by Erin Hayes
If Jim’s not there.
She didn’t need Jim telling Dad or Bridget she’d bought a weapon. They were already convinced she wasn’t thinking straight.
She turned the corner into her street and groaned. Her dad’s silver BMW was parked in the driveway behind her sister’s Volkswagen. Bridget’s conference in Chicago must have been cancelled. She wasn’t due back for two more days.
Kyra navigated past the house and around the block to give herself a few minutes to collect her thoughts. She parked along her neighbor’s curb and walked around the side of her house to the back door, softening her step and pausing before the open kitchen window when she caught her name and her dad’s raised voice.
“He knows what he’s talking about, Bridget. I’ve been friends with Jim for a long time, and when he tells me Kyra was driving like a lunatic, I believe him. She shouldn’t be on the road until we figure out what’s going on with her. You said yourself she’s been behaving strangely.”
“I don’t know,” said Bridget. “It’s all stuff that can be easily explained. Going through her mail late at night and imagining she read something disturbing. She’s still traumatized. It’s hardly enough to put her in lockdown.”
Kyra peered cautiously through the kitchen window. Bridget and Dad sat at the dark walnut table with their backs toward her. The kitchen door stood ajar.
Her dad shook his head. “It’s not just the whole crazy story she concocted around the accident. She’s losing touch with reality, seeing things. She thinks spirits are attacking her mind or some such nonsense.”
“Give her a break, Dad! The accident would have done a number on anyone’s head.”
“I’ve talked to a couple of doctor buddies of mine at the golf club. It’s a classic case of psychosis, and they all said the same thing. Severe head trauma can trigger it.”
He straightened up and rubbed his chin. “Either that or she’s taking drugs, and we both know that’s not likely.”
“No more unlikely than psychosis.”
Dad was silent for a moment, as if stewing on the significance of what Bridget had said. “What are you saying? Have you noticed something?”
“No, I just meant—”
“What?”
“Now that I think about it, she’s been gone a lot lately, mentioning new people. Not her usual types. Like that woman, Martina, who works at the collision shop she had her car towed to. She lives in a really rough neighborhood.” Bridget shrugged. “I suppose if the stress of her high-powered job is getting to her it’s possible she could be taking something other than her prescriptions.”
Dad looked up and stared at Bridget. Kyra bit her lip when she saw the expression on his face. His tanned, unshaven face was a web of pain. “I almost wish it were drugs. At least we’d know what we were up against.”
Bridget sighed. “I’m worried sick too, Dad. I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself.”
Kyra’s stomach churned. Even Bridget thought she was losing it. What if they staged some kind of intervention? Her elderly neighbor, Mr. Hogan, had mentioned that a Private Investigator had stopped by and asked some questions about her. Her dad might have hired him to keep an eye on her. Just what she needed. Now she’d have a P.I. on her tail to take over when the spirits were sleeping, if spirits ever slept.
She’d have to leave her family out of what happened from now on. She couldn’t give them any more reasons to question her sanity.
She waited for a few minutes, then slipped around to the front of the house and opened the door with a generous rattle of her key.
“Hey Bridget. Hi Dad,” she called down the hallway, pasting a greeting on her face. It would be a long weekend. Laundering lies and dodging demons.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Martina’s stomach cramped when Rick turned into the parking lot beneath Dr. Brenner’s high rise office. Before Rick could pull the keys from the ignition, Taggert sprang out of the passenger seat and slammed the car door shut. Martina sighed and slung her purse over her shoulder. He had wanted to blow this appointment off, but she had no choice in the matter. The judge had been clear about the consequences if he missed a session.
“I’ll pick you back up at two,” Rick said. “We can grab some lunch before we drive out to Harbor House.”
Martina stepped into the elevator, dragging her feet like blocks of cement. The parole officer had said her request for a new psychiatrist could take a week or two to be processed. In the meantime, they were stuck with Brenner.
