"Do you remember that?"
Alex frowned and shook her head. "Should I?"
She nodded as though she were studying Alex, and probably she was. Alex realized that right now she had to be pretty interesting to someone in Judith's field.
"It was in your house when you were a child," Judith explained. "I'd always admired it, so your mom gave it to me. She'd never really liked it, I guess."
Alex tried to picture it in her house but couldn't. Knowing it had been there made her wonder why her mother hadn't liked it. She had so many unanswered questions for her mother now.
She followed Judith into the kitchen. The atmosphere of the house helped loosen the crick in Alex's neck. And she felt comfortable with Judith.
"Would you like a glass of wine or a beer?"
Alex waved her hand. "Beer sounds great."
Judith pulled out a bottle of Sierra Nevada and handed it to Alex, passing her the bottle opener. She took a swig of her own beer from the bottle and set it back on the counter, turning back to the dinner.
Looking around, Alex searched for something innocuous to talk about. She noticed a chewed pen sitting beside the stove. "Is there a psychological theory about people who chew their pens?"
Judith raised her eyebrow.
Alex pointed. "I chew mine, too. Brittany is always joking that it says something about my personality." She'd never given it much thought before, but suddenly she wondered if the pen chewing was a result of what had happened to her as a child. Ridiculous.
Judith picked up the pen and scrunched her nose in mock disgust. "It's gross, isn't it? I don't know why I do that." She opened the drawer under the counter and dropped it in.
Alex saw that the other pens weren't chewed on. That's what she needed—one pen she was allowed to chew on, sort of like a doggy toy. "Something smells great."
"Roasted chicken," Judith said, taking another swig of beer. "Hope you like garlic."
"Love it."
"The chicken'll take a while so I thought we'd just sit in here while we wait. Unless you'd be more comfortable in the living room?"
Shaking her head, Alex pulled a bar stool up to the tile-covered countertop and sat down, taking a look around the kitchen. Calphalon pans in all sizes hung neatly from a semicircular rack above the stove, and spices sat in a small wooden rack to the right. Alex noticed the spices were alphabetized. The spice rack was painted steel blue and many of the accents in the kitchen were done in the same color.
The floor was light-colored wood except for a small area in front of the sink where an Indian patterned rug lay. The cabinets reached to the ceiling, their glass faces exposing a variety of dishes and stemware. Alex had never made decisions about decorating and couldn't imagine what she would do if she had to start from scratch.
Her mother had left the house to her furnished. While she had moved a lot of her mother's things out and many of her own in, she'd never bothered to change the wallpaper or paint. She pictured her house's salmon exterior. Maybe soon she would have some time to do something about that.
Judith sat up on the counter and gave Alex an appraising glance. "So, how are things going?"
Alex shrugged, looking at her beer. She certainly wasn't going to answer Great. She wasn't that good a liar.
"You making any progress on the case?"
Sipping her beer, Alex shook her head. "I'm off the case."
Judith looked startled. "Why?"
"How can I put this?" Alex frowned. "They found the victim's hand in my garbage can."
Judith pursed her lips. "Where did the hand come from?"
Alex smiled at Judith's expression, though she couldn't believe herself for doing it. "Killer cut it off and took it with him."
"Oh, God. Sometimes I can't believe I'm actually in the business of studying these people."
Alex was both surprised and relieved to hear Judith react that way. It made Alex wonder if she would ever get used to the criminals she dealt with. She nodded, thinking of the little girl involved in sex acts on the videotape. She took a drag of the beer, hoping it would somehow wash the sour taste from her mouth.
"I still don't understand why they took you off the case. Did they think you were in danger?"
"Sort of. There are some strange things happening to me."
Judith remained silent, waiting for Alex to continue.
"I've been getting calls from this man—" With a deep breath, she continued, "I don't know who he is, but he knows all sorts of stuff. He's been in my house..." He'd done better than that. He'd attacked her. Alex kept that to herself.
Judith covered her mouth in horror. "Jesus, Alex. How did he get in your house? This sounds scary."
She met Judith's gaze. "It is definitely scary."
"Do the police have any leads on who he is?"
Picking at the corner of the beer's green label, Alex shook her head.
Judith narrowed her gaze. "Why is he targeting you?"
Images she had created of that day in the warehouse flashed through her brain and she shook them off. She wondered if any of them were real. "I think I have a pretty good idea."
"Why?"
"Can I ask you something first?"
Judith nodded and sat back. "Of course you can."
Hesitating, Alex glanced at her beer and then back at Judith. "When did you meet my mother?"
The woman furrowed her brow, her finger raised. "I'd just finished my Ph.D. in Abnormal Psych at Stanford and had joined as the director of the Children's Crisis Center. Your mom was working there already. It was..." She paused. "Summer of 1971. She'd moved into the house on Pine."
"I live there now."
"Oh, you do? Well, she had all three of you kids in one bedroom until she had the money to add on the extra room. I think she started work about two weeks before me, but by the time I got there, she knew the run of the place. I followed her like a puppy until I learned my way around."
