Kill the Next One

by Federico Axat

  Laura had picked up a notebook and was scribbling furiously.

  “Then I found a dead body. It was an MSU alum—it was wearing a Mass State hoodie and cap. There was a puddle of blood under the body. I couldn’t see his face.”

  “When did you have this dream?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Ted wasn’t about to tell her that he’d been awake at the time, or that Mike and Espósito had been watching him from the basketball court. If he had any faint hope of getting out of there, he wasn’t going to be so stupid as to tell her that an imaginary possum had led him to the body.

  “What else?”

  “That’s all. I don’t know what the castle or the dead man mean; it must be something that escapes me. What I know for sure is that there are important answers hidden on that path behind the lake house. The feeling was so strong, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

  “Ted, you know that dreams often have that characteristic. In our dreams we’re convinced of things that aren’t true when we wake.”

  “I know. But this was different. In a way, it was as if…as if a part of me were talking and giving me the answer I’d been searching for.”

  Ted knew he was exaggerating. But he needed to sound convincing. When he looked at Laura’s expression, he saw that his story had at least awakened her curiosity.

  Laura continued taking notes.

  “Did what you saw on the path remind you in some way of your time at college?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, the hoodie and cap must have been there for a reason. But the fact is, my time at college is a bit blurry. I remember some parts clearly, such as my professors, the poker games, the jobs I held—I don’t know, details like that. I find other things impossible to recall. Everything related to Lynch, I guess. To Justin. If he was my roommate and we became friends there, I suppose it makes sense that I can’t remember much about the things I did with him.”

  Laura nodded.

  “So, Laura? What do you say about me maybe visiting the lake house?”

  Dr. Hill gently shook her head. There was a tinge of sadness in her eyes.

  “It’s not time yet, Ted. I’m sorry. I’m not ruling out a possible therapeutic outing in the near future. We often do that when we think it will be helpful.”

  Ted stood up. He had no restraints on his arms or legs. Though of course McManus, in the adjoining room, never took her eyes off him.

  “Laura, I understand. And I trust you. The only thing I ask is for you to consider it. If the path doesn’t exist, or doesn’t lead anywhere, we haven’t lost anything.”

  Ted looked like a schoolboy who had stood up to recite his lessons. Laura watched him over the rims of her reading glasses.

  “I promise you, I’ll take it into consideration. However, you must know that the decision isn’t mine to make. I’m not the director of C wing.”

  Ted sat down.

  “I understand. Knowing that you’ll think about it is good enough for me.”

  “And I will. I promise you.”

  56

  Marcus hadn’t spoken with Laura since their brief lunch at the hospital cafeteria, and he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind since then. When she called him in his office and told him she needed to talk about something to do with Ted McKay, Marcus agreed to see her and immediately made a resolution: he wasn’t going to wait one more second to tell her how he felt. He was tired of coming up with excuses. Ted McKay would have to wait. The world would have to wait.

  Laura found him sitting in one of the two small armchairs by the window.

  “May I?”

  “Please.”

  Laura sat in the other chair. They were at right angles to each other. He was looking out the window, trying to find the right words. No. Actually, he was trying to find his resolve.

  “Are you feeling all right, Marcus?”

  “You know? Not really. I’m…”

  She leaned a bit forward, urging him to go on. In his mind, Marcus rephrased what he was about to say. He took a breath.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said at last.

  She smiled with a mixture of satisfaction and pity.

  “The other day, at your house—I wanted so much to kiss you.”

  Laura rested her hand on his forearm.

  “Hold on. Let’s do this the right way. Why don’t you invite me to your house on Saturday? When you open your front door, it’ll be the first time we get together—no need to talk about it.”

  He nodded.

  “It’s a date,” she said, and stood up.

  “I thought you wanted…”

  Laura left his office. The door closed and opened again.

  “Dr. Grant? May I have a word with you?”

  Marcus laughed.

  Laura sat in the chair across from his desk, and he went back to his usual seat.

  “Your secretary thinks I’m crazy.” Laura stifled a giggle.

  “Just a bit,” Marcus said, and after a short pause he pointed to where they had just been sitting and added, “And thanks, for…you know what. What did you want to talk about?”

  Laura’s expression changed instantly.

  “Ted has remembered some things from his past, and I think it’s time to start pressing him a little.”

  Laura related Ted’s dream about the Mass State student. She also mentioned the path behind the pink castle.

  “Ted wants to go to the lake house,” Laura explained. “He thinks the path could help him remember, or maybe it will lead to some place that’s important to him. I’ve thought it over, and I want to try it, Marcus.”

  He pondered a moment.

  “Are you certain that the time is right?”

  “Frankly, no. But so far nothing has been very rational. The other day, his daughters came—you don’t know how sweet those girls are. If this is what Ted needs to be able to open that last door, I think I ought to try it. At worst, it won’t work and the trip will yield nothing.”

