Mind Games

by Polly Iyer

  “Well, if you’re sure. I am rather hungry.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Galen said. “Wouldn’t mind another serving of that delicious cobbler.”

  Mrs. Kirk set a place at the long harvest table where she served dinner family-style, and proceeded to heap food onto a plate. While she warmed the dinner in the microwave, Galen helped himself to a large square of blueberry cobbler still warm on the stove. Lucier marveled at the man’s audacity, but Mrs. Kirk didn’t seem to mind his making himself at home. When the microwave beeped, she put the warmed plate in front of Lucier and poured a glass of iced tea.

  “Enjoy now. I’m going to join my guests. If you want anything else, call. There’s plenty more where that came from. When you’re finished, Mr. Racine knows how to fix you a nice bowl of cobbler, don’t you, Mr. Racine?”

  “Sure. No trouble at all.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Lucier said to her back as she waddled toward the parlor. His empty stomach welcomed Mrs. Kirk’s culinary skills, and his mouth watered before he lifted the fork. “Good food,” he said, devouring the tasty meal.

  He looked to Diana’s father for affirmation and found the old man staring at him. After a long day, Lucier didn’t feel like getting into a conversation with Galen Racine. He’d known men like him, bigots who, whether out of ignorance, habit, or just plain hatred, would find him less than other men. He continued eating.

  “My daughter likes you, you know,” Galen said between mouthfuls of cobbler, his teeth and lips a ghoulish blue. Lucier decided not to answer.

  “What d’ya think of her?”

  Lucier did a double take. The man wasn’t going to let him eat in peace. He should have gone up to his room with an empty belly. Sucking in a deep breath, he put down his fork. “Mr. Racine, I know how you feel. Really I do. But I don’t think we should be having this conversation.”

  “I’m askin’ you straight out. Do you like her?”

  “With all due respect, sir, how I feel about your daughter and what goes on between us is none of your business. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my dinner minus the interrogation.” He forked a few pieces of fried okra and continued eating, ignoring his uninvited dinner partner.

  “You know, Lieutenant, all that ever mattered to me was my daughter’s happiness. There were times I lost track of that and maybe forced her into things she didn’t want to do. She did them so’s not to disappoint me.

  “I’m getting on, and in spite of what you must think of me, I’m still not too old to learn. I gotta be honest, you wouldn’t be first choice for my daughter—not even close—but if you’re what she wants, I ain’t standin’ in the way.”

  Lucier concentrated on the mashed potatoes, felt the old man’s eyes boring into him. No more words passed between them. When Lucier finished, he helped himself to a bowl of blueberry cobbler. After rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, he said, “Excellent food. Good night, Mr. Racine,” and left the kitchen.

  * * * * *

  Alice drove for over an hour before they arrived at the lake and another hour until they found the perfect secluded house on a point at the end of a deserted road. The other houses in the vicinity looked uninhabited—no cars, no lights. Macon assumed that many of the larger homes would have complicated alarm systems. This cottage served more as a weekend getaway than a main residence. Rather than enter from the front, they eased around back and found a second entrance inside a screened porch. The inside door opened with the help of Alice’s driver’s license. Inside, fishing gear filled the small mudroom with a pegboard displaying an array of hand-tied flies. The place reminded Macon of the bayou cabin where he’d held Diana, only in better shape.

  “Nothin’ like a little shack on an expensive piece of property,” Alice said.

  Macon flicked the light switch. “Electricity’s off.” He went outside, found the breaker box, and flipped the main switch. Macon hoped that whoever owned the place wouldn’t be visiting within the next few days. He plugged in the refrigerator. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a while. This is perfect. I think we’ll be safe for a few days.”

  “Now, Harley, why don’t you relax some. I saw a store a mile or two back. I’ll go get us some food and something to drink. After all this brilliance I wouldn’t want us to starve to death.”

