I SEE YOU an unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist

by Patricia MacDonald

  Hannah looked her husband squarely in the eye. ‘He said that when they were teenagers, Lisa suggested that they . . .’ She couldn’t continue.

  ‘What?’ Adam asked. ‘You’re scaring me.’

  Hannah drew herself up, and looked away from him. ‘He said that Lisa wanted him to molest his two-year-old cousin so she could watch.’

  ‘He . . . what . . . ?’ Adam shook his head. ‘No. No. That’s ridiculous. What the hell is he talking about?’

  ‘He followed the testimony. When Lisa said that she had caught Troy getting ready to molest Sydney . . . Well, Jamie came to tell me that it was Lisa who was interested in that sort of . . . activity.’

  Adam stared at her.

  Hannah turned and faced him. ‘He meant it, Adam. He wasn’t lying. He was mortified to even say such a thing to me.’

  ‘He comes up with this now? It doesn’t make sense. He never said anything before.’

  ‘He said that the only reason he was telling me this was because he was worried for Sydney.’

  Adam shook his head. ‘No. That’s . . . not possible.’

  They both sat in silence, trying to convince themselves that it was not possible.

  ‘Adam, I’ve been thinking about this obsessively ever since he left. What if it is? We both wondered why she dated a man who was accused of being a child molester. Maybe she sought Troy Petty out for exactly that reason.’

  ‘No. Do you hear yourself? No.’

  ‘I don’t want to believe it!’ Hannah cried.

  ‘No. I’m telling you, no. Listen to me,’ said Adam. ‘Think about it. Where do these pedophiles make all their connections?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Hannah miserably.

  ‘On the internet,’ he said.

  Hannah nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose.’

  ‘Suppose, nothing,’ he said. ‘That’s how they do it. That’s how they find one another.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said slowly.

  ‘So, the other night, when I went through Lisa’s entire search history, there was nothing like that there. No kiddie porn,’ he said, grimacing at actually speaking the words. ‘Nothing like that. If Jamie’s accusations were true, if this were some kind of secret thing that Lisa was . . . doing, she would have been looking at those sites, I would have found it. I work with computers. I don’t want to bore you to death with the details but, believe me, I’ve combed through it and I’m telling you, there is no way.’

  In spite of herself, Hannah felt encouraged by his words. ‘I know if anyone could find it, it would be you. It’s just that you were the one who was bothered by the fact that she didn’t search Troy Petty when Wynonna told her about his past . . .’

  ‘I thought it was strange,’ he admitted. ‘But facts are facts. She didn’t have any of that crap on her computer.’

  Hannah tried to take heart, tried to nourish a fragile hope. ‘You’re right. If this was something . . . real, she probably would have.’

  ‘Of course she would have . . . And besides, you work with social services. You’ve seen every kind of antisocial behavior. Have you ever known a woman who would do that?’

  Hannah searched her memory. ‘No. Not personally. But I’ve heard of such things. We all have. You see it on the internet. There’s no end to the perversity of people.’

  ‘I know,’ he insisted stubbornly. ‘But not Lisa.’

  Hannah stared bleakly at her husband. ‘If you could have heard him telling this story . . . It was . . . horrible.’

  ‘Hannah, you know he always liked her. He always wanted her to be more than a friend. Maybe he just said this stuff to try to finally . . . pay her back somehow.’

  ‘Jamie? Chet and Rayanne’s Jamie?’

  ‘People act ugly when they’re hurt. They often want revenge.’

  ‘That’s a pretty sick way to pay someone back.’

  ‘Well, we’re talking about some sick things here.’

  Hannah looked at him pleadingly. ‘So you don’t think there could be any truth to it.’

  ‘No,’ he said defiantly. ‘I think he is . . . trying to punish Lisa for dropping him as a friend all those years ago.’

  Hannah wanted to believe him but a little voice inside was nagging at her. That doesn’t make sense. ‘You have to be right,’ she said, in defiance of her doubts.

  ‘Mom-mom,’ Sydney cried out from the living room. ‘More juice.’

