HAUNTED: A Jenny Watkins Mystery

by Becky Durfee

  “I don’t think it was ever his intent to go out and kill anybody, if it makes you feel any better. I think he would panic sometimes, when the voices in his head told him there was a reason to panic. I’ve got to say, Mister Littleton, those voices in his head weren’t very nice to him.”

  He remained silent.

  Changing the subject, she said, “You mentioned that Aiden passed away at Sanger Hospital. Did his mental illness have anything to do with his untimely death?”

  “Yup, it sure did. His mother found him unresponsive in his bedroom about a year ago, so she rushed him to the hospital, where he died a short time later.”

  “Is schizophrenia a life-shortening condition?”

  “It is when it causes you to take a bottle of sleeping pills.”

  Jenny sat down on the couch next to Zack. “Hey,” she said softly.

  He glanced up at her. “Hey.”

  She wasn’t quite sure where to begin; the only thing she knew is that she had never felt this way around Zack before. They had always gotten along; reconciliation and apologies hadn’t ever been necessary. “I asked my mom to watch Steve for a couple of hours this afternoon. I took a good nap in the guest room.”

  “I know,” he replied with a subtle nod. “I saw you.”

  “I feel a lot better now.”

  “That’s good.” He sounded sincere. “I’m glad you got some sleep.”

  “I had an interesting vision while I was sleeping. I was able to figure out who the killer was.”

  He turned to her with interest. “Really? How?”

  “I saw the truck…up close. It had the name of an electrical company on the side, and it turns out our killer’s step-father is the company’s owner. He was mentally ill—the son, I mean—and he lived out in Wyoming when Seneca Lynch was killed.”

  “Who?”

  The disadvantage of having a spouse as a business partner became abundantly clear at that moment. Her anger at her husband had prevented her from telling her coworker about the latest advances on the case. She got him up to speed, ending the description with a request. “I was wondering if you could do a little research…find out all you can about schizophrenia, and maybe drug use, and see if anything could trigger violence.”

  “Sure, I can do that,” he replied.

  An awkward silence ensued; perhaps it was time to address the billion pound elephant in the room. “Just so you know, I’m not mad that you went out,” she said softly. “I’m glad you had a good time with the neighbors; I truly am.” She cleared her throat and added, “I do wish you drank a little less, though.”

  “You and me both.”

  Jenny smiled, but it faded quickly as she continued, “I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult to live with. I’m just so overwhelmed. Motherhood is nothing at all like I expected it to be, and I constantly feel like I’m drowning.” She looked down at her lap. “And I guess I’m a little bit jealous that you get to keep living your regular life and I don’t.”

  Zack’s voice reflected a bit of shame as well. “I’m sorry I’m not helping more, but I have no idea what to do with a baby that small. Every time I hold him, all he does is cry. To me, that’s a big, fat clue that I’m not doing something right.”

  “Well, then I guess we’re both doing it wrong, because he does nothing but cry for me, too.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I just need a little help, Zack. I need to know that sometimes I can walk away and not have to deal with it for a little while. Right now I feel like I have to take care of the baby one-hundred percent of the time, and the thought of that completely overwhelms me. That’s what’s been stressing me out.”

  “I don’t know why you felt that way when your mother lives right downstairs.”

  Jenny nodded. “I know. That’s been pointed out to me already. The thing is, I envisioned us raising this baby together, and I feel like you aren’t involved. I think there’s an element of disappointment, too, in addition to me being overwhelmed.”

  “I’ll be involved…trust me. I plan to take this kid fishing and teach him how to throw a curve ball. I’ve already been considering coaching his little league team when he gets old enough…I don’t know how hard it is to get chosen for that, though.”

  A smile graced Jenny’s lips; she hadn’t known about Zack’s plans. “I think all you have to do is say, ‘I want to coach a Little League team,’ to the right person.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “That’s easy enough. I can handle that.”

  Still smiling, Jenny asked, “But what if we have another baby and it’s a girl? What will you do with her?”

  “Larrabees don’t make girls.”

  Jenny dropped her head, looking at Zack out of the corner of her eye.

  He got the hint. “But on the off chance I do happen to create a girl, which for the record is very unlikely, I can still coach her softball team.”

  “What if she likes ballet?”

  “Then I will drive her to ballet practice.”

  The sound of fussing began to pipe through the baby monitor. Somehow, Jenny felt less dread than she normally did under that circumstance. Patting Zack’s leg, she said, “It’s meal time again. That boy can sure eat.”

  “He’s my son,” Zack replied. “I’m not sure what else you were expecting.”

  There it was...that sense of humor that attracted Jenny to him in the first place. All things considered, she really did love that man, even if there were some things about him she would change. She turned to him before getting up, asking, “Can I request one more favor while you’re doing your research?”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  She stood with a stretch. “I want you to find out everything you can about helping someone with PTSD.”

  Chapter 11

  Jenny quickly admitted defeat when she looked into unsolved murders in the Chester, Wyoming area. The list wasn’t excessively long, but she couldn’t narrow it down based on any particular characteristic of the victim. The only quality Aiden’s victims had in common was that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, so any one of those people could have fallen victim to him.

