by Rachel Lucas
I swirled the liquid around in my cup and thought through how to explain all this. It was really so complex. This was one of the reasons I had shared my friendship with Lisbeth with so few people. How do you separate the clinical from the personal?
“The doctor’s goal is to integrate all of the personalities into one. At the time of her initial diagnosis and in the months following it, they had discovered twenty-seven separate personalities. Each one of these individuals was very separate and unique. They each had their own likes and dislikes, physical appearance, voice, and even hand-writing. Some personalities were male with very masculine characteristics. Some were children, some older adults. Some were calm and peaceful, others were capable of being violent.”
“I can’t imagine how difficult that was, keeping them all straight, dealing with that at such a young age.” He seemed very sympathetic which eased me into trusting him more.
“It was an education I didn’t plan on getting,” I admitted. “Especially encountering some of the more violent personalities.” I drained the last of my hot chocolate, trying not to remember some of the encounters I had had with some of the more violent ‘family members’.
“Then I don’t understand your concern.” He sipped the last of his coffee and pushed the cup aside. “It’s seems like a pretty easy case. Mother and daughter didn’t get along. Barbara invites Elizabeth for dinner. During the meal they have an argument. Doesn’t really matter who started it, the end result is still the same. Barbara maybe loses her temper and scratches Elizabeth down the face. One of Elizabeth’s violent personalities reacts, grabs the steak knife they were using at dinner, stabs Barbara thirteen times. Elizabeth flees the scene, leaves behind her fingerprint on the knife and her DNA. Case closed.”
I could see where his experience as a detective had caused him to look at things in such a cut and dry manner. To someone like him, someone who had never really gotten to know Lisbeth, had never known what a kind, gentle person she could be, it must have looked like she was undeniably guilty. Even I had to admit that I had questioned her innocence a time or two since I’d become involved. Times when I remembered visiting her in the hospital all those years ago and having Chad or Vesper being there waiting for me. But there were still a few things that kept nagging at me.
“What about her fingerprints?” I questioned.
“What about them?” He challenged. “All over the murder weapon. What’s to question?”
“There were only fingerprints from her right hand found on the knife. All of her peaceful, more docile personalities were right-handed. The violent ones were left-handed. If she had killed Barbara, if one of the more lethal personalities had killed her, you would have found fingerprints from her left hand on the knife.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his broad chest. You could tell by the intense concentration on his face that he was thinking it through. I was grateful he hadn’t just blown me off.
“Maybe the doctors were wrong about that. Maybe some of the violent ones were right-handed.”
“No, it was well documented. It was the one way the doctors could tell if a safe personality was being manifested from one moment to the next.”
“Ok, you’ve got me there. But the rest of the evidence is very substantial. There was no evidence at the crime scene of anyone else being in that trailer.”
“You were at the crime scene, weren’t you?” I persisted.
“Of course. Hammond and I were called to the scene as soon as the responding officers called in the homicide. We arrived before CSI and the coroner.”
“Then you must realize that there are only a few feet from the front door to where Barbara was murdered. Another person could have entered the trailer and left little evidence behind.”
“Granted. But it was still Elizabeth’s prints on the knife, her hair wrapped in Barbara’s fingers. She was the one that didn’t get along with Barbara. She had the history, the history of a bad relationship with her mother. Add to that now her history of mental illness and, well,” he ran a hand through his wavy hair, “it really doesn’t look good for your friend.”
I realized he was right. The evidence didn’t look good. From his perspective, how could she not be guilty? Still, I remembered that letter from her, begging for my help, the plea in her eyes as she looked at me in those moments of clarity when she was just my friend Lisbeth.
“Look, Caitlyn, I know you care about your friend.” There was a kindness in his eyes I hadn’t expected to see. “I’m no expert, but if you really feel that strongly about her innocence, maybe you should go back a see her again. Maybe she’ll open up to you about things she won’t tell anyone else.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I admitted. As much as I disliked the idea of going back to the state hospital, perhaps there was more that she knew about that night, and maybe I was the only one she was willing to tell.
“Thanks, Detective Sawyer,” we had both finished our drinks now and we rose on queue to head towards the door, “I think I’ll take your advice.”
“You’re welcome. And call me Logan.”
Chapter Sixteen
Since Lisbeth had been a “model” patient since our last visit, her restrictions had been relaxed and she was once again allowed visitors. I worried that the doctors wouldn’t let me visit after what had happened last time, but instead they had encouraged it. Dr. Ross, her current treating psychiatrist, believed that there was no way to integrate her personalities if they wouldn’t manifest themselves. Obviously, they manifested to me.
We would now meet in a different visiting room. An orderly would be stationed outside the door the entire time for security. There were a few couches and chairs more comfortable than in the regular common room. The room was painted in a calming butter yellow with landscape pictures on the walls. Along one entire wall was a mirror. I knew it was a two-way mirror and suspected there were probably several doctors on the other side and possibly a camera to film the “session”.
Lisbeth was dressed today in a fuzzy black sweater and grey sweats. Plain white socks covered her feet but still no shoes. The black did nothing for her complexion. She looked pale and haggard. I could tell the medication was taking its toll. She looked tired as she glanced up to notice my entrance.
