Lockdown

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  Barbara decided to take advantage of his curiosity. “You haven’t said anything about your mother. What is she like?”

  He picked a spot on the wall across the room and stared at it as though the paint might change color any minute and he didn’t want to miss the transformation. Barbara settled back in her seat again, wondering if this kid was ever going to break. She fought back a smile when a cafeteria worker appeared with two milkshakes.

  “Perfect timing,” Barbara said brightly. She took the milkshakes from the aide and then waited until she and Eric were alone once more. She set one of the milkshakes on the tray beside Eric’s bed and then poked a straw into her own. “Do you want a milkshake?”

  He glared at her. He was trying to look mean, but he came across as sulky. “You think if you give me ice cream I’ll talk to you.”

  “Do I really look like someone who would resort to bribing people with food just so they’ll talk to me?” She gave him a pointed look. He stared back, keeping eye contact with her. A little smile crossed her face. “No, don’t answer that. I probably would do that.” She moved back to her chair and sat down. “In any case, the milkshake is yours whether you want to talk to me or not.”

  “I’m not allowed to have ice cream. It makes people fat.”

  She stopped sipping her own milkshake long enough to look down at her relatively flat stomach. She then looked back at Eric. “I’ve only known you for two days. Don’t you think it’s a bit rude to be calling me fat?”

  His mouth quirked up, but he fought it.

  Barbara fought back her own smile and kept her voice casual when she asked, “Do you think you’re fat?”

  Eric’s eyes darted up to hers, shocked by her bluntness.

  “Personally, I don’t think so.” She gave a shrug. “I mean, most of us could stand to lose a few pounds, but a milkshake every now and then isn’t going to hurt anything.” She took another sip, making a point not to watch him. She had to give the kid credit. He lasted nearly three minutes before he finally jerked his good shoulder and picked up his straw.

  With an inward smile, she let herself enjoy her own milkshake as she plotted how she might break through the next layer of ice.

  * * *

  The stars were brilliant overhead. Riley leaned back on both elbows, stared up at the sky, and let her worries fade away.

  “Don’t you want something to eat?” Tristan asked as he sat beside her and took a bite of a drumstick.

  “I guess,” Riley said, but she didn’t make a move. “I love looking at the stars. Everything seems so peaceful out here.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Good.” She sat up and looked over at him. “I thought meeting with Eric Rhodes today would be really hard, but it wasn’t that bad. You were right when you said this wasn’t the same as what happened at Oswell. Eric’s eyes aren’t so cold and distant. You can see that he’s hurting, but I think he still wants help.”

  Tristan studied her for a minute. “Have you ever thought about getting your doctorate in psychology so you can practice?”

  Riley considered and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. I want to work with Eric because I need to understand him, but psychologists don’t necessarily get to pick their patients. I’m afraid I would get bogged down with everyone else’s problems and lose myself in them.”

  “What about working at one of the high schools as a counselor?”

  Again she shook her head. “I know it sounds weird, but the part that fascinates me most is the motivational side of psychology. Why people make the choices they do—especially what makes people cross the line into crime.”

  “I would think the reasons would vary from one person to the next.”

  “Yeah, but a lot of the underlying factors are similar.” Riley narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so interested in my career choices all of a sudden?”

  “There’s nothing sudden about it,” Tristan said. “I just thought you might be more interested in a career in psychology than engineering. It’s not like there are many career fields where you can use both.”

  “True. Working on this course is probably the only time I’ll be able to combine the two.” Riley looked into the bucket of chicken and selected a piece. “I can’t believe it’s going to be over in a couple of weeks.”

  “Any chance you could stay with your grandparents until you found a job?” Tristan asked. “It would be a lot easier to interview if you were already in Virginia Beach.”

  She nodded. “They probably would let me stay, at least for a week or two. If I can’t find something fast enough, I’ll have to store my stuff at my parents’ house anyway. Worst case scenario is I stay with my parents for a little while.”

  Tristan winced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t think I’m ready to revert to dealing with curfews and protective fathers.”

  “That makes two of us,” Riley said with a laugh. “I guess we’d better pray I find a job fast.”

  “Amen to that.”

  28

  Infuriating! Philip fought against his anger and frustration as he continued down the hospital corridor. He had casually walked by Eric’s room four times, each time with the same results. Not only was a guard posted, but instead of just one policeman stationed outside, now there were two.

  He only needed a minute alone with the boy, two tops. The syringe in his pocket was full of enough morphine sulfate to take care of young Eric Rhodes once and for all. In his weakened state and with the other medications he was on, Eric would be dead within minutes. Still, Philip could hardly try to talk his way into the boy’s room and kill him. Even if he was successful, he would immediately be the prime suspect.

  Just the thought of what he was trying to do made him sick to his stomach. It’s me or him, Philip reminded himself. The boy would never have a normal life anyway, he tried to assure himself. Even if he did manage to avoid prison or a mental hospital for the rest of his life, the constant abuse he had suffered throughout his childhood was likely to turn him into an abuser eventually. The boy was a time bomb waiting to go off, and Philip was just trying to control the blast.

