One September Morning

by Rosalind Noonan

  “No!” she shouts, startling him. “Don’t do it. She’s not going to have any more medication from you.”

  He swings the syringe aside, wheeling to see who’s been behind him. “Mrs. Stanton! I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  She throws off the blankets and rises. “Take that away. We’re done with drugs, doctor.”

  “This? Oh, this is just something to help her sleep peacefully.”

  “I said take it away.”

  Dr. Jump places the syringe onto its tray and steps back. “I just didn’t want Madison to have a restless night.”

  “But I want her to wake up. Three, four in the morning. I’ll be happy to have her awake, happy to have the chance to talk with her.”

  “That’s not advisable. Madison is in such a deep depression, she’ll probably be unresponsive, anyway. I hate for you to be frustrated.”

  “I’ll deal with that when it happens. If it happens.”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “Oh, it’ll happen, all right.” Anger simmers in his words. His gaze scrutinizes her as she lowers Madison’s gown and pulls the sheet up to her chin. “And I don’t take kindly to people coming in here and telling me how to do my job.”

  Sharice smooths her daughter’s hair back and turns to him. “Dr. Jump, that’s the last time you will ever, ever touch my daughter.” She grabs her cell phone and flips it open.

  “Mrs. Stanton…Sharice…” His tone softens in appeal—back to Dr. Jekyll. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  Oh, she had regrets, all right. And they started with choosing him as a therapist.

  “Jim?” Her eyes never leave Dr. Jump. “Sorry to wake you, honey, but I need you, now. We’re taking Madison home. No, she’s not awake yet, but…we’ll figure it out. I’ll pay for an ambulance if need be.”

  “You’re overreacting,” Dr. Jump says. “And you’re making a mistake. Home is a negative environment for her.”

  “Well, then,” Sharice pushes the nurse’s call button, “we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?”

  After the nurse responds, Dr. Jump recedes to the doorway. “This is a mistake, Sharice.”

  “Not the first time, and it won’t be the last,” she says. “Goodbye, Dr. Jump.”

  Fury flares in his eyes, but he turns on his heel and leaves.

  Finally.

  As Sharice packs up Madison’s clothes and belongings, her duty as a mother crystallizes in her mind. She’s taking her daughter home, which is where Madison needs to be right now. When Madison wakes up, Sharice is going to open the lines of communication between them and they are going to talk, every day and always. She’s going to make sure Maddy attends a twelve-step program. And she’s going to let her daughter march in war protests 24/7 if that’s what Madison thinks is right.

  I’ve lost one already. I am not going to lose Maddy.

  Chapter 72

  Fort Lewis Flint

  The last time he did this, he walked in on a half-naked man and a roomful of underwear.

  “Maybe you can get it right this time,” Flint tells himself as he takes the Fort Lewis exit off I-5 and cruises to a stop at the light. This time, he’s got some information Abby wants. Hell, he’s got stuff that should keep her away from that hospital until the real psycho is under lock and key.

  He just hopes she’ll listen.

  The lights are on, but Abby isn’t answering. He moves away from the door to the front window, looking for signs of life. “Abby? Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m right here,” comes a voice from the side of the house. Abby steps out from behind the shrubs, an aluminum baseball bat dangling from one hand. She’s wearing a short silk leopard-print robe with sweat pants and Crocs.

  “Practicing your batting stance?”

  “Just taking some precautions,” she says, motioning him over. “Come on. We’ll go in the back door because I left it open.”

  “I’m impressed. You’ve devised your own alarm system.”

  “Don’t be. It’s more like an escape hatch so I can get the hell out. And I guess I should apologize for chasing you out last time you were here. I was kind of worn down by everything, and I lost perspective.”

  “I’ll say. You were dating Charles Jump.”

  “I was not dating him.” She tightens the belt of her robe. “I wasn’t really, though he was pushing for that. But a few things have changed since the last time you were here. I’ve discovered that Dr. Charles Jump is a sociopath, and I’ve determined that I’m his next target.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” The cavalier attitude is a cover for the protective instincts that slammed him when he started researching Jump yesterday. He’s relieved that she’s being careful, that she’s making an attempt to protect herself from Charles Jump, but from the research he’s done on the profile of a sociopath, her baseball bat security system might not be enough.

  He wants to protect her. He’d like nothing more than to keep her at arm’s length until Jump is apprehended. But, being a practical person, he knows you can’t have everything you want.

  “Jump is one of the reasons I’m here.” He pauses in front of the back door. “After you.” When she passes by him in a cloud of sweet flowers, he has to restrain himself from touching her hair.

  Better watch it, or she’ll use that bat.

  Inside, the house is not as homey as he remembered it. The kitchen walls are bare, and boxes line one wall of the dining room, stacked up to his shoulders. “What happened here?” he asks.

  “I’m packing. I need to be out next month, but I haven’t had time to find a new place with my internship and everything else that’s going on. My stuff is going into storage and I’ll be staying with Suz and Sofia in Tacoma.”

  A few miles closer to me. “Sounds like a plan. Honestly, I wish you were living there already. Not that the base isn’t usually safe, but even the Military Police can’t guard an individual twenty-four/seven.” He leaves his jacket on but sits down at the kitchen table.

  “And you think Suz can protect me?”