  Instead, she shifted gears and looked into the details of Seneca Lynch’s case. She had been twenty-two at the time of the murder, a senior at Southern Wyoming Tech. Her daily jogs at Point of Rocks Park had been part of her training for a rugged triathlon that involved, among other things, a trail run. The article Jenny read suggested that Seneca’s roommate had warned her of the dangers of running alone in the woods while wearing ear buds, but she had insisted that the area was safe.

  The cause of death was ruled a strangulation, but the coroner also noted a broken ankle, which was consistent with the type of injury she could have sustained while running along the rocky trail. The general belief was that she had gotten hurt during her jog, which left her vulnerable when she encountered the killer. Authorities had deemed this a crime of opportunity, believing that Seneca Lynch didn’t know her attacker, making this the most difficult type of case to solve.

  DNA was extracted from under her fingernails, but it didn’t match any that was stored in the criminal database. Apparently, this killer hadn’t been caught yet, and the authorities feared he was likely to strike again.

  Jenny sat back in her chair after reading all of this, trying to determine how the events unfolded. She wondered what Aiden was doing on the trial—if he had been jogging himself or specifically hunting someone to attack. The murder had occurred just a few months before the attack on Timothy Reynolds, so there was a chance his disease had a firm grip on him by that time, although Jenny supposed there was only one way she could find that out.

  She felt nervous as she dialed, just as she always did. Eventually, a woman picked up. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is Eileen there?”

  “This is.”

  “Hi, Eileen, my name is Jenny Larrabee; I got your number from your former father-in-law, Charles Littleton.”

  Her voice sounde
d sad. “Yes, he told me you’d be calling.”

  “So I assume you know what it’s about, then?”

  “Yes,” she nearly whispered, “I do.”

  “I’m so sorry to have to make this phone call.” Jenny meant it. “I am just trying to get to the bottom of what happened on the day Seneca Lynch was killed.”

  “I know. I just…are you sure it was him?”

  “As sure as I can be at this point. Do you know what Aiden was doing on the day she was killed? Could you possibly provide him with an alibi?”

  She let out a heavy breath. “No. I don’t know exactly when she was killed; I just know it was right around the time that my world was falling apart. I had just told Aiden that his parents and I decided he should move back to Tennessee, and he didn’t seem to like that idea very much. It was so hard—I hated hurting him like that. I just couldn’t take care of him anymore.”

  The wheels in Jenny’s head were turning.

  “I knew about the Seneca Lynch case, but I didn’t pay too much attention. I had enough of my own stuff to worry about at that point.”

  “You never suspected that Aiden had anything to do with it?”

  “Never. Even with all of his issues, I had never seen him get violent. I knew he was suffering, but I didn’t think he was dangerous.”

  “How did he respond to your announcement that you had decided he should move?”

  “He became even more withdrawn. He spent a lot more time with his license plates…I guess I should explain that…”

  “No need,” Jenny said. “His step-father already did.”

  She let out a sigh and continued. “He delved further into his drug use.”

  “What type of drugs?” Jenny asked. “I know he smoked marijuana, but is it possible he used some type of hallucinogenic drugs that may have caused him to hear voices?”

  “He heard voices on his own,” Eileen said. “He didn’t need any drugs to cause that. As far as I know, marijuana was it.”

  “Did it seem to help him?”

  She remained quiet as she thought. “It made him appear less anxious. I could always tell when he’d smoked, even if I didn’t see him do it.”

  Jenny mulled this over in her mind. “And you say you don’t specifically remember the day Seneca Lynch went missing.”

  “No, I don’t. Like I said, I had enough of my own stuff to worry about at that point.”

  “Okay, well, I really appreciate your time.”

  “Can I just say one more thing?” Eileen sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

  “Of course.”

  A long pause followed. “Aiden was a good man,” she eventually said. “The man I married was smart and kind…he came from a great family. I never wanted to divorce him. I always loved him. I just couldn’t give him what he needed.”

  Jenny’s heart was splitting in two. “His step-father spoke kindly of you, too.”

  “I have a great relationship with them, to this day. I’m remarried and I have a son, but I still stay in touch with his family. None of us wanted it to end that way…it hurt us all. We loved Aiden, and we all wanted to do what was best for him.”

  After mustering some courage, Jenny asked, “Do you know what happened before he took those pills? Do you know of anything that may have triggered his suicide?”

  “I don’t,” she replied solemnly. “I imagine he just grew tired of those voices in his head. I think that would make any of us crazy after a while.”

  She thought of what it felt like during those short visits into Aiden’s psyche and simply said, “Agreed.”

  “But for the record,” Eileen added, “and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…”

  Jenny waited, wondering how she was going to complete that thought.

  “I sincerely hope you’re wrong about Aiden.”

  “The nature of the relationship is complicated,” Zack began. The couple sat in bed, Zack with the computer on his lap, the baby nursing in Jenny’s arms. “Everything I’ve read said there is a definite correlation between schizophrenia and marijuana use; schizophrenics are more likely to smoke weed, and they usually smoke a lot more of it than your average user.”