“Caitlyn, I was hoping you’d come back.” She smiled with an effort. She didn’t rise to greet me. She might not have had the strength.
“Hi, Lisbeth.” I walked over and sat on a stuffed brown armchair a few feet from the couch she was curled up on. I wanted to reach out and touch her hand, or push the shaggy red hair out of her eyes. Instead, I folded my hands in my lap, much more cautious this time. “How are you feeling?”
She stretched like a sleepy cat waking up from a nap. The kind of lazy stretch that goes from head to toes.
“I feel sleepy a lot,” she shrugged, “and I forget what time it is and what day it is. All my days seem to blend into each other here. I don’t feel like drawing much. I can’t seem to concentrate for very long. I’m bored most of the time.”
I nodded, feeling as though I was under a microscope with the unknown faces on the other side of the mirror watching every movement and gesture.
“Have you been doing any writing?”
“Nope, just don’t feel like it.”
I had a feeling she knew we were being watched and observed too. If she did, it would be very hard getting her to open up. She slowly came to her feet and began to aimlessly wander around the room. She paused to glance at a winter mountain landscape, seemed to look right through it, then continued.
“The medication they give me makes me feel sluggish. It dulls things. It’s like trying to see through a fog.” She didn’t seem to have any destination in mind, just wandered around the room until she came to an end table directly in front of the large mirror. She sat on the table, swung her legs back and forth, and gave me a mischievous grin. Her back was to the mirror. I knew this was her way of telling me that she knew
we were being watched.
This was a glimpse into the old Lisbeth. She gave me a wink, telling me she was playing the “game”. The game was something she used to do when she was here in this hospital all those years ago. She would pretend to be the model patient, dutifully take her medication, acting as though everything was “normal”. She was an expert at convincing the doctors that the “family” was integrated. I was the only person that she would let know that they were alive and well and living inside her.
“So, you finally got smart and dumped that jerk, Lewis,” she smiled. I couldn’t tell if it was Lisbeth speaking, or maybe Jade or Maxine.
“Yes, I divorced him.” I answered cautiously.
“I knew he was a loser before you even married him,” she was a bit smug but her eyes had that light in them that only Lisbeth had. I remembered the conversation all those years ago. When I was dating Lewis, everyone was so impressed by him. He seemed like such a catch. Lisbeth was the one person who saw through him. She was the one person who tried to warn me against marrying him. If only I had listened.
“Yes, you were right,” I smiled back with a nod. “It would have saved me a lot of heartache and grief if I’d listened to you.”
She looked down at her swinging feet, still grinning. “You deserved better.”
“You deserve better than being in here.” This caused her to look up and for the smile to leave her face.
“I shouldn’t be here.” There was an earnest plea in her eyes. “You know I would never kill Barbara. You more than anyone know we didn’t always get along, but I would never kill her.”
Dr. Ross had called me earlier in the week to let me know I was cleared for visits. He had explained that he encouraged me to have any of the family members manifest, as long as it was safe. I had asked him about the upcoming trial and if I could bring it up with Lisbeth. He said that would be fine, again, as long as it was safe.
“Lisbeth, I know you would never harm Barbara, but what about Vesper, or Chad, or even Mick.”
She jumped down from the table and came over to sit next to me on the couch. I watched her eyes and face for any changes, you could never be too cautious where she was concerned.
“Caitlyn, I was there that night having dinner with Barbara. I remember every moment of that evening.”
“I spoke to Vesper when I was here last,” I didn’t want to upset her, but I couldn’t help her if I didn’t get to the bottom of this. “He said he was there when Barbara gave you that wound on your face.”
She reached up and slowly traced the scar along her hairline and across her cheekbone, as if she had forgotten it was there.
“What really happened that night, Lisbeth?”
I could sense in her the struggle to maintain control. This had to be especially difficult knowing we were being watched. She dropped her hands to her lap and seemed to concentrate. I remained silent and patient, letting her take whatever time she needed.
“Mom invited me over for dinner,” came the whisper. “I hadn’t had a job for a while, wasn’t eating very good. She said I needed a home-cooked meal.” She looked up at me from beneath the shaggy bangs, green eyes sincere and trusting. “We hadn’t been getting along for a while. She offered dinner as kind of an olive branch. I thought: What the hell? Hard to turn down a free meal when you’re only eating once or twice a day.” She shrugged.
It was still Lisbeth’s voice. I knew it was taking a great deal of effort for her to stay in control and not let anyone else take over. She traced the scar again, her hands small and frail, her nails short and bitten to the quick.
“It started out as a really nice meal,” she smiled faintly, “she made one of her best meals, chicken fried steak.” I remembered hearing about this in the case report and also remembered that meal all those years ago. “Everything was fine, until she started asking me about my medication.”
With her free hand, she reached over and took one of mine. I looked into her eyes and saw the battle going on inside. Lisbeth wanted to tell this story, but there were others struggling to be heard too.
