by Laurèn Lee
Charlotte’s Pact
When Houses Burn
When Houses Burn
Chapter 1
Present
“Dr. Hedley, your next patient is here to see you.”
“Thank you, Jennifer. You may let him in.”
Jennifer smiled and gently closed the door to retrieve my next appointment. Trying to calm my nerves, I carefully gathered my handwritten notes regarding my previous patient and put them in my desk drawer, securely turning the key in the lock.
A short and steady knock rapped upon my door.
“Come in,” I instructed.
A handsome man strolled into my office with a purpose. He appeared even more attractive than in the newspaper photographs. He wore an Armani suit and seemed built like an athlete, an unyielding athlete. Standing up to shake his hand, I realized just how tall he stood; he towered over me. His emerald eyes surprised me; I had never seen any quite so brilliantly striking.
“Dr. Hedley, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You may call me Delilah if you’d like. Please, make yourself comfortable, Mr. Finch.”
“You may call me Lucas,” he said charmingly.
He sat down across from me, in the black leather chair used by all of my clients. I tried to ensure my office operated as a soothing environment for those I counseled. Luscious fichus plants stood in all four corners, the curtains separated to allow the natural light to flow in and I covered the walls with tasteful artwork. My office is my safe space and a sanctuary for my patients; at least I hoped it was.
“Well, Delilah, shall we begin?”
“Absolutely, do you want to start by telling me why you’re here?”
“Surely, you have read the newspapers, Dr. Hedley?”
I had been following Lucas’ story with a curious fixation. His face and story had been plastered all over the news. It would’ve been more difficult not to have heard about the case against him.
“Yes, I am subtly familiar,” I lied.
“Then, you know why I’m here.”
“I’d like to hear it directly from you, Lucas.”
He smiled patiently, but I sensed he felt it unnecessary to explain his current predicament.
Lucas sighed, “I’m here because I have to be.”
“I understand, Lucas. However, please tell me what brings you here, even though you are here involuntarily.”
“You see, the court mandated I seek professional counsel for thirty, one hour sessions.”
“Go on.”
“I’m here because I am mentally unstable, so they say.” He leaned back in the chair with his nose up to me. Casually, he massaged his refined chestnut beard with an air of nonchalance.
I gazed into his piercing eyes, and he merely smiled back, glowing with anticipation. His jawline was perfectly constructed. He could’ve been a Greek God in a past life, no questions about it.
“I’m here because my parents are dead.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” I said softly.
“Are you?”
“Yes, of course. To lose one’s parents is a horrific tragedy.”
“Are you parents still alive?”
“Lucas, I’d like to focus on you,” I said.
“All right, fair enough. We can always chat about you another time,” he began. “Well, I suppose I may have had a hand in my sweet parents’ demise.”
“It’s natural to blame ourselves when horrible things happen to people we love.”
Lucas broke out in hysterical laughter, taking me aback. “I didn’t love them.”
I sat quietly, unsure of what to say or do next. I’ve dealt with a variety of patients throughout my professional career. I’ve had pedophiles, people with schizophrenia, and people seeking counsel for depression. But, in all my times as a psychiatrist, I’ve never met anyone quite like Lucas. He frightened me and intrigued me.
He seemed to pick up on my lack of desire to make the next move and so he continued his dramatic soliloquy. However, before he began speaking again, he rose from the patient’s chair and walked over to the open window, gazing outside. His sudden movement allowed me to smell his cologne which I breathed in deeply, trying to grasp it tightly in my memory.
“It was a dark and cold night.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully, “I decided the house needed a new look and so I poured gasoline on the floors, splashed it upon the walls and made sure to cover every inch of the house. And then, I lit a match and watched as the flames devoured the kitchen, the living room and dashed up the stairs to greet my sweet, loving parents in their bed.”
He turned around to look at me; his face lit up with enchantment. It was as though a child was describing their very first trip to Disney World.
“I walked out of the house and watched from a distance as the house became enveloped in flames. Luckily, I heard my parents wake up. I heard their desperate shrieks and calls for help. I stood outside for some time and watched as they burned alive.”
This wasn’t the story I had been following so closely; in fact, this wasn’t even close to what journalists reported. I had been led to believe Lucas had a mental breakdown and confessed to killing his parents due to a psychosis. The evidence had proven, though, he wasn’t guilty of killing his parents; someone else had killed them, and they were never apprehended. I had agreed to take Lucas as a client because I thought he needed help to repair his mental stability, I didn’t agree to take on a lying murderer!
“Lucas, I’m here to help you, but I need to know you’re telling me the truth.”
“The truth,” he began. “What does truth mean, anyway? Don’t we all lie to ourselves?”
“Sometimes, we wish to disassociate from the truth. In self-preservation, we can dismiss certain memories or events from our conscious lives. The pain of remembering can be too much for us to cope with.”
“Interesting,” he said as he massaged his five o’clock shadow.
“In other circumstances, our minds are even capable of creating memories of events which may have never happened. Do you think maybe that’s what could be happening with your memories of killing your parents?”
“You think it’s possible my memories of killing my parents are completely fictionalized?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but that’s what I’d like to find out.”
“I guess it’s possible. But, the images inside my head are so vibrant and real,” he glowed.
“It can be difficult to distinguish from real memories to manufactured ones.”
“I’m not sure what is real and what isn’t, but I think I really did kill them,” he said.
“If your memories are legitimate, how did you feel while watching your parents die?” I asked as I stuttered, not knowing how he’d respond.
“I felt alive.”
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Charlotte’s Pact
Chapter 1
Present
The radio pumped and Charlotte tapped her freshly painted toes upon the dashboard to the addicting beat of Kings of Leon.
She gazed over to Liam and couldn’t help but smile as he attempted to sing the lyrics. Despite his confidence, Charlotte could tell by reading his lips, he wasn’t even close to lip-syncing the right words.
Moving her eyes down to her hand, she noticed the illustrious cushion diamond on her finger glittered even in the darkness of the moving car. The freshness of their engagement continued to electrify the air. Charlotte felt pure joy and looked forward to a bright future.
Charlotte wondered what it would be like to walk down the aisle and see Liam waiting for her at the altar. She imagined buying their first house together, getting a dog and even trying to start a family. She hoped their children would be smart and independent, but kind and loyal.
The window was down and she felt a rush of crisp air weaving in and out of her shiny, waist-length blonde hair. The sky, decorated with millions of stars ignited the nigh
t.
Charlotte turned to her fiancé and covered his hand with hers, “This will be our first road trip as an engaged couple, you know?”
Liam smiled, chiming in above the music, “You’re right! Do you think Tori and Adam will be excited to see us?”
In an instant, Liam’s question was cut off as a rotund vehicle swerved out of nowhere, heading straight towards them. The semi-truck charged them with increasing speed as Charlotte shrieked and the tires screeched, both sounds piercing the air.
Liam spun the wheel trying to avoid the imminent danger ahead to no avail. The tires continued to squeal until their Land Rover flipped and tumbled down the steep, grassy hill alongside the highway.
During the SUV’s plunge, Charlotte and Liam were violently ejected from the vehicle. They were bloodied and covered in shattered glass as they lay sprawled out in the grass like rag dolls tossed aside by a careless child.
Silence had finally filled the night and a figure, dressed in all black, peered over the cliff and smiled menacingly at the wreckage.
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