by Susan Gnucci
As the clerk turned to step out from behind the desk, he held up a hand. “That’s alright. I’m sure I can find my way if you just tell me the room number.”
“Are you sure? I can take you there.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll need a minute to…collect myself.”
“Of course. She’s in room 109. Straight down the hall, last door on your left.”
“Thank you.”
He headed down the corridor, thankful it was in the opposite direction from the crazy woman who could still be heard cursing and hollering even though she was now safely locked in her room. On the way past an entertainment lounge, he noted a plump, middle-aged woman playing enthusiastically on the piano, trying to engage the disinterested patients in her care in a sing-along. Her voice grated on his nerves, and in response, he hastened his step.
Upon glancing into the room on his way past; however, he couldn’t help but break into a genuine smile. A black Labrador lay on the floor beside an elderly patient who sat slumped and sleeping in his wheelchair. At the prospect of some attention, the dog rose to its feet and trotted over to nuzzle and lick his hand.
“I see you’ve made another friend, Chester,” a young lady chuckled as she approached.
Lifting his gaze from the dog, he was immediately struck by the sight of the young woman who stood before him. She was not pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but her one glorious attribute was a mane of fiercely bright red hair that cascaded down her shoulders in tight, corkscrew spirals. Realizing he was staring, he cleared his throat self-consciously. “Hello.” Nodding to the dog, he asked, “I take it this is Chester?”
“Yes,” she replied, smiling warmly. “He’s keeping Bill company this morning.” With a nod of her head, she indicated the patient in the wheelchair who was snoring softly. “I’m Clarissa. Chester comes in with me every Friday morning to see the patients. He’s kind of a regular,” she added, giving the dog an affectionate pat.
“He’s yours?” he asked with interest.
“Yes, I’ve had him since he was a puppy. He’ll be four next month.”
Kneeling down to pet the dog, he remarked, “He’s beautiful. You’re very lucky. I move around too much to keep a dog, but if I could, I’d love one just like him.”
“Yes, he’s pretty special. All the patients adore him.” At this comment, she leaned closer and whispered, “But he gets terribly spoiled here, you know.”
He would have preferred to spend more time with the dog, but resigning himself to the task at hand, he stood up, albeit with reluctance. “I’d best get going. I’m here to see my mother.”
“Maybe she’d like a visit from Chester later?” Clarissa offered.
“I don’t think so. She passed away this morning.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The young woman instinctively reached out to touch his arm.
He looked down at her hand as if greatly puzzled to see it in contact with his arm. Catching wind of his reaction, the girl quickly retracted it, suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy of her impulsive gesture towards a perfect stranger. In response, he gave her a tight, controlled smile. Anxious to break the tension, he nodded curtly and left the room.
As he made his way down the corridor, he battled against the urge her contact had stirred in him. It was too soon for one thing. It had been less than a week since his last kill. And he did not need the complication of a kill in the very vicinity he was staying in. He could ditch her body elsewhere, but surely in the course of investigating her disappearance, the police would check out the nursing home where she volunteered. No, he could not risk it. He could not risk any connection whatsoever with her. As much as his desires were aroused, he could not give in to them.
To distract himself, he focused his thoughts on his mother. She had been distant and emotionally unavailable to him for most of his childhood, ever since… Well, no matter. He had simply kept to himself, carefully concealing the devastation he’d felt at her rejection. He had fended for himself until he’d been old enough to run away. At the age of sixteen, he had simply packed a backpack, stole what money he could find in the house, and walked out. He knew they would not miss him or even bother to look for him – his mother undoubtedly relieved he had left, his step-father likely only indifferent.
He was very sure she had never confided her suspicions to his step-father, but nonetheless, his relationship with the man had never been more than one of mutual tolerance anyway. Granted, at first his step-father had made a token effort to gain the trust and affection of his young stepson, but in finding no response time and again, he had simply given up. Over the years, he’d spent more and more time at the office – it became his only means of escape from an unbearable marriage. Gradually, the bottle became his sole source of solace whenever he was at home.
Over the years, his mother had often taken to her bed for days at a time or listless and disheveled, she would wander aimlessly through the house. As a boy, he would sometimes stand at her closed door and lean his ear carefully against it through which he could hear her crying softly.
Entering her room tonight, he looked dispassionately at the woman who had been his whole world for the early part of his childhood. She was only in her early sixties, and yet she looked much older. Her disease had taken its toll, not only on her mind, but on her body as well. He had never even heard of her condition – Lewy Body Dementia. The nurses had explained to him that it involved not only physical symptoms (often misdiagnosed as Parkinson’s), but dementia and vivid hallucinations as well. His mother required round-the-clock care because her disease had taken her mind completely, leaving her child-like and unable to look after herself.
Not having had any contact with his mother for years, he only found out about her condition when he happened to run into an old neighbour while passing through Sudbury the previous year. He learned from this encounter that his stepfather had been dead for several years, having drunk himself into an early grave. His mother had been placed in a subsidized nursing home as there had been no one else to care for her. Upon learning this news, he’d begun his weekly phone calls to the nursing home, never talking to his mother because she would not have known him anyway, but always asking the nurses for an update on her condition. He could not say what drove him to do that after all the years of their estrangement.