  The hospital staff was nearly as diligent as the policemen guarding Eric’s door. The nurses still believed Philip was truly concerned about the boy, but only once had he managed to get a peek at Eric’s chart. He had hoped to change the medication order to solve his problem, but the nurse had watched him like a hawk while he studied the chart. Still, he had gleaned enough information to select his poison with care.

  If he knew his former patient, he expected that Eric wouldn’t say anything about him for at least another day or two. Between the lingering effects of the medications Philip had prescribed and Eric’s confusion, he doubted the boy had a clue as to what had really happened. Now he just had to find a hole in security so that he could gain access.

  The high dose of morphine sulfate would kill Eric even without the drug interaction, but there would be signs of trouble, and Philip couldn’t take the chance that the hospital staff would identify the problem during the ten minutes or so that it would take for the medicine to run its course. As he walked by a medical supply cart, another idea started to take root. He slowed fractionally, staring at a nurse who was measuring out medication for a patient.

  The corners of his mouth quirked up. If he could switch the labels on the medicine in the cart, the nurse would administer the morphine sulfate for him. With new hope, he continued down the hall, oblivious to Riley Palmetta watching him from behind.

  * * *

  “What’s he doing here?” Riley asked one of the policemen standing outside Eric’s room.

  “I guess he has another patient on this floor. I’ve seen him a couple of times.” The guard stepped aside to let her in. “Mrs. Cunningham is on her way. She stopped by a few minutes ago and said she needed to pick something up.”

  “Thanks.” Riley took a deep breath. She debated for a minute whether she should wait for Mrs. Cunningham. Then, w
ith another deep breath, she walked inside. Eric’s color was getting better, and with the way his eyes turned immediately toward the door, Riley guessed that he was getting tired of the hospital scene.

  “Nothing on TV to watch?”

  “They won’t let me watch anything.” Irritation dripped from his voice.

  Riley noted that the television had been disconnected and realized that the police and Dr. Gera were probably trying to insulate him from the news reports about his parents and the school hostage situation.

  “That’s a bummer.” Riley sat down in a chair across from his bed. “We’ll have to get you some books or magazines. Do you like to read?”

  He shook his head.

  “I like Mrs. Cunningham,” she told him, taking a different approach. “You must enjoy having her for a teacher.”

  “She’s not my teacher anymore.” Eric snorted. “She teaches special ed. Special ed is for losers.”

  “Who told you that?” Riley asked, her tone stating that she disagreed just as clearly as words would have done.

  “He said . . .” Eric started and then seemed to realign his thoughts. “It just is, okay?”

  “We’d better not tell Mrs. Cunningham that. I doubt she thinks her students are losers.”

  Before Eric responded, a knock came at the door and Mrs. Cunningham walked inside holding two bouquets of flowers along with a Mylar balloon with a get-well wish on it. “The nurse asked me to bring these in for you. I guess they were delivered this morning.”

  Surprise lighted Eric’s eyes as he tried not to stare at the offerings. Mrs. Cunningham had already set them on the table by the window before he thought to ask, “Who are they from?”

  Riley knew the bouquets had actually been purchased by Dr. Gera and were a ploy to identify who Eric was close to. “Who do you think?”

  A look of bewilderment settled on his face. “My mom?”

  Riley felt a little lurch in her stomach, and she noticed Mrs. Cunningham’s hands falter as she arranged the vases. “I’m sure your mom would send you flowers if she could.”

  Tears sprang to his eyes. “She hates me too, doesn’t she? I’ve been here for two days, and she hasn’t come to see me at all. I bet someone told her I had a gun.”

  Riley looked up to see Dr. Gera standing outside of the door. The doctor gave a subtle nod, and Riley understood what she wanted her to do. An ache spread through her, but she forced the words out. “Your mom isn’t mad at you, Eric. They found her next to your father. Someone killed her.”

  He sat up abruptly, his eyes wide, his face red. “You’re lying! She wasn’t supposed to die!”

  Riley forced herself not to react to his anger. He was hurting, and he was shocked. Though it was a struggle, she managed to keep her voice calm. “Whether she was supposed to die or not, someone killed her. Someone killed her and your father.”

  “He wasn’t at the school,” Eric muttered to himself, his eyes moist. “He said it was over, but he wasn’t at the school.”

  Riley’s gaze sharpened. “Who said it was over?”

  He shook his head, a tear spilling over. “Find the gun, go to the school, shoot . . .” He looked up helplessly.

  “It’s okay, Eric,” Riley said gently. “You didn’t shoot anyone at the school. Your father wasn’t there, remember?”

  He closed his eyes, shutting everyone out. Riley glanced at the door, where Dr. Gera was standing just outside of Eric’s view. She motioned for Riley to join her in the hall and then stepped farther out of sight.

  “I’ll be back later, okay?”

  Eric ignored her, and Riley gave Mrs. Cunningham a helpless look.

  “I think I’m going to stay for a while,” Mrs. Cunningham said as she took a seat.

  “Okay.” Riley walked into the hall and then followed Dr. Gera a short distance down the corridor.

