by N L Westaway
It hadn’t been easy, and I managed to keep the two of you safe, but each move we made, every town we went to, there always seemed to be some professor, some man who made our lives difficult. And in order to keep Laura from going to the cops and to keep her moving when I needed her too, I had to come up with an idea to keep control of things. So, I played on the idea about someone being after us, by leaving her postcards with directions to stay or move, warnings to stay away from the police, and threats on her life if she didn’t comply. She burned each of them of course, which was good. We didn’t need that kind of evidence around.
Those letters that I sent to my mother, were with the hopes of convincing her I was in danger of being killed, but she only ever read the first, she obviously didn’t care what happened to me.
I’m confident by now, you understand what I was really doing, that I wasn’t running from a serial killer, that I killed all of them, all of those professors, all of those vile men, the ones that Laura never seemed to be able to escape. Laura never knew it was me all these years. Although I may have gotten it wrong with that biology professor at your college, you weren’t in danger I know that now, and though he wasn’t your teacher, he was still being inappropriate with the other female students there. And that cop, Stinson, that one was just for me, he’d had it coming for a long time.
I’m sure you also understand why I did what I did, that I had to protect her, but none of us can be fully protected until I take care of the last two evil men on my list. Once I do, we will all finally be safe.
~ Rachel
What other men? Why did she need to keep killing—why was this even an option, how had Rachel rationalized that it was their only option and why the hell had she taken her mother with her? How was this keeping her mother safe? Gwen’s head ached from the injury, and from all the questions, old and new, that thrummed through her brain.
Gwen checked her phone for the time, and it showed it was 6 o’clock, so she hadn’t been out for long. But her phone also showed ten missed calls and several messages from both Detective Franklin and Scott. She didn’t check the messages, she already knew she had plenty of explaining to do, and she hit dial on Detective Franklin’s number to do so.
“What happened—what took you so long to get back to me?” Detective Franklin’s voice boomed, much too loud for Gwen’s paining head.
Gwen looked at the time on her phone again. Apparently, she had been out cold for more than a few minutes, as it wasn’t 6 p.m. Sunday, it was Monday, and it was now morning. “Well… I got knocked out.” She touched the side of her head and face where she’d been hit. She winced and felt a nice hematoma forming on her head near her hairline.
“What—are you okay?” the detective’s voice said, booming in her ear again.
“Yes—I’m fine,” Gwen said, softly, hoping to lead by example.
“Where are you?” he said, worry still sounding in his voice.
“I’m at my mother’s house,” she said.
“Where is your mother—is she with you, is she okay?”
“No, yes, I mean no—she’s not with me, but I believe she’s okay, she’s with Rachel.”
“Rachel? What are you talking about?” the detective asked, his voice rising again.
“I don’t think she would hurt her, though. Rachel’s been protecting my mom for a long time, protecting both of us,” Gwen said, leaning her head against the jamb and closing her eyes.
“Protecting you?”
“Look, I’m fine. If she had wanted to kill me, she probably could have—but didn’t.” Gwen went on to explain what had happened to her, about Rachel being here and knocking her out, and about the letter that had been left for her.
“I can’t believe it—all these years, it’s been Rachel I’ve been trying to find. Do you have any idea where she and your mother may have gone?”
“If they are still in town—the college, maybe. There was a lot in the letter about the universities and my mother loves to walk the campuses, but that’s my best guess,” she said, shifting to her knees to get up.
“I’ll contact the local police there and have them send out some officers to check it out,” the detective said, his voice calmer now.
“I don’t think my mom is in any danger. After reading that letter—I can’t imagine Rachel would do anything to my mother.” Gwen’s head spun then, and she sat back down on the floor. “But I don’t know who Rachel was talking about with regards to these other two men,” she said, leaning back against the doorframe into the closet.
“I think I do,” he said, followed by what sounded to Gwen like a car door slamming.
“Are you sure you’re okay—can I send someone over there?” he asked her.
“No—I’m a paramedic, I know how to take care of a bump on the head. But can you let Scott know where I am and explain that I’m okay, and that I won’t be able to work today? I’ll text you the address here, so you have it.” She heard a car engine start and rev then.
“Okay, and yes—of course. Scott has been worried about you too. He’ll be glad to hear you are alright and don’t worry about your shift.”
“Thank you—and oh-my-god—I’m so sorry for thinking you were a serial killer,” Gwen said, the queasiness of it all washing over her.
“Gwen, I completely understand the confusion—I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, gentle sincerity reaching through the phone to her.
“This is all such a lot to digest,” she said, swallowing down her headache nausea.
“We’re going to figure this all out and find your mom. And these men Rachel mentioned, if they are who I think they are—I’m going to need to get some surveillance on them. Let me get on it—I’ll keep you posted,” the detective said, the car engine sound revving again.
“Thank you, Detective,” she said before hanging up.
Gwen put down her phone on the letter from Rachel, and then glanced around the closet again. On the other side of the trunk she saw that there was a pile of clothing and a pair of what looked like men’s work-boots.