“She was always on my case about keeping up with my medication. She was completely paranoid that if I missed even a single dosage the others would come back.” She shook slightly as memories took hold of her. Her voice dropped to a tiny whisper and she leaned closer. I knew she only wanted me to hear this next sentence. “I don’t think she knew that the medication never helped. They never went away. The family was always with me.” She then sat back and spoke in a slightly louder voice. “I finally told her that I was selling my meds on the street. Their street value wasn’t half bad and it fed me once in a while. They weren’t doing me any good anyway.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, she looked me in the eyes. Lisbeth wasn’t looking back at me. Her eyes were a dark green and hard.
“Barbara lost it at that point. She started going on and on about all that sacrifices she was making to be able to afford paying for my meds, and I was just turning around and selling them on the street.” She rolled her eyes but still had her back to the mirror. I was the only one to see that Jade was having a bit of an attitude. She was good at hiding it from the observers in the other room. “She started asking me if I was selling my body too. The name calling started. I have to admit,” she actually gave me a cocky smile, “I had more than a few choice words for her.”
“Is that when she struck you?” I gently asked.
Her eyes suddenly flashed black. I knew Vesper had been there when Barbara had hurt her. Was he here now with me, remembering it? The hand on mine tightened until it was almost painful. I tried not to react. I didn’t want to alert the security or the doctors in the other room. I also had to be cautious though.
“We got it out of our systems. We each said our peace.” It was still Jade’s voice, thankfully. “I decided to split. I just couldn’t hack it anymore. Always the same thing over and over again. The fighting, the name calling. Just saying things to hurt each other. I was so tired of it all. Tired to my very bones. I got up to leave, was almost to the door, when Barbara did the strangest thing.”
I waited with breath held for her to continue. Her shoulders straightened and instead of the haunted look in her eyes an icy stare gleamed back at me. Vesper now held my hand in an iron grip. The strength in those hands frightened me. It was as though the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. I wasn’t sure if I should be concerned or relieved that the doctors couldn’t see his face right now. He spoke low, so low that I doubt anyone could hear him besides me.
“Without warning she flew around the table and attacked me.” The voice rasped, the face so close to mine I could feel the cold breath coming from his thin lips. I struggled not to go into shock at having him this close and tried to concentrate on what he was saying. Barbara attacked Lisbeth while she was leaving? Why would she do that? His low words came through gritted teeth. “Those sharp, red manicured nails raked down my face.”
This was it. This must have been when Vesper took over and stabbed Barbara to death. I tried to ignore the pain in my hand, my fingers going numb. Just be patient, I told myself, you’ll get to the truth. I was waiting for Vesper to give me a detailed description of the stabbing as he relished the violence of it all. It was exactly the kind of thing I would expect from him. Instead, her hand relaxed and her body seemed to deflate. I felt the pins and needles in my fingers as the blood rushed back into them. She leaned back into the cushions of the couch and gave me such a wide-eyed look, eyes clearing and searching mine.
“I ran,” came Lisbeth’s exhausted reply. “I ran out the door, jumped into my beat up car, and drove. I don’t know how long I drove or where exactly. I only know that I was back in my apartment the next morning when I woke up. Barbara was very much alive when I left her. I promise you Caitlyn.”
There was such sincerity in her eyes. It was Lisbeth looking at me now, pleading with me to believe her. I let out a pent up breath and relaxed finally. All the tension of having
Vesper so close, touching me, started to leave. I searched her thin, desperate face. What could I believe? Was she really telling me the truth? Did she really leave the trailer that night with Barbara unharmed? Was she really as innocent as she claimed? Or was this just an elaborate performance put on for me, the doctors and the cameras?
“I’m innocent, Caitlyn. I don’t know who killed Barbara, but it wasn’t me. You must believe me. You can’t let them lock me up for the rest of my life for something I didn’t do.”
Chapter Seventeen
Shortly before I graduated from high school, Lisbeth was released from the state hospital, supposedly “integrated” and “cured” as long as she strictly followed her medication schedule. She had moved back in with Barbara, who made sure she kept to the medication regimen, but it wasn’t a good environment for her. She managed to get her GED and get accepted to a community college about thirty miles from her mother’s house, but the school loans only went so far and she wasn’t mentally capable of working and going to school at the same time.
Before long, she was dropping out, moving from apartment to apartment, living the life of a vagabond. Sometimes it was a small basement apartment, other times it was a cheap motel room. Anywhere but going back to live with Barbara.
During that same time, I had met an up and coming junior executive at an investment company. He was charming and likable and moving up rapidly in the firm. Lewis was well known and well thought of, and when he swept me off my feet I could hardly resist. He was so much more romantic than the other high school and college guys I had dated. When he proposed I said yes without hesitation and we began planning our life.
Everyone was thrilled at the match, everyone except Lisbeth. I tracked down where she lived once and brought Lewis over to meet her. She was living in a tiny basement apartment and working part-time at a convenience store nearby. For some reason, she and Lewis took an instant disliking to each other. She didn’t hide her feelings either. I assumed that this was the reason he discouraged me from contact with her. He would always say how stressful and unhealthy it was for me to be around her. I didn’t realize, at the time, that this was the first sign of his controlling behavior.