In Her Mind's Eye

by Susan Gnucci

  He had drugged her again! But how? Why? She forced her sluggish mind to concentrate, to go over the sequence of events from the previous evening, but it was hard to focus on any single train of thought. Had he injected her again? With effort, she distinctly remembered his departure from her room the night before. Drugs injected directly into one’s system took affect quickly, didn’t they? If he had injected her, she reasoned, she would not have remembered his leave taking. This conclusion calmed her, but only momentarily.

  Had he injected her as she slept? That possibility made her sick to her stomach. It was bad enough she was on eggshells every waking minute, frightened out of her wits, but now even her sleep was to be invaded? Sleep was her only refuge. She tried to calm herself and reason logically. She was a light sleeper. Surely she would have heard the bolts on the door. Surely she would have felt the needle.

  That left only one scenario – he had drugged her food. The son-of a-bitch! She had been frightened by such a possibility from the very start, but her back had been against a wall. If she hadn’t eaten, she would be too weak to fight for her life when the time came. But why drug her now? He obviously hadn’t done so in order to kill her. And that wasn’t his style anyway. He fed off his victim’s fear.

  Had he drugged her in order to move her? Tess peered around at her surroundings, squinting in an attempt to bring things into focus. It was not quite dawn, but what precious little moonlight filtered through the window made it possible to discern the now familiar confines of her room – the lone chair, the barred window, the door. No, she had not been moved. She was truly stumped.

  She realized the dosage this time must have been less, for she didn’t feel as groggy. The sluggishness and headache were there, but they weren’t nearly as bad as last time. Did he only need her unconscious for a short period of time?

  As she lay there confused and frightened, a dread crept stealthily over her. Had he violated her? She hadn’t sensed any sexual perversion with him, but maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he wasn’t capable of normal sexual relations. Maybe the only way he felt able to engage in them was when his partner/victim was unconscious. After all, there would be no need for pretence or foreplay or cooperation of any kind. He could simply take what he wanted. And of course, there would be no performance anxiety, so to speak. That would seem to fit with his narcissistic personality.

  With immense relief, she realized she was still fully clothed. This fact, however, brought with it only a fleeting reprieve, for he would have had plenty of time to put her clothes back on. Overwhelmed by uncertainty, she began to sob quietly, hugging herself in a futile attempt to protect her battered state of mind. She was devastated to think her first time (and possibly her last) would be with someone, some…thing like him.

  Gradually, she became aware of something amiss. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it at first. It was only the vaguest of sensations, just a subtle awareness of something…different. Finally, a realization broke over her – she could feel cool air on the back of her neck. This in itself was strange, but even stranger still was the sensation she experienced when she lifted her head. She could not feel the weight of her…hair.

  Tess sat bolt upright with this insight despite her lethargy and wooziness, and her hands flew automatically to examine her head. It was gone! Her hair was gone! The bastard had left her with mere inches! Opening her mouth, she let out a blood curdling scream that pierced the calm stillness of the morning.

  On the floor above her, he smiled.

  When he entered her room later in the morning with her breakfast tray, he was met with a defiant glare. Tess sat in her usual cross-legged fashion on the mattress, her arms folded tightly against her chest, her posture rigid and tense. If he thought his latest move would leave her defeated, he was in for a rude awakening. She was positively fuming.

  As he finished keying the interior lock, he was met with a blistering tongue lashing.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why don’t you just get it over with?”

  “Oh, but my dear, we’re having so much fun!” He smirked as he held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “I know. I know,” he chuckled. “You’re angry with me. You must excuse my indulgence last night. I usually have more self-control than that.”

  “You sick son-of-a-bitch!” she spat the curse word at him.

  “My, my. You are direct, aren’t you?” He grinned as he straightened after setting her tray down on the chair. “No matter; I like that. One knows where they stand that way, don’t they? You don’t mind if I stay a few minutes, do you?” he asked. “I take it you haven’t had time to fashion anything else, hmm?” Without waiting for her to answer, he moved to lounge against the wall only feet from her mattress with an effort that was both languid and fluid like a cat.

  His proximity spooked her, prompting her to rise quickly off the mattress which only caused her to stumble, forcing her to grab onto the chair for support. As she breathed in the aroma of the delicious-looking meal, her stomach let out a fierce growl. Humiliated at her continual dependence on him and still fuming, she reached her breaking point. Picking up the tray, she hurled it at him with as much force as she could muster in her weakened condition. It was a futile effort, for he easily ducked out of the way, and as a result, the tray hit the wall behind him, splattering her breakfast in a sticky mess that ran down to the floor.

  The look on his face was priceless. If he was to take her life this very minute, she would not regret her outburst. It was worth it.

  “Why feed me if you’re just going to kill me?” she screeched at him.

  Moving effortlessly to stand directly in front of her, careful to keep a safe distance, he took his time in answering. “You’ve asked an honest question, Tess,” he said, measuring his words, “and I shall endeavour to give you an honest answer.”