  As soon as they were out of earshot of Eric’s room, Dr. Gera turned to face her. “I’m starting to believe that Eric really didn’t know about his parents before he went to the high school.” She shook her head, confusion visible on her face. “After what I heard just now, I think he had some kind of accomplice.”

  Riley nodded. “It’s hard to know who he’s talking about, because he avoids using names. I think he’s referring to two people—his father and whoever helped him—as ‘he.’” She let out a little sigh. “His teacher said he didn’t have any friends, but there must be someone she didn’t know about.”

  “Maybe, but I’m concerned about how he keeps repeating the sequence of events that morning as though he’s following instructions.”

  Riley’s eyes widened. “You think he was brainwashed?”

  “I don’t think it was quite that extreme. It’s more like he was following a specific plan. My guess is that the accomplice was a more dominant personality and for whatever reason used Eric’s hate for his father to get him to go to the school,” Dr. Gera surmised. “That kind of manipulation is probably beyond what a kid could pull off.”

  “You think someone used Eric to kill his parents?” Bewilderment filled Riley’s voice.

  Dr. Gera shrugged. “Most likely the killer shot Eric’s parents and then hid the gun for Eric to find, knowing that Eric would be blamed for everything.”

  Riley felt a combination of wonderment and disgust. “Who would use someone that way?”

  “You know as well as I do that whoever it was had both motive and opportunity. The first place to start looking would be anyone who was in the position to influence him. Teachers, family, friends,” Dr. Gera commented. “The most important questions are where is that person now, and what will he do when he realizes Eric can identify him.”

  “Do you think Eric will just tell us who it is?” Riley asked, hoping for a simple answer. “If he realizes that the police think he did it, I would think he would turn his partner in.”

  “Possibly, but we’re still a couple days away from being able to press him. The medications Dr. Walberg prescribed for him will stay in his system a while longer. Some of them have hallucinogenic properties, so we can’t be completely sure whether he’s making stories up or remembering what really happened.”

  “Why would he be put on such strong drugs?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s hard to say. One of the problems with psychiatry is that when treating children, doctors often rely heavily on what the parents tell them. It’s possible that the parents were lying to Dr. Walberg so that he would medicate Eric. Especially if the father was abusing him, it would help keep Eric from rebelling if he was kept drugged.”

  “I can’t understand how people can do such things,” Riley said wearily.

  “Me neither, but it does happen occasionally.” Dr. Gera nodded in the direction of Eric’s room. “I’m going to head back down there and listen a while longer. I’ll send a summary of what we just talked about to Chief Jobeson this afternoon. He definitely needs to be looking for another suspect.”

  “I’ll try to stop by tomorrow afternoon and see how Eric’s doing.”

  “Give me a call and I’ll meet you here.” Dr. Gera pulled a business card out of her jacket pocket. “Until he decides to trust me, I’m depending a lot on listening to your conversations with him.”

  Riley nodded. “I’ll be at my church service until one o’clock, so it will probably be around two before I get here.”

  “Hey, Riley,” Dr. Gera said as Riley started to move down the hall. “A few prayers on Eric’s behalf probably wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  * * *

  “Which way?” Tristan asked as he stepped into the hospital behind Riley.

  “Are you sure you want to come?” Riley asked, heading toward the elevator. “I can just call you when I’m done.”

  “That’s okay.” He took her hand and stepped into the open elevator with her. Sensing her concern, he added, “Don’t worry. I promise to stay out of sight.”

  “I just feel like we’re so close to ge
tting through to him,” Riley told him. “I don’t want to take a chance of him freaking out.”

  “I know.” They stepped out of the elevator and immediately felt the tension in the air. In addition to the police officers standing guard in front of Eric’s door, two more officers were standing near Eric’s room, along with the police chief and Dr. Zimmerman.

  “That’s his doctor,” Riley told Tristan, concerned.

  “Let’s go find out what’s going on.”

  Chief Jobeson’s voice was frustrated as he spoke to Dr. Zimmerman. “How can you be sure he didn’t die of natural causes?”

  “He was fine when I did my morning rounds,” Dr. Zimmerman insisted. “The nurse that administered his pain medication at eleven o’clock said he was doing great and joking around. Then when the cafeteria worker came to deliver his lunch, he was nonresponsive. Medically speaking, he didn’t have any conditions that would have caused him to die so suddenly. He looked like he was having a drug interaction or overdose.”

  “Could the nurse have given him the wrong medication?”

  “Everything is computerized. She scanned the correct medication, and the inventory for her cart checks out,” the doctor told him. “In fact, the only two patients who are receiving medicine from this particular cart are the deceased and Eric Rhodes.”

  “How can you be so sure the other patient wasn’t given Eric’s medicine by mistake?”

  “Because they were on the exact same medicine. It wouldn’t have mattered which vial the nurse used. Both patients were even receiving the same dose.”

  Riley’s hands were clasped tightly together when she finally dared interrupt. “What happened to Eric?”

  “Eric’s fine,” Chief Jobeson told her. “It’s the patient in the next room who died.”

  Tristan put his hand on Riley’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  “Doc here thinks we’ve got another murder on our hands.”