  Adam managed a smile. ‘We’re being summoned.’

  ‘I promised you a decent meal,’ she said hopelessly.

  He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. We can have a sandwich. Are you going out to the jail?’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t think I can do it. Not tonight. Lisa will be mad.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? After all we’ve been through, I’m not too worried about Lisa being mad. You just lay low. It’s all right now. Put this out of your mind,’ he said.

  ‘Mom-mom,’ Sydney cried.

  Hannah stood up and took a deep breath. ‘Easier said than done,’ she said.

  Lisa called at nine o’clock and demanded to know why her parents had not come to visit. Adam took the call, and told his daughter that Hannah had a bad headache and had gone to bed early. He said that they would come to see her in a day or two, and Lisa, sensing a distance in her father’s voice, immediately scaled back her imperious demands.

  After he hung up the phone, he turned to Hannah. ‘I think she needed a dose of reality. We have jumped through hoops for that girl. Now she can cool her heels a little bit.’

  Hannah, who was lying back against a large sofa cushion, gazed anxiously at her husband. ‘Were we bad parents?’ she asked.

  Adam shook his head. ‘I never thought so. We didn’t spoil her. We always loved her and paid attention to her.’

  ‘Nothing makes sense to me right now.’

  ‘I know. Maybe you should try to go into work tomorrow. That might help,’ he said. ‘Take Sydney over to Tiffany’s for the day. She can run around with the other kids. It might do her good. We all need some normalcy.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Hannah. ‘I don’t want to be in this house. I don’t want to look out the window and see Jamie and wonder why the hell he would say such a thing.’

  ‘I don’t know why Jamie would do that either,’ said Adam, ‘but I have to believe that he was just trying to rattle us. For some reason.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll go to work.’

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said. ‘It will seem better in the morning.’

  The next morning, after a sleepless night, it did not seem better. Hannah took Sydney to Tiffany’s and drove to work. Going into the office she felt as if she were coming down with an illness. She was shaky inside, and felt weak. Her co-workers congratulated her on Lisa’s acquittal, and she tried to seem appreciative. Her list of clients was a demanding one. She didn’t have a moment to think until lunchtime.

  Jackie poked her head into Hannah’s office and greeted her warmly. ‘Want to go eat out under the trees?’ she asked. ‘There’s a guy selling Greek food from a cart out there.’

  ‘That sounds great,’ said Hannah, thinking how much she would enjoy this simple pleasure. Lunch outside, with a friend. She wrapped up her work and met Jackie in the lobby. Together they stepped out into the warm, beautiful September day.

  Once they were settled on the park lawn across from the office, napkins spread on their laps, they began eating their falafel pita pockets.

  ‘It’s so good to have you back,’ said Jackie at last.

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ said Hannah, picking desultorily at her sandwich.

  ‘It was a good result,’ Jackie said.

  Hannah nodded. She sat in silence for a moment, thinking about Jamie and wondering if she dared to even bring it up.

  ‘You still seem worried,’ said Jackie.

  Hannah sighed.

  ‘What is it?’ said Jackie.

  Hannah suddenly had an idea of
how to explore what she was thinking about without actually admitting it. She looked over at her friend. ‘Actually, it’s work-related. I have a client who is truly bizarre. I’m not sure what to do.’

  ‘Tell me about her. I love bizarre!’

  Hannah took a deep breath. Then she plunged. ‘Have you ever encountered a female pedophile? Particularly a mother who would . . . exploit her own child?’

  Jackie set down her sandwich in its waxed-paper wrapper. She patted her mouth with a paper napkin, and then balled it up in the palm of her hand. ‘Not personally. But of course such things do exist,’ she said.

  ‘That person would have to be completely crazy,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Or a psychopath,’ suggested Jackie.

  ‘Like I said. Completely crazy,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Well, not technically. Psychopathy is not considered a mental illness like schizophrenia or bipolar disease. For one thing there’s treatment for those conditions. There are drugs that can help to control them.’

  ‘There’s no treatment for psychopaths?’ Hannah asked warily.