Gwen shifted to her knees again, then crawled over to the pile where she found a man’s coat, pants, and shirt. Under the coat she discovered gloves, a hat, and a dark-haired wig and fake beard, and she was fully cognizant that this was the clothing worn by the serial killer in the videos Detective Franklin had mentioned. Gwen also knew whoever these two men were that Rachel had written about at the end of her letter, the ones she’d stated she was going to take care of, were going to meet Rachel, and without her disguise this time.
Chapter 19
“Okay Miss Paramedic, time to get yourself up off this floor and check out your injury,” Gwen said to herself, as she pulled her unsteady body up from the rough carpet to maneuver out of the closet and into the cooler space of her mother’s bedroom. Steadier now, she crossed the short distance to the tiny en-suite bathroom.
In the bathroom, she filled the cup her mother kept next to the sink with water and gulped it back. Placing the cup back, she leaned in and squinted, checking the discolouration on the side of her face and the goose-egg on her head at her hairline. She turned her head to check the other side, and there were no cuts or bleeding that she could see. Then she pulled open the medicine cabinet mirror to locate the aspirin her mother readily kept there. Finding the bottle, she snatched it up and then shut the cabinet. She filled the cup again and downed two tablets with the water, then shoved the pill bottle in her front pocket and maneuvered out of the bathroom back to the closet.
Thankfully, the nausea and the dizziness Gwen had been feeling earlier was beginning to dissipate, and she bent and retrieved the letter. She made her way out of the bedroom, into the second-floor hallway, and then down the stairs. On the main floor, as she set the letter next to her knapsack, the sun was attempting to pierce through the curtains on the far side of the living room, as morning showed itself and what was potentially going to be another scorcher of a day.
Gwen went to the kitchen, then at the counter she spread out one of the dishtowels that her mother had stacked there. Then she took a tray of ice cubes from the freezer and twisted it, cracking the cubes loose over the dishtowel. Securing the corners of the towel together in a bunch, she lifted the homemade cold pack to her paining head, and then leaned against the counter.
The cooling sensation felt soothing against the bump on her head, and she was hopeful the ice would ease further swelling. The side of her face, on the other hand, was in store for an even nastier bruise than what she’d already seen reflected in the mirror, and would go through a series of colour changes over the next few days, giving her a similar appearance to that of a sucker-punched boxer.
Her stomach grumbled and she grasped that it had been almost a day since she had eaten anything, and that this state of hunger coupled with the sluggishly dissolving headache was not the condition she needed to be in if she was to support the detective in finding her mother. She went back to the fridge and in it she found a container of her mother’s macaroni salad, and just what she needed, delicious and no need to heat it. Placing the dishtowel icepack back on the counter, Gwen took the food from the fridge, and a fork from the silverware drawer, and then went and to the dining table to eat. She shoved her knapsack to the side and sat down. But as soon as she did, there was a Knock-Knock at the front door.
Gwen set down her fork and got up from the table and headed down the hall to the front door. “Who is it,” she said, out of habit, then she unlocked and opened the door before waiting for a reply.
The morning air was already warming, and Gwen felt a hit of queasiness surface up in her. A towering woman with light-blond hair pulled back in a bun, and wearing a navy-blue maxi-dress, stood smiling at her from the front step. Before Gwen could say anything, the woman said, “You must be Gwen—your mother has told me all about you.”
“And you are?” Gwen asked, less polite under the circumstances than she normally would have been.
“Oh, I’m sorry—I’m Dr. Marlene Branden, I’m a friend of your mother’s.” She tried to look around Gwen down the hall.
“She’s not here right now—is there something I could help you with?” Gwen asked, not remotely in the mood to chat with one of her mother’s friends. She didn’t even know her mother had any friends.
“Do you know when she’ll be back—I really need to speak with her?” the tall doctor asked her. Then the woman frowned and tilted her head to stare at the obvious bruise and bump on the side of Gwen’s head. “My dear—are you okay—that’s a nasty injury you have there, would you let me take a look at that?”
Gwen took in a long drawn out breath, then exhaled. She wasn’t okay and it wasn’t because of the whack she’d taken to the head. Surrendering to the idea of aid, Gwen said, “You might as well come in—I don’t know when my mother will be back but, maybe you could help with that.” If they were friends, this woman might have a better idea where she and the detective might find her. Plus, Gwen knew it was better to not be alone with a head injury even though she had told the detective she was fine and for him not to worry.
“Have you already had this checked out,” the doctor asked, following as Gwen led them to the dining area.
Gwen sat back down in her chair. “Ya—I checked it out. Looks worse than it is I think,” Gwen told the doctor as she pulled out a chair to sit down.
Before sitting she said, “Right—paramedic. Have you used some ice on it?”
Gwen pointed over to the counter where her poorly made icepack lay melting on the counter.
Instead of sitting, the doctor went to the kitchen counter and swiftly drew together the corners of the dishtowel, then twisted the fabric and secured the ice into a bunch. Returning to the table, she handed Gwen the ice pack. “Here,” she said, “might be best to keep that against your head a bit longer.” She grinned at Gwen and the woman’s cheeks bunched.