She pushed open the glass door to the reception area, checked in with Andrea and sank into a leather chair. Taggert hunched forward in the seat beside her, headphones plugging his ears, his beanie pulled down close to his eyes.
Martina twisted the straps on her purse, as she contemplated the move to Harbor House. Linda had spoken highly of the shelter’s security, but Hal would track them down there, sooner or later. Anger would fuel him like a bloodhound on a scent. Hopefully they’d be safe long enough to finish out Taggert’s probation. After that, they could leave the state. And they would have to.
The door to the reception area swung open and Martina jolted at a familiar voice.
“Hi, Martina.”
She looked up and smiled uncertainly at Kyra Williams. Dark, puffy circles blotched the skin beneath her eyes, and her smile was strained. She exchanged a few words with Andrea, then sat down beside Martina and stretched out her legs, her expensive tweed skirt taut across her thighs.
“I’m late. I was supposed to be here at noon,” she said, glancing at her watch. “Are you scheduled for one?”
Martina nodded. “Rick dropped us off early.”
“Where are you staying now?”
“Rick’s taking us to a shelter this afternoon—Harbor House. You should stop by sometime.” Martina laughed to cover her embarrassment. She had no idea why she had said that.
“Maybe I will,” said Kyra. “What’s your number? I’ll call you tomorrow once you get settled in.” She pulled out her phone and punched in the cell number Martina recited. “Are you going back to work at Collision One?”
Martina shook her head. “Rick got me a job in the Senior Center downtown, helping out in the kitchen. But I’ll swing by the body shop later this week. There’s something I have to straighten out with my old boss.” She averted her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush.
Kyra slid up in her chair and glanced at Taggert before responding in a low tone. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea. What if Hal’s watching for you?”
“I’ll slip in the back. I just need a few minutes to—”
Martina broke off the conversation when Taggert stood and gestured down the hallway to the restroom. “Be right back.”
“That reminds me,” said Kyra watching him disappear through the glass doors, “Taggert left his duffel bag in my car the other night.”
The door to Dr. Brenner’s office opened and Martina looked up. The impeccably dressed doctor stood in the doorway, a shallow smile inscribed on his face. “Ms. Williams, please, come in.”
Kyra gestured good-bye to Martina and got to her feet. The soundproofed door to Dr. Brenner’s office closed behind her.
Almost at once, an unsettling feeling came over Martina. She sensed something dark encroaching. She shifted uneasily in her seat. Her thoughts of suicide had been triggered by her first visit to Dr. Brenner. What if she heard the voices again? A ripple of fear went through her.
Moments later, a scraping sound, like something being dragged across the floor, startled her. Muffled voices filtered into her consciousness. Then silence. Martina flinched when the door to Dr. Brenner’s office flew open. The doctor stormed into the reception and slammed the door behind him.
She sat up straight and stared at him in disbelief. Across his right cheek was a laceration oozing fresh blood.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, her lungs screaming for air. Where was Kyra? What was going on? Dr. Brenner leaned over the glass reception counter and spoke
to the receptionist in hushed tones. Andrea picked up the receiver and dialed. Martina stood, her legs like sticks of jelly beneath her.
“Where’s Kyra?”
Dr. Brenner wheeled around. A deep flush seeped across his pinched nostrils. “Are you acquainted with Ms. Williams?”
“Yes,” Martina murmured. “We’re … friends.”
He studied her intently for a moment. “I assure you everything is under control. Please, take a seat. We may need you as a witness.”
“Witness?” She threw Andrea a questioning look, but the receptionist swiveled away from her, her phone pressed to the side of her spray-bronzed face.
Taggert tromped back in to the waiting room and slumped into the chair next to Martina. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out if Kyra is all right.”
Taggert shrugged and stuck his earphones back in. “Ain’t your business,” he said, too loudly.
Before Martina could respond, a crackle of walkie talkies erupted, and two medics strode into the reception area accompanied by two police officers. Dr. Brenner immediately swooped over and escorted them into his office.