Taking a seat on the chair beside her bed, he reached out to touch her hand, not out of any desire to hold it one last time, but more out of morbid curiosity. He had seen dead bodies before, of course, but those had always been the result of his own actions. It felt strange to sit beside someone who had not died at his own hands. Oh, to be sure, he had fantasized over the years about taking his mother’s life. Her rejection had instilled that in him. But there was still some part of him, some small part tucked away in the back of his mind that found the idea abhorrent. Perhaps it was the one remaining shred of decency left in him. Ah, he shook his head – now he was being sentimental.
He remembered the countless times when it would have been so easy to wrap his hands around her slender neck; to take in the soft shock that would register in her eyes in that moment; to note the exact millisecond when she would actually comprehend her fate; to watch her eyes roll back in her head; and to hear her last breath as it eased out of her limp body like the gentle sigh of the wind through tall grass. He had been sorely tempted to do so whenever he caught her studying him when she thought he was unaware of her doing so. It was as if she was puzzled how something like him could have possibly come from someone like her.
As he grasped her hand tentatively in his own, he noted the faint warmth he found there. He marveled how the skin moved so easily over muscle and bone, almost as if it had detached itself somehow in the dying process. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held her hand. No doubt it had been when he was a little boy. How he had longed for some gesture from her – some touch, some sign of affection, some affirmation of her love for him, that she still loved him despite…
&
nbsp; And then it simply hadn’t mattered anymore. He remembered precisely when he first became aware of his lack of feelings. He’d come home from school early one day when he was twelve years old, feigning illness to find his mother wondering the house with a bloodied nose and a black eye. She was searching for her car keys in order to drive herself to the hospital. He’d understood intuitively the real reason for her injuries – his stepfather had taken his frustrations out on her even though his mother insisted she had fallen down the stairs. It had puzzled him at first – his lack of emotion that day. He’d felt nothing for his mother – not pity, not sympathy, not even anger towards his step-father. Nothing. That realization had been quite …liberating. He’d finally felt free from an overwhelming need for her approval, her attention, her love. So why had he come back now after all these years? What did it matter now?
His recollections were interrupted by a gentle knock at the door after which a nurse quietly entered the room. “Good morning, Mr. Miller. I’m Angela, one of your mother’s nurses. Your mother passed away in her sleep earlier.” She approached the bedside with a sympathetic smile. “It was painless and peaceful,” she assured him.
“Thank you. I’m glad. Of course, I wish I had been here with her,” he lied. His attention was riveted when the nurse took out a brush from the bedside table and slowly began to stroke his mother’s long grey locks, fanning them out across her pillow.
“She has such lovely hair,” the nurse exclaimed.
He stared transfixed. When she replaced the brush and turned to leave the room, she told him, “Take your time with your goodbyes, Mr. Miller. There’s no rush. We’ll call the funeral home when you’re done.”
He found his voice just as she reached the door. “This may be an old-fashioned request,” he said as he turned to address her, “but I was hoping I might have a lock of my mother’s hair.” He phrased the question with as much sincerity as he could muster without over doing it. “You know, something to remember her by…”
Tess’ cell phone was ringing and she couldn’t find the damn thing. She was forever setting it down and forgetting where she’d left it. Finally spying it on her bed, she pounced to answer it before her voicemail kicked in. The screen indicated the caller – Detective McLean. Her pulse raced whenever she saw his name, prompting her to pause momentarily in order to collect her scattered wits. She was more infatuated than ever with the young detective, especially now when she knew of his interest in her.
They had spoken often on the phone in recent weeks, their conversations initially focusing on the case and then gradually becoming more personal. She learned he was from a family of policemen – his father, grandfather and an uncle had all served on the local police force. Unlike her, McLean was from a large, close-knit family – in addition to two brothers and three sisters, he had several nieces, nephews, and cousins. He had only been promoted to detective three years ago after working for five years as a patrol officer. Before that, he had obtained a degree in criminal justice.
“Hi, McLean.” Tess made a deliberate attempt to sound casual.
“Hi, Tess. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Knee deep in research as usual. What’s up?” She desperately wanted to know if he daydreamed about her as often as she did about him, but she was far too shy to ask. Her thoughts were racing a mile a minute when she suddenly realized she hadn’t been paying attention to what he’d just said.
“Tess, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. What did you say?” She was mortified he might mistake her wandering thoughts for lack of interest.
“Is this a bad time? Should I call back?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” she groaned inwardly.
“I said there’s been a development. I was hoping you could drop by the station today so I could give you an update.”
“Good news or bad news?” she asked tentatively.
“Both. Come in and we can go over things.”
Had there been another killing she wondered? As awful as this thought was, at least she had not been witness to it. Couldn’t he just tell her over the phone? Did he want her to come into the station so he could see her? Her heart leapt at the thought.
“OK. I have a class this afternoon, but I could be there by 4:00.”
“Sounds good. See you then, Tess.”