  “It’s up to you, Laura. You know that since I’m the director of this wing, everything that happens inside here is my responsibility. But you are his doctor. Put in the request and I’ll authorize it. When do you want him to go there?”

  “On Saturday?”

  Marcus opened his eyes wide, horror-struck.

  Laura laughed.

  “I have the day off,” she explained. “Walter and his father are going to see Walter’s grandparents. It’s the perfect day for me. That morning I’ll organize Ted’s outing, and that afternoon I’ll get back in plenty of time to dress up and go out on our date. I know it’s my decision, but your opinion matters to me.”

  “Your instincts have proved crucial to this case. Pinpointing chess as an anchor to his past, the horseshoe trick, moving him to C wing—you deserve credit for everything. I know McKay means a lot to you. If your instincts are telling you this is the right time, go for it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I can put in a word to Bob, my friend on the Boston police force, remember?”

  Laura nodded and put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

  “Robert Duvall. How could I forget.”

  Marcus laughed, too.

  “The one and only. But if you ever see him, don’t even think of calling him by his full name. I’m going to ask him if he can find out anything about this murder, if it turns out to be a real thing. What years did McKay go to the university?”

  “He entered in nineteen ninety-three, class of ninety-seven. It would be great to find out if there was a murder there around that time.”

  “As for his release, I’ll authorize it with maximum security precautions. Restraints on hands and feet at all times, an armed guard.”

  “That sounds fine.”

  “I already know what you’re going to say, but I’d like to go along…”

  “You know me too well. I’d rather go with somebody who’ll be a familiar face for him.”

  “I’ll s
ee which of the guys is on duty that day. Any of them will be happy to get outside for a while.”

  “It’s a three-hour drive each way,” Laura said. She had kept this bit of information for the end.

  Marcus noticed the subtle maneuver.

  “You’re incorrigible, Laura.”

  “I promise I’ll be on time for our date,” she said, standing up.

  “Send me his release request form and I’ll get it done today.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  “I’m sure we’ll see each other before Saturday, but if not, good luck.”

  “We won’t talk about the case on Saturday,” Laura said before she left. “You have my word.”

  “I don’t know if I should believe you.”

  She smiled.

  “And remember what you have to do when you open your front door.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  Part IV

  57

  1993

  Massachusetts State University had more than twenty thousand enrolled students in 1993. Many undergraduates roomed in doubles or triples at one of fifty campus dorms, their roommates assigned to them by a process that supposedly took the student’s personal preferences into account. To that end, new students filled out detailed questionnaires for what the university billed as its state-of-the-art system for matching them with the perfect roommate. The university touted this system as a key selling point in the brochures it sent to prospective applicants.

  When Ted McKay met his freshman roommate, his first thought was that the people in the housing office had no fucking clue what they were doing. No other explanation was possible. How could anyone have thought he and Justin Lynch would get along? You could tell by looking at them that they lived in different orbits. In the housing office’s favor: both Ted and Justin had won scholarship packages that required them to keep up their GPAs and live in one of three specially designated “university scholar” dorms. Their assigned dorm was Shephard Hall, universally known as the Box for reasons evident to anyone who gave it a second glance. So perhaps it was simply their equally precarious economic situations that threw them together in a double—room 503, the Box. Poverty: the great equalizer! Otherwise, the only thing they appeared to have in common was being fans of Nirvana. But the same could have been said of half the class of ’97.

  Justin Lynch was an exceptionally handsome young man—tall, rugged, with big blue eyes and a square jaw. His hair was always perfect, Ted noticed during their tense early weeks together, not because Justin spent all his time getting it done at the barbershop but because it seemed to adopt new shapes as it grew, as if it had a life of its own. Lynch didn’t go unnoticed on campus for long. Coeds of all ages found their way to the all-male fifth floor of Shephard Hall, where they would hang out in the hallway near room 503 or in the common room. Sometimes they stopped Ted in the hall to ask him all sorts of questions about his roommate. The less daring women just asked Ted for basic information, such as whether Justin already had a girlfriend. Others were more direct, and given the chance they would have marched straight into room 503 to settle their questions themselves.

  This Don Juan quality about Justin was what most irritated Ted, who had never been very good at relations with the opposite sex. He wasn’t exactly jealous of his new roommate—well, maybe just a little—but there was something else, something deeper. Ted’s dislike of womanizers hadn’t emerged from nowhere. His father had been one. Mr. Big Shot. Hadn’t Ted written as much in the long comment he appended to his housing application? Of course he had. “Please add any additional comments you would like the housing office to take into consideration,” the questionnaire had said, and after thinking about who he did and didn’t want to room with, Ted had taken off, submitting as his response a mini essay on his present living situation, his family history, his parents’ breakup, and the reasons behind it. He explained that his father had kept a lover for years, and that he hated his father for his philandering, for breaking up the home. And that he hated all the other bastards who cheated on their wives and girlfriends. So the obvious question was, why had the housing office forced Ted to share a room with a guy who represented everything he despised? He was outraged. But he was sure of one thing: as soon as the girls started parading through, Ted would have a little chat with his roommate. And it wouldn’t be a pleasant chat, for sure. Because the guy said he had a girlfriend back home, and he’d even hung her photo on the wall.