  ‘No. Nothing that works. On the other hand, you can be a psychopath and function just fine in the world.’

  ‘I thought psychopaths were serial killers and things like that,’ Hannah protested.

  ‘Well, it’s sort of a continuum — psychopathy. It runs the gamut from depraved criminals to corporate CEOs. What they all have in common is that they don’t have the same internal limits that normal people do. Their right-and-wrong gyroscope has malfunctioned. Or just doesn’t exist.’

  Hannah nodded. Her food tasted like dust in her mouth.

  ‘Does that sound like your client?’ said Jackie.

  ‘I hardly know her,’ Hannah protested, frowning. ‘But no. I don’t think so. Not really. She seems pretty normal to me. I’m thinking it must be . . . some effort to discredit her. You know how these custody disputes can go.’

  Jackie shrugged. ‘Don’t be too sure. Psychopaths are expert liars,’ she said. ‘Often they are highly intelligent people. Capable. Professional. From normal families. It’s not a pathology that’s known to stem from abuse. Some experts think that it’s inborn. That’s why it’s so hard to comprehend. But psychopaths don’t have a depravity meter like the rest of us. They can’t be shocked or troubled by things that normal people find repulsive or reprehensible. They have a complete lack of moral restraint.’

  ‘That’s an interesting term,’ Hannah murmured.

  ‘It’s quite accurate,’ Jackie insisted.

  ‘So, have you ever treated a psychopath?’

  ‘You mean with therapy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve had patients in treatment who . . . I didn’t know were psychopaths. Not at first. But it became clear over time. With real psychopaths, there’s no way to treat them.’

  ‘No way? Even if they seek out help?’

  Jackie shook her head. ‘They don’t seek out help. Not really. They don’t see themselves as damaged. Of course, I’ve attempted to treat them. Once in a while, in a court-mandated case, you get one as a patient. And you can’t tell right away if you have a psychopath in your office. It’s a pathology which takes a while to recognize. But once you diagnose it, you realize that any effort to treat them is futile. They don’t change. They can’t.’

  ‘Probably fairly rare,’ said Hannah. She put the rest of her sandwich back into the bag. She no longer felt hungry.

  ‘Not as rare as you might think,’ said Jackie. ‘They walk among us, seemingly normal. A mother who would assault her own child? Or let someone else assault them? Sure.’

  The beautiful day suddenly felt threatening to Hannah. ‘Well, I don’t understand it,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘No one does. Would you like me to have a session with your client? Maybe I could determine . . .’

  Hannah felt as if there were a giant hand, squeezing her heart. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Never mind. As you say, what’s the use?’

  TWENTY-ONE

  After lunch, Hannah told her supervisor that she wasn’t feeling well, which was certainly true. She said that she needed to go home. Her harried overweight supervisor, a widower named Ward Higgins, had a compassion for people which never seemed to fail. He said that she probably came back to work too soon. ‘You’ve been through an ordeal,’ he said. ‘You need a few days to recover.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Hannah, collecting her things and heading for the door. She drove home, almost blindly, unaware of what was happening around her. Luckily, the route home was familiar, and she arrived back at the house without incident.

  She hurried inside, avoiding even a glance at Rayanne’s house. She slammed the door and locked it, leaning her back against the door and staring into the depths of the cool, dark house. When she and Adam had bought this house they were so excited to be homeowners with a yard for their little daughter to play in, and a park down the street. Immediately they set about turning their house into a happy home. And they succeeded, Hannah always thought. Years later, when Sydney arrived, unexpectedly, they welcomed their granddaughter in, and tried to make it happy for her also. Hannah felt tears rising to her eyes. Yesterday it had seemed as if their nightmare was over. Until Jamie knocked at the door. And now . . .

  Hannah forced herself to concentrate. She had come home for a reason. Her conversation with Jackie had been sickening, and yet she could not avoid the implications of what her friend had said. There was no use in pretending that she hadn’t heard it, hadn’t understood. Everything that Jackie was saying about female psychopaths rang an uncomfortably familiar bell. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t possible, but she had to know. She didn’t know how she was going to find out but she was going to make a start.