  “Good idea. Put on one of those hats hanging in the back hall. Tuck your hair under in case they flash your picture over the TV. And for chrissakes, Alice, cover those tits. They’re attention getters. And park the car out of view.”

  “Jeez, Harley, anything else? I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Whatever.”

  Alice scooped a hat off the rack and tucked her tangled frizz inside, then wiggled into an oversized plaid shirt. She thrust her chest in Macon’s face. “This better?”

  He tugged her to him. “Just don’t hide them from me.”

  “We should’a picked up food on the way. That way, if anyone seen us, they still wouldn’t know where we was.”

  He took out a few bills from his wallet. “Here, and be careful.”

  “Don’t you worry; I’ll be back.” She grabbed Macon’s crotch. “Then I’ll show you some things I ain’t showed you yet.” She took her purse and went out the back door.

  He found sheets and blankets in the linen closet and made up the bed in the larger of the two bedrooms. He turned on a small lamp, shut off the glaring overhead light, and pulled the curtains closed.

  That flash headache he suffered a while ago capped off a long two days. He’d never been afraid as a kid, but being locked in a cell for twenty years changed your point of view. Yet he was doing everything to make sure he’d be locked up again. Pretty goddamn stupid, Harley.

  Restless, he walked onto the porch where the light from the full moon reflected on the rippling water, visible through the trees. He plunked down on one of the Adirondack chairs. The late winter breeze whistling through the leaves had a calming effect, the fresh air cleansing, draining the tension from his body.

  Even though he’d been out of prison for two years, he’d never felt free. He laughed to himself. How could he feel free when the police were hunting him like a wild dog? All because of his obsession to prove himself superior to a little girl with the same powers. Maybe she was better. Maybe the last two years working at the nursery and saving money to buy a car, arranging false papers, hotels, cabins―everything―maybe it was all for nothing. He’d studied her routines, followed her every move in New Orleans last year, but nothing went as planned. His little head ruled his big head and he fucked it all up. That had always been his problem—the lack of self-control once he started something.

  He remembered his first solo kill. He hadn’t meant for her to die. He just wanted sex, but the girl put up a fight. Then he had no choice. Never leave witnesses. That’s what his stepfather said. That was the rule. Hurting women turned him on, but the kill…ahh, the kill elevated the experience. The power, the sexual rush. Diana never found her body because he wouldn’t let her.

  Then the mistake. The stupid mistake. It was all his fault. Harley told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Then the girl was dead. If he’d only had more time.

  Now, his life had come full circle. She’d won.

  Diana flashed into his mind. So easy to hurt, so delicate and fragile. Every time he took her, he swore he’d never do it again. But he enjoyed the domination, relished the torment he saw on her face, on the faces of all his victims. Like the man he called stepfather enjoyed the pain on Harley’s face while he forced him to do unspeakable things. At first, he got sick. Then, he didn’t. And after, he found the pleasure. Until the mistake.

  Ouch. What was that? Looking down, he saw that he’d dug his fingernails into his arm, and traces of blood seeped through the broken skin. So relaxed a short time ago, now wound tight as a rubber band stretched to the max.

  Alice was right. They should get in the car and head south. There was still time, still a life left
. He was only thirty-nine. Lots of years ahead. With Alice he could…could what? Lead a normal life? Maybe she would be enough for him. She did things he never even fantasized about. Before prison, he had a few girlfriends, but after his stepfather’s lessons, he needed to do things to get aroused. He had to hurt them. Just a little. Anything to make it all work. But Alice was different. She liked the hurt and liked hurting back.

  He looked out over the water. All those years. The best years. How the struggle to stay straight almost drove him crazy and what he did to satisfy the urges. You do what you have to do. Those memories would go to his grave.

  The dark shadow coming up the stairs to the porch broke his train of thought, and panic set in. “Jesus fucking Christ, Alice, you almost scared me shitless. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “Harley, I’m sorry, babe. You must’ve been sleeping.”

  “Not sleeping, Alice, dreaming. There’s a difference.”

