Kill the Next One

by Federico Axat

  “Last night I had a nightmare,” Ted said in the video, and he began describing the same details.

  “Enough,” said the Ted of flesh and bones.

  Laura paused the video.

  “That is my office in B wing. We’ve had sessions every other day for the past seven months. For the first three months, our sessions revolved around what I have called the first cycle. Your mind created a paranoid delusion, and everything was confined to that: to your meeting with Lynch, his proposal to join the suicide club, kill Blaine first and enter the circle, in which you would have to kill Wendell as a part of the deal.”

  Ted couldn’t remember revealing all those details to Laura, but clearly he’d done so. He had stopped handling the horseshoe, which now lay almost forgotten in his lap.

  “Do you feel all right, Ted?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay. In this first cycle, you killed Blaine, and later you went to Wendell’s house. You murdered him in his lakeside house, but then you discovered that Lynch had tricked you with regard to your family. So you decided to track him down, and to do that you turned to Robichaud, your old acquaintance from high school. Do you remember all this, Ted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lynch was a virtually unknown lawyer, but you found him and confronted him in his office. He told you that Wendell really did belong to the Organization and that he was a dangerous man who therefore had to die. That was how you found out that he had used you, and things got out of hand…”

  “Laura, this is crazy. I don’t know if I want you to be telling me that I was in a fucking five-by-ten-foot cell imagining all this stuff. Did I really kill one of those people? Is that why I’m here?”

  “Let me continue, Ted.”

  “No! Tell me. Have I killed anyone?”

  “No,” Laura said.

  Ted nodded.

  “So none of that was real?” he asked hopefully.

  “I’m afraid it’s a little more complicated than that.”

  Ted couldn’t imagine how anything could get more complicated.

  “For the first three months,” Laura went on, “it was impossible to get you off the first cycle. It would take a week, or sometimes just two days, and then it was as if you had been reset to the initial moment, in your office, about to shoot yourself. The first time it happened I didn’t know how to react, and I’m afraid I didn’t react well. But with every repetition I got a little better, could ask you more precise questions, and so I gradually filled in all the details. The first cycle repeated more than fifteen times; some of those times you were more talkative than others. Then, one day, this happened.”

  Laura searched for another video. It was from their session of December 19. She fast-forwarded a few minutes in and hit play. The Ted of the video spoke.

  “The guy showed up at my front door. I’d never seen him before in my life, but even so, I knew his name was Lynch. Even stranger, I remember going through the whole situation once before. I knew everything the guy was about to tell me—”

  Laura stopped the video.

  “You exited the cycle,” she said, “and believe me, at first I didn’t know why, and I didn’t know whether it would last. As it turned out, it didn’t. When you reset again, you went all the way back to the start of the first cycle, once more to the very beginning.”

  “My God, Laura, what the hell was going on?”

  Laura tried a gentle, hopeful smile.

  “Something serious was happening to you when Dr. Carmichael asked you to come see me. Most likely you had tried to kill yourself, but not because of a tumor. I really don’t know what your reasons were. You’ve blocked those memories and replaced them with others, which you relive over and over again.”

  “I have to recover those memories.”

  “I think we’ve made significant advances. During the second cycle you were conscious of the earlier cycle, so things were different. You were aware of how you’d been tricked, so when you went to Wendell’s house you talked to him instead of shooting him point-blank. Do you remember where?”

  “Of course. It was in his daughters’ pink castle.”

  Laura nodded thoughtfully.

  “That detail always leaped out at me. Wendell revealed to you there that he and Lynch had met at college and that the famous Organization never existed, that it was just part of Lynch’s ploy to get Wendell out of the way.”

  “Wendell showed me the photos,” Ted said, recalling this particular point in great detail. “Holly and Lynch were together at a restaurant. That memory must be real.”

  Laura nodded.

  “Probably. Each cycle represents a distorted view of reality. An adaptation to make reality…”

  “Less painful.” Ted finished the sentence.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Ted shook his head.

  “There’s one thing I don’t get. If Holly cheated on me with that guy, I wouldn’t blame her at all. Things weren’t going well between us. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that the photo can’t be why I invented all this—” He suddenly stopped short.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Have you talked to her, Laura? You must have talked to Holly in all this time. All these…seven months. Did she confirm it? The affair, I mean.”

  “I’d rather we left that for later. I want you to understand that, while I’m pretty sure you’ve finally broken free and the cycles won’t repeat, we can’t risk it. We should approach this fact slowly, stepping on solid ground. That’s why these first days are so important. I don’t want to stuff you full of too much information at once. It’s important for you to think over what we talk about here. In later sessions we’ll explore the days that came before.”

  “Can I see them?” Ted unexpectedly asked. “I miss them.”

  “I imagine you do, Ted. I’m a mother and I know how you feel.”

  “It’s that…if so much time has passed…”

  “You have no need to worry, I assure you.”

  Ted nodded. Just then one piece of the puzzle fell into place. For the first time, he thought about Roger.

  “Roger, the nurse—I’ve seen him several times. At Blaine’s house and also at Wendell’s.”