Taggert’s eyes widened as he yanked out his earphones. “Guess your flashy friend’s in trouble.”
Martina ran her fingers nervously over her hair. Beads of sweat prickled through her skin.
Several minutes later, the police officers reappeared with the doctor in tow.
“—sedated for her own safety,” muttered Dr. Brenner.
The female officer nodded. “No one else in or out of the room until the medics are through.”
Martina shrank back in her chair. Something was desperately wrong.
She turned to the door when a tall, handsome man marched in and stopped directly in front of Andrea’s desk. “Where’s my daughter?”
Dr. Brenner moved swiftly toward him with outstretched hands. “Mr. Williams, I am so sorry. Your daughter’s in my office.” He motioned with his hand to the door where the two police officers stood at ease.
“I want to see her.”
“I understand, sir, but I’m not authorized to let anyone in there until the medics come out. Why don’t we go into an adjoining office and discuss the situation.”
Martina trained her eyes on the carpet tiles, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“Situation?” Kyra’s father glowered at Dr. Brenner. “Just tell me what happened to my daughter.”
“She lost contact with reality. It’s called deep psychosis.” His voice dropped. “We really need to discuss this in private.”
Martina rubbed her sweaty palms together and stole a glance at the two men as they disappeared into an adjoining room. What had Dr. Brenner done to Kyra?
Martina fidgeted on her seat until the door opened a few inches and she caught the tail end of a conversation.
“ ... go over the legal ramifications. She’d be committed to my care of course.”
The two men walked back out, and Dr. Brenner marched over to Andrea’s desk. “I’ll prepare the paperwork,” he called over his shoulder.
Kyra’a father fumbled around in his jacket pocket, pulled out his phone, and pushed open the glass door to the foyer. Martina waited until he’d made his way to the alcove by the elevators, and then slipped out after him.
“Mr. Williams,” she said, holding out her hand, “I’m Martina Doyle, a friend of Kyra’s.”
He looked at her with a befuddled expression. “I ... believe Kyra’s sister mentioned you.”
“I don’t know exactly what happened in there, but it wasn’t Kyra’s fault.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Kyra assaulted her psychiatrist. Her psychosis is progressing rapidly.”
“That’s what Dr. Brenner’s telling you, but there’s more to it than that. His therapy is channeling some kind of spirits.” Martina took a breath to steady her voice. “Please, at least wait until you hear her side of it before you have her committed.”
His face softened. “I can’t imagine anything more terrifying than waking up in an institution. I’d much rather sit down with her and try and persuade her to sign her own consent for treatment.”
Martina was about to reply when the door opened and Dr. Brenner flourished a sheet of paper in their direction. Mr. Williams gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement and walked toward the door the doctor held open.
“I’ve decided to hold off on signing this. I’d prefer to discuss it with my daughter first.”
Martina watched, her stomach twisting, as the doctor pressed his fat lips together. He looked at her briefly, his dark, molten eyes sending a foreboding chill over her. She ducked her head and made a show of fumbling around inside her purse. Something about him scared her more than Hal ever had.
After an uncomfortable silence, the doctor turned his attention back to Mr. Williams. “You do understand that there are serious consequences to delaying treatment.”
“I appreciate your concern. We’ll make a prompt decision, as soon as my daughter is well enough to participate in it.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to reschedule Taggert’s appointment under the circumstances,” said Dr. Brenner, locking his gaze on Martina once more. “Andrea will take care of that for you.”
Back inside the reception area, Martina sank down in her chair. She and Taggert had been spared another visit with Dr. Brenner for now. And maybe they wouldn’t ever have to see him again if they were assigned a new psychiatrist quickly.
Taggert nudged her in the ribs. “Rick’s here to pick us up.”
She turned to see him walking toward her, a puzzled expression on his face. “What’s going on? Is everyone all right?”