"Do you remember her talking about the reason she left Palo Alto?"
"Well, sure. She said that she had a sister here and with going back to work full time and you three kids, it would be better if she were closer to her."
Alex concentrated on the label, using the beer's moisture to ease the corner of it off the brown bottle. Her aunt had passed away a few years before her mother. There was really no one around to answer her questions. No one but perhaps Judith. "That was the only reason she gave?"
Judith paused. "Your mother was a very private person, Alex, maybe like you that way. Why do you ask?"
"Because I think she had another reason for leaving."
"You mean because of you and the kids who were killed." She nodded. "I'm sure that had a lot to do with it, though it wasn't the reason she gave."
Judith knew.
Alex swallowed. The timer dinged and she exhaled. "Maybe we could wait to discuss it until after dinner."
Judith nodded slowly, studying her. "Sometimes it helps just to get things off your chest. I'm happy to turn the dinner off and we can talk now."
Alex shook her head. "No. I think after dinner would be better."
"Maybe a full stomach will help?"
Alex nodded. A little more time would help.
Chapter 18
Alex finished her beer with the last bite of her dinner and declined Judith's offer for a refill. One beer was enough to release the tension without clouding her thinking. Three beers and she would be on her ass. That might be a solution, but not the one she needed.
They settled in the living room, and Judith set her coffee mug on the table and tucked her small stockinged feet beneath her. Alex suddenly wished she had accepted a cup of coffee. At least then she would have something to stare at. Instead, she glanced at her stubby fingernails.
"You don't have to talk about it, if you're not ready," Judith began.
Alex nodded. "I'm ready. I just don't know where to start."
Judith smiled. "How about the beginning?"
Alex inhaled and tuc
ked her hands in her lap. "Brittany said you and I used to talk about nightmares."
Judith nodded.
"I have to say, I don't remember much about it."
"That's normal. You were very young."
"Not everything about my youth was normal. I was wondering if you remembered the dreams I used to have, if you could tell me about them."
Judith took a sip of her coffee and watched Alex. "You don't remember anything about them?"
She shook her head. "Only waking up with my mom sitting on the edge of my bed in her flannel nightgown."
Judith set her coffee down and leaned forward. "But nothing about the dreams themselves?"
Alex shook her head, then smiled. "Brittany always asks a lot of questions, too."
"Sorry. Must be a professional hazard. But while I'm at it, can I ask one more?"
Alex nodded.
"James told me about your blacking out and waking up in your car. Have you had any dreams lately?"
"I had one the other night..." She tried to think back to it. She awoke sweating; someone had called the police. The flashing red and blue lights on her bedroom walls still shone in her mind.
"Do you remember it?"
Her gaze focused on the wall, she shook her head. "Nothing clearly."
Judith nodded, still watching her.
Alex felt like she was strapped to a lie detector machine. Brittany always told her how much she relied on body language to determine the whole story. Alex was sure that was what Judith was doing now.
"That's okay," Judith said. "Lots of people never remember their dreams. I know I don't. Keep a notepad by your bed. If you wake up and realize you've been dreaming, try jotting down what you remember."
"You think knowing what I'm dreaming about will help?"
Judith shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I think it will be interesting to know if you're dreaming about the same things as you did when you were a kid. We can try a kind of memory exercise if you like."
Alex hesitated then nodded. "Sure."
"In your memory, can you picture talking to me?"
She frowned, unclear.
"If you close your eyes, can you see us sitting in your living room talking?"
She squeezed her eyes closed. "No."
"You're trying too hard, Alex. Relax your brow. Breathe deeply."
Alex sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
"Now, let's just look at the room. Can you picture it?"
She saw it. "Yeah."
"You walk in from the kitchen, what's the first thing you see?" Judith asked.
Alex opened her eyes. "It's a mess. I'm trying to clean it out."
"Okay, close your eyes."
Doubtful this would work, Alex closed them again.
"Think back to when you were kids. What's the first thing you remember about that house?"
Alex pictured the house, she and Brittany chasing James around the back. "The yard."
"Good. Did you have a favorite place in the yard?"
"The front. Brittany and I used to always roll down the slope of the grass."
"Can you picture yourself rolling down the grass?"
Alex nodded.
"What do you picture? What do you feel and smell?"
"Nothing. I can't see anything."
"Why don't we wait? You don't need to do this all in one night."
Alex didn't open her eyes. "I want to see it. I want to know what happened."
"You will. It just takes time."
Alex blew out her breath. "I don't have time."
"Of course you do. We'll work on it another time."
"Can we try once more?"
"Okay. Keep your eyes closed. Good. Now, tell me what the grass is like. Is it soft? How does it smell?"
"The grass is itchy and smells strong."
"But you like it?"
"We love it."
"What are you doing outside?"
Alex hesitated, trying to picture herself as a child. "Brittany and I would race to the bottom of the hill, get up, run to the top, and race back to the bottom again until we were both too dizzy to stand." As the memories surfaced, the tension in her muscles begin to wash away.