  “If you say so, Harley.” She carried a few plastic bags of groceries inside and put them away. “Got enough to get us through a couple of days.”

  “What would you say if I decided to do what you said? Get the hell out of here. Go to Mexico. Start over. Just the two of us. What would you think?”

  “Oh Harley,” she squealed, jumping on his lap, her legs cradling his thighs. “Do you mean it? Really?”

  “Yeah, really.” He laughed. Maybe we’d have a chance.

  “Shee-it, babe. I’m so excited I’m gonna give you the best blow job you ever had. When I finish with you, you’re gonna need a goddamn pacemaker.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Stoned

  Tuesday morning Lucier carried a large plastic bag to the hospital. The idea came to him in the middle of the night, and he felt it was worth a try.

  Diana was reading the newspaper. A smile brightened her face when he walked through the door. “Ugh! My picture is all over the front page. How’d they get this picture of me in the hospital?”

  “They probably paid someone on staff to take one. Happens all the time. The publicity should make your father happy.” She gave him an uneasy look. “Sorry,” he said, “I remember saying I hated sarcasm, and here I am being sarcastic again.” He put the bag down on a chair. “You’re looking better every time I see you. Swelling’s gone down and your eye is opening.”

  “Pretty soon I’ll turn from a beautiful shade of purple to a limey green. Both good colors for me, I might add, even though I don’t wear them. What’s in the bag?”

  “I had an idea.” He reached in and pulled out a few articles of clothing. “Macon’s.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “You found Jenny McClellan, why not Macon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you think it’s worth trying?”

  She stared at the pile of clothes as if they were remnants of Satan himself, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Was he using her the same way her father did?

  She reached over but didn’t touch them. “Make sure no one comes in.”

  Lucier went to the door and told the officer on duty to keep everyone out, including the nurses, then went back and sat on the edge of the bed.

  She picked up the gray T-shirt Macon wore when he abducted her and held it in her hands. After a glance at Lucier, she closed her eyes. She stirred, her face a series of grimaces, and Lucier chided himself for forcing this on her. How could he have? He wanted to stop her, to break the deep concentration, but feared he’d make matters worse. All he could do was wait for her to come out naturally. When she did, her eyes were filled with tears. He brushed them away.

  “Are you okay?”

  Diana swallowed hard. “The ultimate mind game.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I can’t tell you where he is or what he’s doing, but for a moment I got inside Harley Macon’s head.”

  * * * * *

  The pains started early morning. Raging pains, gripping the back of his head like a vice, then moving into his temples. He scrunched his eyes closed. People and colors, all jumbled, upside down and sideways, going around as if he were on a carousel. He recognized things, but they were fleeting, nothing remaining long enough to be sure. Only flashes. When he opened his eyes, the room zoomed out until it was a tiny speck. Echoes vibrated in his brain, the indistinguishable words of a woman’s voice. Words with no meaning. He clung to consciousness as if he were holding on to a lifeline, sucking air into lungs that felt on the verge of collapse.

  His moans woke Alice. “What’s the matter, babe.” She shook him by his shoulders. “Harley, can you hear me?”

  He lay drenched in sweat. He felt her hands touching his forehead.

  “Jeez, you’re on fire.” She ran to the bathroom, wet a towel with cool water, and wiped him down, then yelled close to his ear. “Harley, speak to me.”

  “My head’s gonna bust open. Stuff’s going on in there. I can’t make the noises stop.”

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  “No,” he said, massaging his temples. “Make it stop, Alice.”

  “Hell, Harley, I don’t know what to do. Wait a minute. I have some aspirin. Maybe that’ll help. Stay right here; I’ll get them.”

  “Where the fuck do you think I’m going?”

  Alice returned with a glass of water and three aspirin. “Here, babe, take these. They’ll fix ya right up.”

  He raised his head enough to take the pills, then dropped back onto the bed crying in agony.