“It’s Kyra Williams. Dr. Brenner said she had some kind of psychotic attack and assaulted him. I don’t trust him. Can you talk to her father?”
“Of course.”
Martina led the way over to the reception desk where Kyra’s father stood, his forehead creased in a deep frown. Rick extended a hand and introduced himself.
“Pleasure to meet you,” said Mr. Williams, with a curt nod. “My daughter . . .” His voice faltered over the word. “I understand she was in counseling with you. Maybe there was something she hinted at, something that could explain what happened today.”
“Mr. Williams,” interrupted the female police officer. “She’s asking for you.”
Rick pulled out a card and passed it to him. “Call me as soon as you can. Your daughter’s in danger.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Rick turned into a shaded suburban neighborhood and pulled up outside a stately brick home surrounded by mature poplars. Martina peered through the car window, her stomach wrung dry with apprehension. Hopefully, the other women at Harbor House wouldn’t ask too many questions. She didn’t want to talk about Hal with a bunch of strangers. Or listen to any of their equally depressing stories.
“This is us,” said Rick, turning off the engine. “Let’s get your bags out.”
Terra cotta pots of forget-me-nots bordered the steps leading up to the front door. Taggert yanked Martina’s wheeled suitcase up the steps, nearly decapitating the blossoms spilling from the planters. She couldn’t tell if he was mad because Rick had told him to carry her case, or because he was being forced to stay in a “stupid place for women,” as he called it.
Inside the foyer, cheerful, checked curtains drifted down from the windows, and woven chenille rugs softened the hardwood floors. Martina set down her black plastic bag of extra clothes by the reception desk. After the shelter supervisor guided them through the check-in process, Rick patted Taggert on the back and hugged Martina good-bye.
“Promise to give me a jingle tomorrow?” he said, pulling out his car keys.
“I’ll call you on my lunch break and let you know how the new job’s going.” Martina smiled at him. “Thank you again for everything.”
As soon as he left, a wispy, gray-haired slip of a woman, who in
troduced herself as Sadie, offered to show Martina and Taggert around. “I volunteer here twice a week,” she explained. “I’ve been working here for six years now.” She came to an abrupt halt and twisted around to look at them. “Ever since I lost my daughter.”
Martina’s heart skipped a beat. Just what she’d been dreading—she had nothing left inside to feel with, and nothing left to give anyone else in the way of comfort.
“It was her live-in boyfriend,” Sadie added softly. “He beat her to death with a baseball bat. But, that’s enough about me. Come on, your room is down this hallway.”
Martina slid Taggert a glance. His bent-out-of-shape façade had cracked a little, and a hint of fear eked through. The sooner they moved on from the shelter, the better. Taggert needed an environment where he could be a kid for once and forget what an ugly, bloodsucking place the world could be.
Sadie wrinkled her brow. “Do either of you need to see the nurse?”
Martina smiled and shook her head. “No, we’re fine, thanks.”
“Well that’s good. I’m supposed to ask you that first, but I forget sometimes.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand and laughed a gurgle of sorts, which suited her tiny frame.
“We have an excellent security system, so don’t worry about safety while you’re here.” She unlocked an unmarked cream-colored door. “Your suite has its own refrigerator, desk, bed, sleeper sofa, and closet. The communal kitchen and laundry facilities are all downstairs.” She paused at the door on her way back out. “Don’t hesitate to call the front desk if you have any questions. Dinner’s at six.” She patted Taggert on the arm. “Such a fine, young man. I bet you like to eat, don’t you, son?”
He answered her with a shrug and scowled at the baseboard.
When Sadie finally closed the door behind her, Martina exhaled and sank back against the wall. They had made it to the shelter. Harbor House was almost forty miles from their house and Hal. And the security system was impressive. Not likely Hal would bother her here. But if he did track her down, and followed her to work, or Taggert to his new school …. She gritted her teeth. There were no guarantees outside these four walls.