  “So you told me, and it had me worried at first. I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. No part of your routine in B wing ever interfered with your delusion, except for Roger. Because of his strong connection to you, I guess. His role was like McManus’s here. For a few days I asked another nurse to take care of you, but I didn’t notice any changes. I guessed that Roger was one more element that your mind put to use to construct these memories.”

  “Those memories are so real, Laura,” Ted said, almost in disbelief. “This is so hard.”

  “Most of these memories have an important component of truth, Ted. You have simply transformed them, reordering them to suit your mind.”

  “The second time I met Wendell, he told me that you guys wanted to lock me up in here.”

  “And that was our lucky break.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let me explain.” Laura shut the laptop and pushed it aside. “You only managed to reach the second cycle a few times. You almost always went back to the first and started over again. It was frustrating. We had no idea what it was that caused you to move on to the second cycle, until one day I stumbled across it. The key was something from your past, Ted. I realized you only went into the second cycle after we’d been dealing with topics related to your past, to your childhood, especially your chess lessons with Miller. It was as if something in that past were pushing you to move forward, to emerge from that first cycle of killings and enter the second, where you no longer became a killer, where your marriage was unhappy but you accepted it. Do you see?”

  Ted thought about Miller. It certainly did make him happy to recall his old chess teacher.

  “I encouraged you to tell me about Miller,” Laura went on, “and one day you told me about t
he horseshoe he kept in the garage where he coached you, and how you’d used it as a good luck charm in tournaments. You also told me about the world championship match between Alekhine and Capablanca in Buenos Aires. You told it with such passion…and then I thought, if I could only get you to cling to that past, maybe you could emerge from these cycles once and for all.”

  Ted took the horseshoe from his lap and held it above the desk so that Laura could see it, too.

  “The importance of chess,” Laura explained, “was there from the start, but I wasn’t able to see it. It was always present in the dreams you told me.”

  “I found this horseshoe at Wendell’s house.”

  “No. Roger gave it to you. And you incorporated it into your fantasy, because it was too important for you to set it aside. And it worked. All that remained was to see what came next, how you’d get out of the second cycle. Then one day, when Roger went to get you from your room to take you to dinner, you told him you knew all about it, that we were trying to trick you and you knew we were going to have you committed to Lavender Memorial.”

  Ted couldn’t help smiling.

  “It’s funny, if you think about it.”

  Laura smiled, too.

  “Roger told me right away, and we saw our chance to connect your fantasy with reality. I had to call in some favors; the director of this wing is my friend, and I was able to clear a few hurdles without too many explanations. We brought you here and the two worlds came together.”

  The two worlds.

  That sounded too much like Mike Dawson’s bizarre theories.

  “The horseshoe was the key, Ted, and I suggest you keep it with you at all times.”

  “What comes next?”

  “You’ve escaped from a dangerous spiral of repression and denial, but you still have a long ways to go. We need to recover those last days of your life, find out what really happened, what you’ve chosen to forget.”

  Ted remained silent for a moment and then said, “I’d like to see where I’ve been staying all this time, and also your office.”

  Laura was surprised.

  “You mean the videos?”

  “No. In person.”

  “I don’t know if that would be such a good idea.”

  “I have to see it with my own eyes.”

  36

  Marcus had broken up with Carmen. He told her over the phone and she told him that she understood, but not to worry: if he wanted he could call her anytime and they could get together and have a little fun; he shouldn’t get angry about it or take things so seriously. Life was meant to be enjoyed. In short, she didn’t give a shit.

  Marcus had DVR’d two episodes of Breaking Bad, his favorite series. It was late morning, and he made some microwave popcorn, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and walked to the movie room, smiling from ear to ear.

  He dimmed the lights all the way and activated the screen. A comforting hum accompanied the descent of the silvery rectangle. It had just reached the floor when his cell began to ring.

  His annoyance vanished when he saw that it was Laura.

  “What a surprise!”

  “Hello, Marcus.”

  The short silence that followed worried him.

  “Anything wrong at Lavender?”

  “No. I wanted…Are you busy with anything now?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Want to have lunch?”

  Marcus had to wait a second to tone down his boundless enthusiasm.

  “Of course.”

  “I need to discuss a few issues regarding Ted McKay’s case with you, and then I need you to join me in a little crusade.”

  “Count on it. You’ve got me intrigued.”

  “Great. That means you won’t skip out on our date.”

  Date.

  “Can I pick you up in an hour?” he asked.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  When he hung up, Marcus sat for ten minutes staring at the blank screen.

  37

  Marcus drove to her house beset by a whirlwind of thoughts.

  She asked you to lunch! She used the word “date.”

  “But she said it ironically,” he replied, looking himself in the eye in the rearview mirror. “You realize that, don’t you?”

  What she knows is that she likes you. If she called you, it’s because you haven’t approached her lately. Didn’t she let you know her marriage was over once and for all?

  That was true.

