sandwich. Course I’m not real. But to your mind it is nevertheless. Have you noticed how much you say that word? Nevertheless. You should read through your paper again.
Charlie fell into a chair at the table. What’re you doing here?
What do you mean? She asked. What I’ve always been doing here. Helping you. Well, you’ll help me eventually. But for now I’m helping you.
Helping me what?
Remember silly.
A Killer Among Us Page 23