  Lynch’s impression of Ted wasn’t much better. Not so much because of his bad boy attitude, with the leather jacket and the rude manners; as far as Lynch was concerned, Ted’s insistence on going against the flow was merely a pathetic display. Ted even had a rusty Datsun with a bumper sticker that said OUTLAW. Jesus. But that wasn’t it. What really galled Lynch was that, while he himself took his studies seriously, holding down a work-study job at the library and studying till his eyes ached, Ted, that low-rent Johnny Depp, split his time between dropping in on the odd class, slacking off at his job in the dining hall, and playing marathon poker games on the sixth floor. Mainly poker games on the sixth floor. Lynch would stay up half the night studying and find his roommate sneaking in, reeking of cigarettes, eyes red from smoke. Sometimes Ted would crack open his math or accounting textbook, but half an hour later he’d be passed out, sleeping facedown on the open book, still fully dressed. Lynch knew that Ted had received a particularly stringent scholarship, and he also knew it would be a miracle if Ted survived his midterms. In a way, Lynch was just waiting for the midterms to get rid of this roommate and get himself a new one.

  For the first couple of months the roommates’ interactions were minimal. They only connected when Nirvana or Pearl Jam came on Lynch’s stereo. Apart from brief conversations they had then, always about music, there was no relationship between them. They never talked about their jobs, never shared a table in the dining hall. Even their incipient circles of friends seemed destined never to intersect.

  Ted was the first to realize that the housing office people might have been a bunch of fucking geniuses and that he had perhaps judged Lynch too quickly. The parade of Lynch girlfriends he kept expecting to see never materialized. In fact, the one and only girl who entered their room before mid-October was a student Ted had invited over. Not only did Lynch seem uninterested in cheating on his hometown girlfriend, but he appeared deeply embarrassed whenever women he didn’t know asked about him. He had a magnetism that any guy would envy; with much less, another college dude could have been making the bed creak every five minutes. (At the time, that was MSU code for sex; the ancient spring mattresses in dorm beds were very comfortable but very creaky.) Lynch didn’t make his bed creak once during those first weeks, and God knew he could have—all he wanted. Ted started thinking his roommate must be gay and that the photo on the wall was just some girl he knew. But he heard Lynch on the phone a few times, and it was too much to imagine that he was merely pretending to have those conversations with her. The guy was faithful. He had enough charm to sweep any girl off her feet, but he didn’t seem interested in using it. What an odd bird. Ted was becoming intrigued.

  When mid-October rolled around, and with it the first exams, Lynch got a B plus and four A minuses. He felt satisfied. But it shocked him to see his rule-breaking roommate’s grades: all As, including a couple of A pluses. Impossible. It had to be some sort of scam. He’d been watching Ted, and he knew how little time he spent studying: usually less than an hour a day. Lynch doubted his roommate could have been studying on the job in the dining hall. He never even brought his books! So what was his trick? His trick, as Lynch would discover over the coming months, was that Ted was very smart, and in addition, he had an astounding photographic memory. So Ted excelled in analytic courses and subjects that required lots of memorization. He was an astonishing speed-reader, zipping through dense material three or four times as quickly as other students. And nothing ever slipped his mind.

  Lynch knew that Ted had been frequenting illeg
al off-campus gambling dens, in addition to playing poker upstairs, and was living off his winnings. After things were completely smoothed over between them, Ted admitted that he actually hated playing poker, but it was a popular enough game that he could make the rounds of various gambling circles without attracting too much suspicion. A player who consistently wins more often than he loses will be ejected from any gaming parlor sooner or later. Ted could memorize cards flawlessly and make statistically complicated decisions in a matter of seconds, giving him better than random odds in the game. Dorm games were just penny-ante, but even with small stakes, Ted rounded up enough cash to cover the expenses his scholarship didn’t and, more importantly, pay for his mother’s hospitalization.

  It turned out the housing office people had done their job well after all. Ted and Justin soon became friends.

  58

  1993

  The lead-up to their friendship was a deepening sense of mutual respect. Ted hadn’t really socialized much at college; his poker buddies undoubtedly considered him a friend, but he was always pretending when he was around them, saying and doing what he thought they expected of him and no more. He had learned how to get along in any environment, but he did so by following cool reason, not his emotions. Justin was the first person he felt any real interest in. The sensation was completely new to him; he hadn’t cultivated friendships at high school, either.

  Justin, for his part, had struck up some promising relationships, but he had gradually let them fall by the wayside and shut himself off in his own world. He was a loner by nature, and having a friend who understood him gave him the assurance he needed to start being himself. This sudden acceptance of his inner self led to changes in his life that became apparent during the course of that first year at college.