  Jenny listened with her eyes closed; she was interested, but exhausted.

  “There have been conflicting reports for why that relationship exists,” Zack continued. “They used to think that smoking a lot of pot could actually cause schizophrenia, but they don’t believe that anymore. The latest studies have shown that marijuana actually lessens the symptoms of schizophrenia…for a while. Then, after a few hours, the symptoms actually get worse because of the pot. That’s probably why they toke up again.”

  “The symptoms get worse…you mean the voices?”

  “Whatever symptoms they have. Voices, paranoia, delusions.”

  Jenny contemplated that for a moment. “What about violence?”

  “Violence from schizophrenics is apparently pretty rare. In fact, everything I read suggests that they are more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators.”

  “I guess their diminished capabilities would leave them vulnerable, huh?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “But is it common for the delusions to bring about violence? Everything I have seen from this guy suggests he did what he did because he was afraid of being a victim.”

  “Apparently, schizophrenia itself doesn’t usually cause someone to become violent, but when you throw street drugs into the mix, that can change things.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Yeah, schizophrenia and illegal drugs aren’t a good combination. Like I said, though, it doesn’t result in violence very often. It’s just that when it does, it becomes news, so people tend to believe schizophrenics are dangerous when they generally aren’t.”

  “The sad thing is, it didn’t sound like the prescription drugs that were supposed to help worked out much better for him.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Aiden told me. Well, he didn’t really tell me, but he let me know.”

  Zack flashed Jenny a look. “You still fascinate me, you know that?”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at him; those were words Jenny so desperately needed to hear. Settling back into her sleepiness, she remarked, “That’s why he couldn’t stay on them. I don’t think he was able to work through the side effects long enough to feel any relief.”

  “Apparently, that’s not uncommon. The articles say that’s why so many of them resort to smoking weed…the relief is instant, and there are no side effects.”

  “Except the resurgence of the symptoms a few hours later.”

  “But that’s nothing a little more weed couldn’t cure.”

  Jenny sighed, acknowledging what a vicious cycle this was for people who were just trying to feel normal. “What about heredity? Was there anything written about that?”

  “Tons, and it’s conflicting. There’s so much research going on, but the latest I found showed a strong genetic link. Apparently, it’s not just one gene, but rather a combination of genes that cause it. Some guy found patterns in DNA that could be used to predict who has it and who doesn’t. Since it doesn’t show up until adulthood, there’s been no way to look at a kid and determine if he’s going to grow up mentally stable or not, until now.”

  “That’s so sad,” Jenny remarked. “Poor Eileen married a nice guy, and then she ended up having to take care of him shortly after the wedding. I guess sometimes you don’t know what you’re getting into when you walk down the aisle.”

  “You sure don’t.” Zack let out a laugh. “Greg didn’t know he was marrying a psychic, now, did he?”

  Jenny also giggled, acknowledging that the discovery of her ability put the nail in the coffin of her first marriage. “Well, good riddance on that one; I’m actually glad that happened. Anyway, Aiden’s step-father said that some other members of his family were also mentally ill; that’s why I was asking about heredity.”

 
“Heredity is a big factor; the risk of schizophrenia goes up a lot if someone in your family has it.”

  “I wonder if Eileen knew that.”

  “Well, she might have, but what was she going to do…tell Aiden that she wouldn’t marry him until after he turned thirty so she could make sure she wasn’t marrying a psycho?”

  He had a point. The baby started to lose interest in eating, so she put him up on her shoulder to burp him. Patting his back gently, she said, “Okay, what about PTSD? Did you learn anything about that?”

  “I read a bunch, but I think a lot of it was stuff I already knew. Some vets come back and have flashbacks, trouble sleeping, agitation…a lot of them deal with addiction.”

  She thought about the horror that Mick had witnessed, and she said, “I can’t blame them, really.”

  “Neither can I,” Zack replied.

  “But how do you help them?” Jenny asked. “Did anything say?”

  “Well, just like with anything, they have to be willing to help themselves. There are treatment options out there—the Wounded Warrior Project offers a lot of good stuff. But first, the person has to be willing to admit they need help, and that’s not always easy to get someone to do.”

  Jenny glanced down at the baby who had driven her to tears so many times in his short little life. “It is hard to agree you need help. It’s like admitting failure.”

  “But you can’t send someone into a war zone and expect them to come back just fine.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that; I am in agreement with you.” The baby let out the desired burp. “What are the kinds of things that the Wounded Warrior Project offers?”

  “For mental health? They get the vets in touch with other people who have been through something similar. They also help provide goals for them, so they’re not just floating around lost.”

  “Goals,” Jenny repeated in a whisper.

  “A lot of vets are provided with a service dog.”

  She said nothing.

  “They have retreats that the vets can go to, individually or with their spouses…”

  Jenny was only half-listening at this point; the wheels in her head had already begun turning. “Can I borrow that laptop for a minute? I have an email want to send while this stuff is fresh in my head.”