Peter shot up from his chair. “Do not question my treatment. Yes, Randall suffers from dissociative identity disorder brought on by the trauma in Gary Anderson’s basement. But I can’t imagine him being capable of hurting Amanda. You don’t know him like I do. He loved her. Whether what happened to her was an accident or murder, I knew it couldn’t be Randall. Those personalities are unique and exclusive to what happened with Gary Anderson. They have nothing to do with any other aspect of his life.”
Susan pushed herself off the door and walked across the office. She placed her hand against Tommy’s chest and gently moved him back. “Tell us about your study with Randall. What are you doing, exactly?”
“I’ve been conducting a new treatment to rid Randall of his personalities and the memories of the violent acts he had to commit in that basement. He builds scenarios around these personalities and talks through the murders until they become less and less the focal point of a memory or urge he’s unaware he’s having.”
“You talk to Randall during these sessions, or do you talk to the personalities?”
“I trigger the personalities. I make Randall talk about what happened with Gary, and when he can’t take the memories any longer, his transition takes place. It’s brought on by a massive headache. A migraine. And then he’s triggered.”
“Go on.”
Peter’s chest was still rising and falling, but his voice was calmer. He looked at Susan, ignoring Tommy. “As Stephen, his fantasy is to slit his girlfriend’s throat. That’s how Randall killed Rose. As Jerry, his fantasy is taking a dental receptionist to the woods and setting her on fire. That’s how Randall killed Lily. Jason Harris’s fantasy involves killing his abusive father, which is really Randall wanting to kill Gary, the man who lorded over him and made him do these horrible things. Our progress has been extraordinary, and Randall has been very receptive to the treatment. Each telling of the fantasy involves less violence.” He paused for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth, his mind churning. “That’s why I don’t think he would ever hurt Amanda. He doesn’t turn violent for the sake of violence. Amanda wasn’t part of what happened in the Anderson basement. Him killing her doesn’t fit.”
Tommy shook his head. “But you still didn’t tell us. You didn’t want to put an end to your new kind of treatment. You thought you were making progress and didn’t want the inconvenience of a murder to sidetrack you.”
“That’s not the case. I couldn’t break patient-doctor privilege. Besides, I owe it to Randall to get him better. I’m the reason all of that happened to him.”
“How do you figure?” Susan asked.
Peter was quiet for a moment. “I was the one who passed Gary Anderson to Randall,” he said finally. “My patient capacity was full, and he had room to add. I gave him Gary. I handed my friend a maniac who altered his life forever. I owe it to him to get him better, and I didn’t need the police targeting him as a murder suspect.”
“You had a duty to warn, and you chose to keep quiet,” Tommy said.
Susan moved next to Tommy. “I think my partner’s right. You never told us any of this because then you’d have to admit that your subject not only developed another personality on top of the three he already had and killed his wife while undergoing your experimental treatment, but you helped conceal his identity in the first place. You knew Randall was William Feder, and if you told us that, you knew you’d lose your funding, and your reputation would be flushed right down the toilet. Now Randall’s missing, and if I didn’t happen to come across Hooper Landsky locked in Gary Anderson’s basement, we might be talking about another victim here.”
Peter looked at both of the investigators. “Randall’s missing?”
Susan nodded. She sat in one of the chairs facing the desk and took out her notepad. “We found the murder weapon and the computer from Amanda’s Mercedes buried in Randall’s backyard, so I don’t want to hear your opinion on his innocence anymore. What I do want is for you to tell us everything you know. And let me emphasize everything. Go.”
Peter looked horrified. “I admit we’ve had some recent hiccups in his treatment, some backsliding. I had no idea you had evidence. I . . . oh god, he really killed Amanda, didn’t he?”
“Now’s your chance to come clean. Talk.”
Peter began to play with the buttons on his shirt cuffs. “When Randall . . . William . . . was a young boy, his little brother died. It was widely reported as an accidental drowning in a stream behind the Feder farm upstate. But when I started treating him after his imprisonment by Gary Anderson, I found an old patient file that had been sealed because he was a minor. In it, there are notes covering Randall’s therapy. He was suffering from what we would today call PTSD. The death of his brother affected him a great deal. More than you’d normally see, especially based on his age and the fact that he and his brother weren’t that close. At one point, the notes brush upon the possibility that Randall himself might have drowned his brother. My theory was that Randall had been so troubled by his brother’s death, perhaps because he had been responsible for it, that he created an imaginary friend to compensate for the absence of his brother. Maybe even to take some of the guilt away from Randall himself. Eventually, that imaginary friend grew into a second personality, and that personality disappeared as Randall got older. In his mind, his brother’s death became nothing more than a tragic accident.” Peter looked at them. “Randall’s brother’s name was Sam.”
Jesus, Susan thought as Tommy sat down in the chair next to her. It’s worse than I thought.
“Things changed after Gary Anderson,” Peter continued. “The things Gary made Randall do were too horrific to contemplate, let alone actually carry out, so Randall shut down. His mind completely closed itself off to the reality of his situation, and two new personalities emerged. One was Stephen Sullivan, and one was Jerry Osbourne. I have no idea where the names or intricacies of each personality came from, but they took over for Randall whenever he was forced to do something to those women. Stephen took care of Rose Anderson, and Jerry stepped in whenever Lily was involved.”