  Alice kept wiping him down with wet compresses. “This’ll bring down the fever. Wait. I have some weed in my purse. Does wonders for pain. You want me to light you up a joint?”

  “Anything. I’ll try anything.”

  She ran to the living room and pulled three joints from a plastic bag, lit one, and took a deep drag, holding the smoke in her lungs.

  He watched her. “I thought that was for me.”

  “I’m getting it going. Here, take a drag and hold the smoke in your lungs for as long as you can.”

  Macon’s face contorted in pain; his lips twisted. “I know how to smoke a fucking joint.”

  She backed off. “In Mexico we’ll be able to get a ton of this shit.”

  “Right now, I don’t give a fuck about Mexico,” he said, sucking greedily. “I don’t give a fuck about anything except getting rid of the pain that’s drilling my head.”

  He smoked the joint down to a roach.

  “Is that better, Harley? Huh, is it?”

  “My head’s still ripping, but it’s better, bearable. And stop saying my name in every sentence. You’re driving me nuts.” He leaned back on the pillow and closed his eyes. “Jesus, I’m stoned. But I know what happened.”

  “What happened, Har―what happened? Tell me, ’cause I’m worried.”

  “Diana fucking Racine. That’s what happened.”

  Chapter Forty

  Witchy Woman

  Diana reached for Lucier’s arm. “Give me a hand, Ernie. I need to walk out the stiffness and stretch my muscles a bit. All that psychic stuff needs a physical counterpart.”

  “Take it easy.” He took her hand and snaked his arm around her back, helping her to her feet.

  She walked a few steps, a slow painful progression. She tipped back her head. “You feel good around me. I could get used to this.”

  He pulled her into him, wrapped both arms around her. “How’s that?”

  “My lips feel a lot better. I think they could take the pressure of a serious kiss.”

  “Sure?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  “Well, let’s test that.” He leaned down, still holding her tightly, and planted a deep kiss on her mouth, sliding to her neck, and back up to her lips. “I want you so much right now, I’m probably hurting more than you are.”

  “I can’t tell you how much better that made me feel. You’re my incentive to get well fast.” She teetered. “I’m not sure whether your kiss or my condition is making my legs weak, b
ut I’m ready to collapse.”

  “Then you need to get off your feet.” He guided her back to bed and helped her onto it.

  “That kiss made me feel like a new woman. Thank you.”

  He touched her face. “Anything I can do to help. Those psychic episodes take a lot out of you. I’m just doing my part to replace your energy.”

  “Some incidents drain me more than others. This one was such a deep invasion. Not like the frivolous stage shows where I get visions or feel sensations and then get instant feedback. This was different. For the few minutes I was in his head, I actually controlled him. He’s frustrated as hell we found the girl.”

  “Do you think that’s the reason, or is he coming unglued?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know. He could be. When he cuffed me to the bed, I kept telling him that I was better, and he’d never be as good. I don’t know where I got the nerve. He might be losing confidence, and the effect is allowing me to break down his barriers.”

  Diana’s gaze shifted to the gray T-shirt crumpled in a wad on the bed. Lucier had second thoughts.

  “I want to go back in, while he’s vulnerable. You want me to, don’t you?”

  “No. I thought I did, but I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. You want me to get into his head so he’ll come after me. He won’t be able to resist. You want me to be the bait.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Do you think I’d let you be a target of this maniac?”

  She laughed and clutched at her ribs.

  “Jesus, Diana. You’re hurting. You can’t do this.”

  “Sure I can. But you can’t fool me. You want him, and I want you to get him. I can’t convey how much.” She reached for his arm. “You know what he did.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder, whispered in her ear. “Yes, I know.”

  “If we want him to fray, we have to start cutting the threads, hit on him now, while his nerves are shot. And they are, trust me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because mine were. Let’s do it, Ernie. Now.”

  He picked up the T-shirt. “Okay then. Get into his head, and keep on until you flush him out.”