  He got to her house before noon. Laura didn’t invite him in, saying they’d better leave right away because there was somewhere she had to be at two, so they should go ahead and eat as soon as possible. She gave him a peck on the cheek and walked to the car, leaving Marcus on her doorstep. He was glad he hadn’t bought flowers or anything stupid like that. Even his clothes—white woolen trousers, sky-blue linen shirt, his everlasting derby—were too formal compared with her jeans and plaid blouse. Laura had her hair up in a bun and was wearing less makeup than usual.

  You wanted a sign? There’s your sign. There’s nothing romantic about this date, pal. She just needs to talk to you about McKay and for you to go who knows where with her.

  They had lunch at Romanelli’s, a restaurant with a balcony overlooking the Charles River, on the road to Newtonville. They both ordered the tuna salad.

  “So McKay is making progress?” Marcus said. He had tried starting conversations on various subjects in the car on the way, but nothing had worked. Laura wanted to talk about the case that was obsessing her.

  “Yes! I have so much to tell you. I’m almost certain he’s gotten past the cycles. It’s a matter of time before he begins to remember. I am convinced.”

  “Have you shown him the video from…the office of…”

  Marcus had forgotten the guy’s name.

  “From Lynch’s office? Not yet. It’s not the right moment. I’ve shown him the videos from his room at Lavender, and also the videos from a couple of our sessions. It was hard on him, and I swear, for a moment I thought we’d be back to square one. But no, he seems to have absorbed it pretty well.”

  “I’m glad. Eat, Laura. You haven’t touched your salad.”

  She looked at her plate as if she hadn’t known it was there. She speared a bite of tuna and slowly brought it to her mouth.

  “Don’t get angry if I tell you this, Laura, but I think you’re getting too involved with this patient.”

  She laughed and shrugged.

  “I knew you’d say that,” she said breezily. “I’m thinking I could write a book about it.”

  Marcus looked skeptical.

  “Really?”

  Laura became serious. She looked both ways and leaned forward slightly.

  “Can I make a confession?”

  Marcus tensed up.

  Here it comes.

  “The reason I didn’t ask you to come in wasn’t because we have so little time. I mean, it’s true, we don’t have much time, but I could have let you in for a minute; believe me, I meant to. After I called you, I thought I should start cleaning up the living room, where I had Ted’s file scattered everywhere. Photos, documents, newspaper clippings.” Laura laughed again like a mischievous girl.

  “You still could have let me in.”

  “I know—we’re friends. But it really is a disaster area. Walter’s going to be with his father all day, and I guess I let myself get carried away, you know. I took advantage of having the house to myself.”

  “Want to tell me what you’re up to?”

  “Of course! That’s why we’re here.”

  Laura had a few more bites of her salad and washed them down with two sips of her Pellegrino. She seemed anxious to start telling her story.

  “Ted was a chess prodigy. He gave up the game as a teenager, but I’m afraid there are modes of thinking that a chess player never loses.” Laura paused. She didn’t seem completely satisfied with her explanation. “I’ve watched a number of documentaries in recent months, even read a few biographie
s. Yesterday I saw one of the documentaries about Bobby Fischer again. I imagine you know who he was, right?”

  “Of course. You were a baby, but in nineteen seventy-two there was a huge media storm when he played for the world championship with that Russian.”

  “Spassky.”

  “Right—I’d forgotten the name. It was a tremendous event, middle of the Cold War, Soviet Union versus America. I didn’t watch the games, but I do remember the press coverage. Fischer became sort of a national hero. Whatever happened to him?”

  “I’ll give you the short version. It’s an incredible story. By nineteen seventy-two, when Fischer played for the championship, he was already showing signs of paranoia. He was twenty-nine years old, and up until then he had been considered an eccentric genius, but the pathology became more and more blatant. He made excessive demands before he would agree to play, he skipped one of the games, and he constantly complained about the most bizarre things. He claimed the TV cameras were emitting some sort of radiation to harm him, and he even demanded that they be removed, claiming that the Russians were using some type of technology to make him lose his concentration. The match went on for weeks. Fischer won, of course, and became world champion. And then…he vanished.”

  “Vanished?”

  “He didn’t play again for twenty years! He fell off the map. He secluded himself in various places and made no public appearances. There were even doubts about whether he was dead or alive. Bear in mind that he was at the top of his game, and also at the top of his fame. As you say, he was a national hero here. Chess was his life, he’d always been obsessed with it, he’d hardly done anything else. And once he became world champion, he quit—just like that.”

  “I didn’t know. And you say he came back to it twenty years later.”

  “Precisely, but only because a millionaire paid for a rematch with Spassky, which was held in Yugoslavia in 1992. He won again. It was a brief comeback. He showed no interest in defending his title as world champion, and when he refused to play a match under conditions set by the world chess organization, he forfeited the championship. By then he had become a virulent anti-Semite and in radio interviews he occasionally made horrible remarks against Jews and the United States. When they announced that the rematch would take place in Yugoslavia, the U.S. government sent him a letter telling him that playing there would violate the trade embargo, and if he went through with his plan he might end up in prison. He didn’t care. He announced at a press conference that he would play anyway, and he literally spat on the feds’ notification. He had gone downhill. His hatred of Jews and Americans had become his obsession.”