Susan looked over at Tommy, who was staring at the doctor, his hands clenched in balled fists. “How could personalities just pop up like that?” she asked. “One minute there’s nothing, and the next he’s got two completely different people taking over his mind?”
“Don’t forget, Randall’s mind was already predisposed to this condition. He suffered from it when he was a child, calling his personality an imaginary friend, and then suppressed it without really knowing what it was. He simply grew up, and the need to be someone else, to have that crutch, dissipated. But when Gary Anderson forced him to torture those women years later, that predisposition rose again, and new personalities were born. As Stephen or Jerry, he could shut down his consciousness and let them do what needed to be done. When he was Randall again, he’d have vague memories of some things, but for the most part, the details were gone, and the guilt was manageable. It was his mind’s way of coping.”
“So how does this new Sam personality fit?” Tommy asked.
Peter sighed. “I don’t know. All I can think is that Randall somehow stumbled upon Amanda’s affair and her plans to leave him. Maybe he panicked, and in that panic, a new personality rose. This personality would be much stronger than the others. Much more self-assured, otherwise he wouldn’t be named after Randall’s little brother. This version of Sam could have helped Randall kill Amanda and take her lover hostage. Perhaps this could even be the original personality being born again. The name harkens back to the death of his brother.” Peter paused for a moment. “I mentioned the hiccup in his treatment. Just recently his other personalities have talked about a stranger helping them in their fantasies. This could’ve been Sam, and I missed it. I didn’t know what all of it meant until now.”
“That’s everything?” Susan asked.
Peter nodded. “I swear.”
Susan stood and put her notepad in her bag. “If you hear fro
m Randall, you call me right away. Don’t try and talk him down or treat him or hide him or anything. Just call me.”
As she made her way toward the door, Tommy got up and leaned over Peter’s desk. “I hope you have a good lawyer,” he said. “You better start making some calls.”
Susan waited until they were outside.
“We need to find Randall,” she said. “This is growing out of our control.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Go back to HQ. Extend the BOLO to include the five boroughs, Rockland, Dutchess, Putnam, and Orange Counties. Get Crosby up to speed on what we know and how Dr. Reems was keeping information from us.”
“Done.”
“Did you talk to him about your prior relationship with the Andersons and this case?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Don’t. We’ll address it when the case is over. I need all the manpower I can get at this point, and I can’t afford him sitting you down now.” Susan walked over to her car and opened the door. “I’m going to head back up to North Salem. Poke around Randall’s house. See if I can find something that might tell us where he is, because right now, no one has a clue, and I feel like we’re running out of time.”
56
When Randall opened his eyes again, he was still in Gary Anderson’s basement, but things were different now. The room was bright. The sun was shining through two small storm windows on the opposite side of the room, near the boiler and water heater. He could see everything clearly, the blackness gone. The basement door was wide open at the top of the stairs. More sunlight streamed in from the kitchen above. He looked down at his wrist and saw that he was no longer chained to the wall. In fact, there was no chain anywhere to be found, nor was there a firepit or the poker Sam had threatened to burn him with. Only two things remained to prove that Randall hadn’t been dreaming and that Sam had been with him in the basement, in one way or another. The first was the cuts on his arms and leg, rough and ragged. Some of them had been deep. Dried blood stained his clothes and skin. Tiny droplets dotted the cement floor where he’d been sitting. The second was the knife lying next to him. It was from his kitchen back home, not a razor as he’d first suspected. A faint voice whispered in his ear.
Your truths are yours. Keep them safe.
A last truth to come to terms with. He could see it now as clearly as he could see the walls and foundation beams and scattered items in the basement. It had been a partnership all along, a bond that was as solid as the cement he sat upon. Sam had come and helped him take care of what needed taking care of. He’d given Randall his life back and ultimately showed him his sins of the past so he could finally come to terms with who he was and how that was never going to change. Randall would always have his friends to rely on. That’s who he was, and neither Peter nor Amanda nor the doctors he’d seen after being freed from Gary’s basement would ever be able to take that away. He was one with Sam, and Sam was one with him. A perfect match. The final piece to his complex and sometimes confusing puzzle. But now it all made sense. It all fit. There was no reason to fight it any longer. Acceptance was the greatest gift Sam had given him. Randall now knew who he was completely, and a wave of relief washed over him.
Your truths are yours. Keep them safe.
He picked up the knife and made his way across the basement to the stairs. His body was sore, and his head still ached, but he felt better than he had in a long time. He’d thought he knew what happiness was, but this was a different kind of joy. This was the joy of being free from one’s doubts and fears. This was an awakening, a true acknowledgment. Amanda was dead, and he was thankful Sam had taken care of it for him. He didn’t want to remember any of it. It was better this way.