“How do you know my mother?” Gwen asked then, placing the cold, now damp towel to the side of her head.
“We met a few years back near the campus where I teach—we were both out on work breaks, sitting on one of those public benches, and we got to chatting—the rest is history, I guess you could say.” She grinned again.
“Why are you here—what did you need to talk to her about?”
The doctor’s smile dropped, and she said, “Well—we had a misunderstanding last night—and had a pretty nasty blow-up.” She breathed out and her shoulders sagged. “I’m worried about her actually—she didn’t return any of my texts and isn’t answering my calls.” She set her shoulder bag on the table then. “I know you and I haven’t met before, but I'm assuming your mother told you about me and our meetups, no?”
“No,” Gwen said, “Sorry—do you mind if I eat? I haven’t eaten since Sunday morning.”
“My gosh—of course,” the doctor said. “Was that injury from on the job?” She tilted her face to look at the side of Gwen’s head again.
“Uhm, no—it’s a long story,” Gwen said, then shoveled the cold pasta into her mouth and chewed.
“Well, your mother and I have been meeting for coffee and pastries religiously, for over three years now, and we’ve become close—at least I thought we had.” She sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap, then said, “Your mother is smart and caring… and I thought we could both use some girlfriend time—you know what I mean, get out for dinner or drinks. But I was afraid to push too hard, thought I might scare her away—she's like a frightened mouse, and had only now really started to open up to me more and she had agreed to come out.”
Gwen gave a nod, but said nothing, continuing to chew her food and listen, as her mother’s friend went on to explain their friendship.
“I’m not a social butterfly—but I enjoy getting out some, I’m usually curled up reading a good book or watching a good movie most nights, and with your mother—I believed there’s a great woman in there dying to get out and have some fun—you know?”
Gwen nodded again.
“I was very patient with her and finally asked her to go out—I wanted to show her it was safe. It’s all about trust with her and I was fairly confident you would have liked for her to get out and have some fun—she had alluded to it at times.”
“Did you guys end up going out?”
“Yes—just the other night in fact, and we had fun—she had fun. But I know there is more going on with her. I believe in honesty between friends and colleagues, so was hoping she could be honest with me, but I find myself tending to treat her like a patient—she troubles me sometimes. I get that your mother’s situation is complicated.”
“What kind of doctor are you?” Gwen asked.
“I’m a psychologist—I have a small practice out of my home, but I also teach at the university.” The doctor leaned a forearm on the dining table.
“Well, my mother is a lot more complicated than I realized,” Gwen said, leaning her elbows on the table, icepack still against her head. “I’d told her once that she needed to see someone about her paranoia. She told me she was seeing a psychologist, but I hadn’t realized it was more of a friend thing. She had seemed so much better, more relaxed, so I figured the sessions were helping her. Guess she lied about the sessions, hoping to ease my worries over her. It worked, but,” Gwen said, with a defeated shrug.
“Did your mother ever tell you about why she had to move you guys around so much?”
“I didn’t know at the time, but I do now,” Gwen said, leaning back in her chair and setting the mostly melted icepack on the table next to the food empty container.
“So, you’ve read the letter from her, about why you moved so much… about the stalker?”
“She told you about the stalker?” Gwen asked, her eyes going wide.
“Yes—but she only just told me about it the other day. She’d said she was going to write out everything in a letter—and give it to you.”
“My
mother never gave me a letter, but Rachel left me one. I’ve read all of Rachel’s other letters too.”
“Who’s Rachel? And what other letters?” The doctor frowned.
“Wait—if you knew about the stalker—how do you not know about Rachel?”
“Like I mentioned, your mother had only just started to open up and had finally unburdened herself to me about this man, the one whose been following her across the country—this stalker.”
“Oh boy—okay, ya there’s a lot more you don’t know. There was a lot I didn’t know until just this morning, actually,” Gwen rushed out. Then she did her best to give the doctor the details on Rachel’s letters and the last 24-hours. “I didn’t understand why my mother had the letters—I didn’t realize who Rachel was. The letters made it sound like someone was after Rachel—a man that Rachel believed was a serial killer. When I questioned my mother, she denied knowing anything about Rachel or the letters. I had told her she needed to talk to Detective Franklin—he’s the lead on the serial killer case. She had left me a message after, saying that my father was still alive, that she didn’t know his name—but that he’d raped her and that he was following us—that he was doing these killings. But it’s Rachel, she is the killer, not my father.”
“Who is this Rachel, do you know?”
“Based on this letter,” Gwen slid the new letter across the table. “I’m pretty sure she’s my mother’s sister. Older sister, I think. Rachel mentions in the letter, ‘when Laura came along’ like as if she had been born after Rachel. It better explains the photos I found too. They look so much alike they could be twins.”
Dr. Branden started reading the letter then stopped. “Do you have the photos here?” she asked looking up at Gwen, then she returned to reading the letter.
“Just the one—Detective Franklin has the other one.” Gwen reached for her knapsack and pulled the photo from the zippered pouch and handed it to the doctor. “That’s my mother and me,” Gwen said when the doctor glanced up from reading.