Later in the afternoon, Tess paused at the entrance to the police station, taking a deep, steading breath before she entered the building. As she headed for McLean’s office, her thoughts turned to the possibility of another murder. If there had been another one, why hadn’t she heard anything about it on the news? And who was the victim? In any case, she was undoubtedly someone’s daughter, sister, or possibly even mother. Tess’ spirits plummeted with this knowledge, for it meant there would be another grieving family out there. She suddenly felt ashamed at her earlier sense of relief at not having experienced a sighting. How could she be so selfish to put her own peace of mind above someone else’s life? Was it just a fluke she had been able to channel Katie Bishop’s murder? Had that been a ‘perfect storm’ of sorts? Were those conditions unlikely to occur again? Unfortunately, she didn’t have any answers. Despite years with her gift, she still had yet to truly understand it.
Her thoughts were cut short when she reached McLean’s office. She stood awkwardly in the doorway unsure of entering, for the young detective was engaged in an animated conversation on the phone. He had his back to her, so she was able to study him unabashedly which she innocently proceeded to do. Although his individual features were rather sharp and angular, put together, they lent him a uniqueness she found attractive. His lanky frame made him look younger than his years as did his haircut. In addition, he had a habit of running his hands through his cropped hair, which only made it stand wildly on end, giving him a boyish look. He was the type of detective who dressed professionally, always in a suit and tie, although on this day, he had already shed the jacket and loosened the tie.
He definitely intrigued her. Despite his job, he did not appear to be jaded, and in his profession, he undoubtedly saw some pretty awful things. But maybe that was because he was still young; maybe years of cases like this eventually took their toll. It was hard to tell but she admired his outlook nevertheless. Even more than this though, she sensed a kindness in him which drew her to him. Her musings were interrupted when he sensed her presence and turned around, catching her eye. He smiled a warm greeting and motioned for her to take a seat.
“Sounds good, John. I’ve got to go. I’ve got someone in my office. OK, will do. Bye.” He hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh. “Why is it when you need something, nobody’s got time for you, but when they need it…?” He rolled his eyes in mock frustration and her stomach flip flopped. “Thanks for coming in, Tess,” his voice softened. He moved around to the front of the desk in order to close the distance between them which only made her blush furiously. Noting her reaction, he deliberately kept things casual. “How are you? How’s school?” he asked with genuine interest.
“Good, thanks,” she replied. “I’m trying to finish a paper. Well, my supervisor is trying to finish a paper, but I have a lead role in it,” she added proudly.
“Ah, so you’ll be a published author then?” He sounded impressed.
“Well, nothing most people would read,” she admitted with a laugh.
“I always thought Astronomy was just looking through telescopes, but I suppose it’s a lot more than that, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s the glamorous side of things. Most of the work isn’t so exciting, I’m afraid. You have to have a real passion for its ultimate goal,” she explained.
“Which is?”
“Understanding our universe.” She gestured broadly with her hands and rolled her eyes.
“Ah, pretty lofty goal,” he chuckled, nodding his head. “Right now, I’m trying to understand this case.” He sighed and resumed his seat behind his desk. Pulling out a file folder from the mess in
front of him, he opened it. “Our surveillance hasn’t picked up on anything which tells me he doesn’t know who you are or where you live. That’s the good news.”
Just then, Baxter stuck his head in the doorway. “You tell her yet?” he asked impatiently.
“No, not yet. I was just about to.” A deep blush crept up McLean’s face, and he pretended to busy himself with the contents of the file folder.
“Hi to you too, Baxter,” Tess grinned at the senior detective. “Or should I say Grampa Baxter?” she teased. McLean had been the one to tell Tess about Baxter’s twin grandsons delivered by C-section a month earlier. She couldn’t help but feel vindicated with that news.
The burly detective simply grunted an acknowledgement and settled his bulk into the seat next to her. Tess took the hint and grew suddenly thoughtful. “There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?” she asked, knowing the answer but not really wanting to have it actually confirmed.
“How do you know? You saw it?” Baxter quipped, as sarcastic as ever.
“No, just a guess.” Tess felt rather sheepish she had only a hunch to go on.
“As a matter of fact, there has been another murder. The victim was discovered yesterday.” McLean confirmed her suspicions.
“Where? Here?”
“No. In a small town in southern Manitoba,” McLean replied.
“Manitoba? But how do you know it’s him? That’s a long way from here.” Tess looked between the two detectives, her eyes narrowing. “Come on; spill it. What makes you think it’s related?”
“Let’s just say the MO is the same,” Baxter replied dryly.
“You mean manual strangulation, no sexual assault, no robbery…” Tess rattled off what they all knew to be true. “And the victim was young, anywhere from mid-teens to mid-twenties,” she added.
McLean chuckled and shook his head. “She’d have made one helluva detective, Ed.”
Tess beamed, inordinately pleased she had impressed them, particularly McLean.
“We’ve been working closely with the RCMP,” McLean explained, “to see if there are any unsolved cases in Canada with this guy’s MO. When this victim was found, they contacted us.”