As Randall reached the top of the stairs, he looked around the decrepit kitchen. Only days ago, the mere sight of this place would have sent him into a frenzy of panic and terror. Now, with the clarity of knowing who he was, he had no real emotion. It was a room in a house. Nothing more. Sam’s voice kept whispering to him, pushing him forward.
Your truths are yours. Keep them safe.
Hooper’s maroon Subaru was parked in the garage. Randall reached into his pocket and came away with keys he hadn’t known he had. He opened the driver’s-side door, climbed in, dropped the knife next to him, and started the engine. Somehow the smell and sound of the car were familiar to him, but he had no real memory of driving it or parking it in the garage. That had also been Sam, making sure everything was as it should have been.
As Randall pulled down the driveway and onto the road, Sam’s voice was soothing in his mind, pushing him forward, giving him the strength he needed.
Your truths are yours. Keep them safe.
Giving him acceptance and freedom and understanding.
And rage.
57
Susan walked through the front door and dropped her bag. She glanced into the living room to find the twins watching television.
“Hey, guys.”
“Hi, Mommy.”
“Hi.”
They were like zombies staring at the screen, completely engrossed in whatever it was they were watching. Beatrice was in the kitchen, cleaning the counters and wiping them dry.
“Mom, stop. You’re not my maid. I’ll do that.”
Her mother shook her head. “How are you going to clean and do laundry and dress the twins and all the other stuff you need to do with one arm?” she snapped. “You’re not a superhero. I think that sling proves that.”
“Whoa,” Susan replied. “What’s with the hostility?”
“Nothing.”
“No, really. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mom.”
Beatrice finally turned around. Her eyes were glassy with tears. “I’m scared, Susan. It’s as simple as that. I’m scared. One of your criminals or suspects or whatever you call him was watching us at the tree lot, and now we’re in danger. I’m scared.”
“Everything’s fine. I know this is new to you, but we’re fine.”
“Are we? Is that why we have a police car parked out front all day protecting us? Or is he waiting for your stalker to come back and try to finish the job?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Well, it’s something. It’s dangerous enough that we need a police presence all day and night. And look at you. This guy attacked you, and you’re lucky all he did was dislocate your shoulder. He could’ve killed you. Dammit, Susan, you have children who expect their mother to come home each night.” She started to cry. “And you have a mother who expects the same.”
Susan scurried across the kitchen and hugged her mother tight. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I want to be here for you and the twins. I will be. I know this is scary for you, but you have to believe me when I tell you we have everything under control. The unit out front is a courtesy. No one thinks we’re in true danger. It’s more a cover-your-ass thing for my boss. We’re fine. And as soon as we catch this guy, I’m going to make sure I spend more time home with all of you. Maybe I’ll take some vacation days and hang out. Just to make sure we hit the right reset button. I know I’ve been away a lot. I’m sorry about that, and I’m going to change things. For all of us.”
Beatrice nodded and wiped her tears. “Okay. I’m trusting you here. If you say we’re okay, then I’ll believe you.” She rolled up the rag and tossed it in the sink. “I think I’m going to go watch some TV with the kids. You need anything?”
“No. You’re spending the night?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good.”
Susan watched as her mother crossed the kitchen and made her way into the living room. Just as she was opening the pantry to grab a snack, her cell phone rang in her back pocket.
“This is Adler.”
“Hey, it’s Tommy. Got some news.”
“Go.”
“We got more security footage from the university and can confirm that Amanda did visit the campus before she dro
ve off the Goat Trail. We can see her Mercedes entering and parking in a different lot. We were so focused on watching Randall’s car we never bothered to search for anything else.”
“Good. So we have video evidence that confirms what the Mercedes’s computer is telling us.”
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“We just got a call from the barracks out of Wappinger’s. Poughkeepsie PD and fire department was dispatched to a fire on the Quarim campus a few minutes ago. It’s the building housing the psychiatry wing.”
Susan slammed the pantry shut and raced toward the front door. “I’m heading there now.”
“Me too.”
“And Tommy, in the future, you wanna lead with that kind of info.” She hung up and snatched her bag, holding it down at her side while looking in on her mother and the twins.
“I gotta go,” she said. “I know I just walked in, and I know I promised I’d make time, but something’s happened, and I need to be on scene.”
Beatrice smiled through a new set of tears. “You see these beautiful children?”
“Yes.”
“Then please, be careful. For all of us.”
Susan nodded and left the house. There was nothing more to say.
58
Emergency lights filled the darkening sky as Susan pulled through the gates of the university. She parked next to Tommy’s Accord and took a moment to assess the scene. Three engines, two ambulances, and a handful of local Poughkeepsie police cars were parked haphazardly in front of a half-charred brick building. Three of the police units had set up to act as a barrier between the public and the first responders.
It appeared as though the blaze had been contained. Clusters of firefighters milled about the property and parking lot, packing up gear and rolling up hoses. The science building was stained black with soot. Its roof, where a team of firemen had poked holes through the shingles for ventilation, was badly damaged, as was the west side of the structure. Glass had been punched out of every window, and the doors had been ripped off their hinges. The adjacent buildings looked to be in good condition, and the one set of offices connected to the science building only had a few windows missing. Everything else looked intact.
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