Slowly Judith walked Alex through her memories. They entered the house, through the hall and into the living room. Judith seemed to remember the house perfectly as she helped Alex visualize the rooms then asked her to describe them. Alex told her about the pictures on the wall in the living room and the old floral fabric that covered the couch, surprised how vivid the images were.
With each step, Alex remembered more of the old house, and the feelings of being small again. Most of it seemed sweet, but there was a part of it that surfaced like angry bees, stinging her insides.
"Now, you were telling me about the dream—about the man. He was yelling at you. Do you remember why he was yelling at you?"
Alex nodded. "The gun." The words slipped off her tongue as though they'd been there all along.
"The gun. Who has the gun?"
"I do. I have the gun." Her eyes flew open. "Why do I have it?"
Judith frowned. "Because you shot him."
"I shot him?"
"Of course. You don't remember?"
Alex shot up from the couch and spun around in a fury as she tried to find her bearings. "There must be some mistake. I couldn't have killed him."
Judith stood and took Alex's arm, pulling her to the couch. "What don't you remember about it?"
Her head spun like a top. "Nothing."
Judith squeezed her hand. "What do you mean 'nothing'?"
Alex stared into space, picturing the gun in her hand. "Nothing. I don't remember anything."
Judith moved closer. "What about the dream?"
"I don't know. I didn't remember it until just now. I just found out about this today."
Judith's expression was puzzled. "You found out about the dream today?"
Alex pulled her arm away. "No, about the whole thing, the warehouse, the kids, the deaths, Androus, all of it."
Judith's mouth dropped open. "You didn't know—"
Alex swallowed hard. "Not until I read my name on the list of survivors in the case file today."
Stunned, Judith turned. "You didn't remember any of it?"
Alex shook her head, feeling Judith's shock. "No. I still don't."
"What about talking to the police? The therapists?" She motioned between them. "You don't remember that either."
"No, no. None of it. I don't remember anything. And Mom never mentioned it. We never talked about it."
Judith took her hand. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I never imagined you didn't know. I thought she would have told you eventually." She frowned. "This was not the way to find out."
Anger rushed across her. "No, it wasn't. You obviously knew."
Judith stared at her hands. "Not at first. I'd asked your mother what sort of things might've caused your nightmares. Kids have bad dreams all the time. It's not so strange. But when they continued to be the same picture—the man in the warehouse, the dead children, the screams..." She hesitated. "Well, I pressed your mother to tell me what had happened. I knew there had to have been something."
"And?"
"For a long time, she denied there was anything. And I thought it could have been something she didn't know about. That happens, too. The child is molested by a friend or, God forbid, a family member."
"How did you find out?"
Judith met her gaze. "It was kind of roundabout, actually. I'd been at Stanford the same time you guys lived in Palo Alto, so, of course, I'd heard about the murders. But I'd never imagined that you could've been there." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "One day, I was working on a case and your mother was helping me. The article was part of some research I was helping the D.A. with, involving a man who was charged with molesting and killing a child. Another child had gotten away and could identify the suspect as the killer."
Pausing, she looked straight at Alex. "We searched for simi
lar survivor stories so we could contact D.A.'s offices around the country for information on how they prepared the children for trial, gather some other experts in the field.
"Your mother seemed especially perturbed by this research, which surprised me. She was usually fiery about the abuses of children, but I'd never seen her break down like that."
Judith pointed her finger, memory illuminating her expression. "I remember she said, 'What mother wouldn't be upset by these filthy maggots?' But when she got to the Sesame Street case, she broke down crying and rushed from the office. I found what she'd been reading..."
"And you put it together?"
Judith stared at the floor. "It wasn't hard since I knew your mother and had heard about your dreams."
Fury burning in her head, Alex stared at her hard. The anger spun, gaining heat and electricity until she expected lasers to fire from her eyes. "No one thought to tell me?"
Judith watched Alex carefully. "I still can't believe you haven't known all these years. I'm really sorry." She waved her hand to return to where she'd left off. "I knew your mother didn't want you told then, and I never felt right about it. She was adamant, but I thought she should've handled it differently, and I've always thought I could've done more. It's one of the reasons I was so happy that you wanted to come see me. I thought by now you would know. I hoped I could help somehow, that it wasn't too late."
Alex blinked hard, fighting off angry tears. "And my mother? Why didn't she tell me?"
Judith glanced at the ceiling, momentarily lost in thought. "It was such a different time, Alex. Sexual abuse charges by children against adults were dismissed more often than not. We didn't know nearly as much as we do now. Back then, people thought children got over it, that they'd just forget."
"That was it? She just forgot?"
Judith shook her head. "I don't think she ever forgot. I think she hoped she could take the pain for you. I remember when you were little, you used to tell me how your mother would come to your bed, crying. You didn't cry, but she did. You always thought that was so strange. And I think that's why. She felt the pain. I think she hoped by feeling it herself she could keep it from you."
It was impossible. How could they have done this? How could her mother have thought she could absorb the pain? Alex couldn't even imagine what her mother had been thinking. And now Alex had to deal with it alone. "Didn't you suggest she tell me?"
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