  With an effort of will, she pushed herself away from the door and walked down the dimly lit hallway to the door of Lisa’s room. She turned on the overhead light and looked inside. Everything was neat and orderly, as it always was. She had tried never to intrude on her grown daughter’s privacy. After all, she had told herself, it wasn’t as if Lisa had been lying around the house, slothful and unambitious. She was in medical school. Any parent would be proud of that. And the fact that she was single and had a child — that was practically the norm these days. Hannah had always insisted to herself that she had no right to rummage through her daughter’s sanctuary. The other night, she had been appalled to find Adam going through Lisa’s computer. Lisa had not been perfect — in fact, sometimes her behavior had been disturbing and inexplicable to them. But surely she deserved her privacy.

  Not anymore, Hannah thought. If there was something secret about Lisa’s life, she would find it in there. Cleverly hidden, no doubt. Lisa knew that her father worked with computers at Verizon. She must have known that he could access her information if he wanted to. No, if she had a secret life, the evidence would be somewhere else.

  Hannah took a deep breath, preparatory to entering the room. And if there was no secret life, if Jamie had been lying, if this ugly, lurking suspicion which was now weighing on Hannah’s heart had nothing to it, then no one would ever have to know that she had searched through Lisa’s things. She would tell everyone, including Adam and Lisa, that she had come home from work early, feeling ill, and lay down, and that was the end of it. She said a brief prayer that this was exactly what these next hours would bring. She would find nothing. There would be nothing. Nothing but innocence and evidence of Lisa’s hard work. Nothing to make a mother anything but proud. Please God, she thought.

  She stepped into the room and looked around. She would start with the desk. The desk, she figured, would not yield any obvious clues. Lisa was too smart for that. But it was the logical place to start. Hannah sat down in the desk chair, and began to search.

  The afternoon sun poured through the window, and then began to fade as Hannah went through all of Lisa’s belongings. She looked in every drawer, in every plastic box, on every shelf. She searched relentlessly. It didn’t help that she was
n’t sure what she was looking for. Some evidence of perversion. Some proof that Lisa indulged in evil, callous behavior. Instead, she found medical texts, underlined and annotated, photos of high-school friends acting crazy, and adorable photos of Sydney wearing cute hats and sundresses and Halloween costumes. After several hours, Hannah sat down on Lisa’s bed and looked around the room.

  She had tried to put everything back but she knew that there would inevitably be things out of place. When Lisa returned, she would complain bitterly that her mother had been in her room, and how dare she? And, Hannah thought, with a relief bordering on bliss, she would gladly admit her guilt. Say that she was looking for something. She would make something up. What did it matter? It didn’t. This was not the room of a psychopath. A child molester. This room was exactly what it appeared to be — the room of a young mother, a hard-working medical student, her own, wonderful daughter.

  Hannah was exhausted but felt better than she had in twenty-four hours. She had not tried to avoid the worst. She had confronted it. And found nothing. I’m sorry, Lisa, she thought. I shouldn’t have doubted you.

  She looked at her watch. It was four-thirty. Soon she would need to go and pick up Sydney. She could hardly wait to hold her granddaughter in her arms and cover her with happy kisses. She decided to stop at the cupcake shop which had opened on Briley Parkway before she went. She would buy each of them a cupcake to celebrate, and one for Lisa too. Perhaps she could take it to the county jail and ask them if Lisa could have a little treat.

  Hannah closed the door of Lisa’s room, went down the hall to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. She misted her hair with the hair product Lisa used, and then she crushed bunches of her hair with her hands, crunching waves into the chin-length haircut. She gave herself an apprehensive glance in the mirror, and then went down the hall to the kitchen where her car and house keys rested in a bowl on the counter by the door. She pulled up a jingling set, and then realized that she had grabbled Lisa’s by mistake. She set them back down in the bowl, and rummaged for her own keychain. And then she stopped. With a sinking feeling, she picked up the first set that she had handled and looked at them again.