  She thought he would toy with her once again, but his mood suddenly shifted as he readily confessed, “Let’s just say, in my line of work, I don’t get the chance to make many ‘connections’. I’ve always been much more comfortable with animals than with people, you see.” With this admission, he seemed to get distracted. “You must remind me to bring Winnifred down to meet you. She’s my tabby cat. We get along just fine, her and me. But you…” His voice took on a vague quality as though he was talking more to himself. “You know what it’s like to be different, Tess. I know you do. And you know what it’s like to keep a secret.” At this he gently touched his chest. “Here, inside.” He levelled his gaze at her, daring her to deny his words.

  Tess stood dumbfounded in morbid fascination of the serial killer who stood before her baring his soul to her.

  Shaking off his melancholy, he admitted, “It’s – how shall I say? – refreshing not to have to pretend. With you there is no pretense.”

  Despite the consequences of possibly angering him, she wearily replied, “I don’t condone what you do. Surely, you must know that.”

  He gave a quick, matter-of-fact nod. “Yes, yes. Of course. But there’s a part of you, Tess, I know there is, a part that understands the importance of being true to one’s nature. I sense that in you.” He caught the look she gave him, to which he was quick to add, “There’s a beast in all of us, Tess. I’ve just unfettered mine; that’s all.”

  “We’ve got a hit, Jay,” Baxter grinned like a schoolboy as he stuck his head in his partner’s office. It was early in the afternoon of the fourth day, and both detectives had spent another sleepless night bunked down on the couches in the staff lounge in order to grab a few fitful hours of sleep. The strain was beginning to show on everyone from the unit clerk all the way up to the chief of police who had requested a briefing the night before.

  McLean, who had been on the phone, immediately hung up and looked up with such obvious relief that Baxter winced.

  “Come on. I’ll fill you in.”

  The young detective wasted no time sprinting down the hall to catch up with his partner.

  “Name’s Roy Lange. A co-worker i
n a vet clinic out in Sidney ID’ed him. Your hunch was right, Jay.” Baxter clapped his partner on the back before moving around behind his desk to sit down, stretching both of his feet out on the desktop in a gesture of triumph. “He’s our guy alright!” With his hands laced behind his head, he leaned back and basked in the moment.

  “Is he in custody?” McLean asked cautiously.

  “His address is a PO box in Sidney. He gave it when he first moved here and has never provided a street address.” Baxter caught his partner’s skeptical look and brushed it off. “Don’t worry, Jay. We’ll nab him at work. He’s scheduled for a shift tonight at 6:00.”

  “Has he been in to work since Tess was taken?”

  “Come on, Jay. We both know this guy’s smart enough not to alter his normal routine,” Baxter advised.

  Although McLean knew that to be true, he still seemed unconvinced and an awkward silence hung in the air prompting Baxter to throw his partner an annoyed look.

  “What?” Baxter finally demanded, dropping his feet to the floor and sitting forward in his chair.

  “I don’t know, Ed,” McLean sighed as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. “He’s been one step ahead of us for months now. How come this co-worker hasn’t come forward before this?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know? And who cares, Jay. She’s ID’ed him now. The guy probably lies pretty low. For Christ’s sake, he works night shift cleaning cages after the vet clinic closes.”

  “You’re probably right,” McLean conceded. “It’s just this guy is no dummy, Ed. I don’t think we should underestimate him.”

  Baxter sighed and spoke in a fatherly tone to his young partner, “The guys are running a background check on him as we speak. Hell, maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s some Harvard graduate!” He slapped his desk and guffawed loudly at his jest.

  Just then the phone rang.

  “Baxter here. Talk to me.” As the senior detective proceeded to listen to the call, his confident swagger slowly dissipated like a flagging sail in a dying wind, and as it did so, he deliberately turned his back on his partner. “Uh huh…yup…uh huh. Alright, thanks.” Hanging up the phone, he turned around and cleared his throat several times. He then took his time pouring himself a glass of water. When he finally made eye contact with his partner, his look was sheepish. He simply shrugged his shoulders as if to minimize the news. “Fake identity. Roy Lange died in a house fire twelve years ago.”

  McLean shook his head and dropped into a chair as though he no longer had the strength to support himself. For a long moment, neither detective said anything.

  “You can bet it’s all under a fake ID or a stolen one – SIN number, driver’s license, car registration.” McLean seemed to be talking to himself. “This guy is fucking meticulous,” he muttered miserably.

  “But not infallible, Jay. The syringe cap proves that. We’ll nab him when he shows up for his shift tonight,” Baxter replied resolutely. “In the meantime, the guys have brought in the co-worker. Let’s see if we can get anything from her.”

  The two detectives entered the interrogation room moments later with grim determination, their faces haggard from lack of sleep and stress. The woman waiting patiently for them was seated primly at the table, her hands folded neatly together on the table top. She was a large, fleshy woman who, despite her size, still seemed at ease in the confines of her small chair. She took obvious pride in her attire, for she was neatly dressed in a floral print top and matching skirt. The overwhelming aroma of perfume filled the tiny room making McLean wince at the thought of spending any length of time in there. Despite that, he smiled warmly at the woman in an attempt to put her at ease. He needn’t have worried, for Nora Evans wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Quite the contrary – she was in her element.

  Baxter spoke up first after both men had settled themselves in the opposite two seats. “Good afternoon, Ms. Evans. I’m Detective Baxter and this is my partner, Detective McLean.”

  The woman gave each of them a curt nod, after which she announced, “It’s Miss Evans. Thank you, Detective.”

  Whereas that dressing down would have made McLean blush, Baxter simply cleared his throat and made an exaggerated point of addressing the woman correctly. “Of course, Miss Evans. Thank you for coming down to the station today. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Yes, so your officers told me,” she replied with an air of self-importance.

  “We understand you work evenings at the vet clinic doing the books, is that correct?”

  She seemed indignant at his question. “Yes, but I do a lot of other duties as well – typing, filing, supply orders…”

  Baxter cut her off before she could launch into a full-blown job description. “Yes, of course. Thank you for the clarification.” He made a show of bringing out the sketch from the folder in his hand after which he set it down on the table in front of her. Sliding it towards her, he asked, “Are you able to identify this person?”

  “Well, when the officers showed me this sketch,” she said as she pointed to the flyer, “I thought to myself – Nora, that sort of looks like Roy. Same thin face, same large ears.”

  “Roy who, Miss Evans?” Baxter asked, an edge of strain barely discernible in his voice.

  “Why, Roy Lange. The man who works at the vet clinic in the evenings with me,” she explained. All of a sudden, she leaned against the table, her ample chest spilling onto its surface. “Now, don’t you dare tell me he’s wanted for some kind of sexual attack!” Without even waiting for an answer, she prattled on as though she’d been given one. “I just knew it. He gave me the eebbie-geebbies from the get go. Pretending to be some loner, playing hard to get when he’s really out satisfying his carnal lust under the cover of darkness. How many women has he attacked?”

  “Slow down, Miss Evans. He’s simply a person of interest in a case we’re working on,” Baxter attempted to explain.

  “Person of interest?” she cocked her head. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means we want to speak with him,” McLean answered with infinite patience. “Now, can you tell us anything about him? Anything at all?”

  Nora appeared deep in thought for a moment before answering. “He’s terribly unsociable, you know. Hardly utters a word. Comes in to do his shift and disappears into the back without so much as a ‘howdy-do’. Why, sometimes I think he likes animals better than he likes people! I hear him talking to them back there friendly as all get out, but whenever I ask him a question, he clams right up. I find it most disrespectful.” She turned her head to the side as if she suddenly found the sketch in front of her distasteful.

  “I see. So he never told you much about himself then,” McLean stated dully.

  “I should say not! I haven’t been able to pull two words out of that man’s mouth. You’d need pliers to get him to say anything,” she muttered.

  “We’d like to ask you a few things about his habits then.” Baxter took a different tactic. “Do you know if he’s punctual for his shifts?”

  “Like clockwork. If it’s one thing I’ll say for the man, he takes pride in getting to work on time. I remember working with this fella once…”

  Baxter cut her off before she could get sidetracked. “Do you know how he gets to work?”

  “Not a clue. I don’t hear him until he’s at the back door. I always check to make sure it’s him, you know. The doors are locked, of course, but a woman can never be too careful these days.” Her head bobbed up and down, and she narrowed her eyes knowingly at the two detectives. “He has his own key, and I’m never there when he finishes his shift. I only work until around eight while he stays until he’s done, which is always after I leave.”

  “You’re expecting him to be on shift tonight with you, correct?”

  “You can check with Dr. Anderson, but yes, tonight is his regular shift,” she answered. “I won’t be there though. Dr. Anderson said I can take the day off.”

  It was clear
she would add little else to the investigation and that their time would be better spent at the clinic in preparation for their suspect’s shift, so the two detectives rose simultaneously from the table.

  “Well, thank you for coming in today, Ms…I mean Miss Evans. You’ve been very helpful, but we don’t want to take up any more of your time. If we think of anything else, we’ll give you a call. You gave our officers your contact information, correct?” Baxter was at his most charming.

  “Why, yes, but I don’t take calls late at night, you know.” She seemed vexed at being dismissed so soon, especially when she had learned nothing about the enigma of a man she worked with. “I don’t mind telling you that now I’m spooked!” she balked. “I think I’m going to take a few days and go up island to see my sister until all of this is settled. I can give you her contact information.”

  “Very good. Good plan,” Baxter smiled tightly, one eyebrow raised.

  As both men turned to leave, McLean paused in the doorway. “Oh, one other thing, Miss Evans. Does Roy happen to have a scar, here on his cheek?” He indicated a large scar running from his cheekbone down the right side of his face.

  “Why, yes. Yes, he does. Guess I don’t think much about it anymore, but how did you know?”

  “I just don’t get it.” Baxter made no effort to conceal his frustration as he wove in and out of heavy traffic on the highway out to the vet clinic. “I’ve pulled every warm body I can spare to canvass every gas station, every bank, and every grocery store in Sidney, and no one’s ever seen this guy. It’s like he parachutes into work every day!”