  “Safety in numbers. I have to admit, after Suz called and asked me to check out Jump, it really rattled my cage.”

  “Suz called you…” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, she did.”

  “And it’s a good thing. I don’t think you realize who you’re dealing with here. And I agree that he’s targeted you. That’s something sociopaths do, right?”

  “They seem to choose victims, find the individual’s weakness and prey upon it. But with Jump, I think he devised a grander scheme, starting with John.”

  “Back in Iraq?” He shrugs out of his jacket. “You think Jump was the killer?”

  She nods. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’ve had some experience with reading people. I’ve always known that Jump was a great bullshit artist. You couldn’t trust him.” He puts a hand up. “Not that I knew Jump killed John when I met him back at Camp Despair. I’m not that good.”

  “Do you want some tea?” She turns the gas on under the kettle. “I’ve got decaf.”

  “Now you’re making me feel old. Sure, but do you have straight up, conventional tea?”

  “Man tea? Let me look.”

  “I’m sorry about John.” She looks up from the open canister, and he continues, “I didn’t mean to sound cavalier about it just now. While I suppose it must be a relief to identify the man who murdered him, it’s a concern to know the killer is still out there, free.”

  “It’s more than a concern. Jump has targeted the people who were important to John: me, John’s sister, his parents. He’s zeroed in to identify our weaknesses and, well, attack our vulnerable spots.”

  “Not if we stop him first. I’ve been checking up on Dr. Charles Jump, and the man is not who he claims to be.”

  She swings around with a mug in her hand. “What did you find?”

  “First off, Jump didn’t go to Harvard or Rutgers.”

  She points an empty mug
at him. “I knew he was lying about Rutgers! You know that photo of Jump and John? It was Photoshop’d. Jump’s face was plastered over Spike Montessa’s. What else?”

  “Dr. Charles Jump died in 2003. The guy was in his seventies, and his wife reported a burglary at his home the week after he died. Some lowlife broke in and robbed the place while the family was attending his funeral. Can you imagine that?”

  Abby frowns. “I can imagine.”

  “So here’s the thing from my angle.” Flint shifts in the kitchen chair, wishing he could do more than just write Charles Jump up in a story. “Investigating Jump could be a great story for me, but I wanted to check in with you first. I don’t want to write a piece that takes advantage of our relationship.” Whatever that relationship might be. At the moment, he’s not really sure.

  “A story about Charles Jump? Write anything you want. You wouldn’t need to quote me, would you?”

  “Definitely not. Though I’d like to point to the possibility that Jump murdered John in the so-called friendly fire incident.”

  “Then go right ahead.” She pours hot water into the two mugs and places one in front of him. “Here you go. One mantea. I’m sticking with chamomile. Not that I’ll ever get to sleep, but I like to think it will help.” Squeezing honey into her mug, she asks: “So what’s your next step to research the piece?”

  “I’ve already sewn up interviews in Kansas City, Missouri, where the Widow Jump lives. The police there were pleased to have a lead on their old burglary complaint. I’ll see what my army contacts can find out about a sociopath like Jump slipping through the screening process. And I’d like to talk with Lakeside Hospital’s HR department in the morning.”

  “The hospital…are you planning to reveal the truth to them tomorrow?”

  “That’s not the way I usually work.” A journalist’s job is to find your lead, build a story, get the facts straight, and get it printed. He was not a cop or a federal prosecutor empowered to stop or punish crimes. He lifts the mug to his lips. “But I suppose I could let one or two disturbing facts slip if it helps your case.”

  “That would be extremely helpful.” She sips the tea, then holds the mug below her chin. “Tomorrow morning…that gives me opportunity to strike at the same time.” Her green eyes soften with relief, and from this close proximity he can see the little flecks of gold that have always intrigued him. A man could spend days lost in those eyes.

  Snapping out of it, he asks, “You have a plan in mind?”

  “My first strike would be to go to the head of the psych services team and report that Dr. Jump is not really a doctor.” She places her mug on the table. “After that, I’m not sure I’ll have my internship anymore, but I’ll deal with that when it comes. I’ve got a discharge review for Emjay…I wish I could get that done beforehand, but if Jump is relieved of duty, I’m sure the doctor who steps in will do the right thing.”

  “So first you get him out of the hospital.” He nods.

  “It’s a start. Then…it’s a matter of getting him incarcerated. I’ll go to Sergeant Palumbo and my other military contacts with the theory that Dr. Jump killed John.” She shrugs. “We’ll see what they do with—”

  The crash startles her. Her arms fly wildly, knocking her mug of tea to the kitchen floor.

  Adrenaline stings right up to the top of Flint’s head as he slides out of his chair and leaps over to Abby. He pauses in the doorway of the dining room, standing between Abby and the source of the noise.

  “Who’s there?”

  He flips the light switch and the room is awash in stark white, illuminating a box that has fallen from the top of the stack. Books spill out from the top, one of them cracked open.

  “A box fell,” he says, leaning down to stack the books. “Looks like these are stacked too high.”

  “Oh my God.” Abby presses a hand to her chest, her fingers flat beneath the fine bones of her clavicle. “That scared me.”

  “Got my blood moving, too. There’s nothing like being the target of a sociopath to keep you on your toes.”

  She turns to the kitchen and sighs. “Look at the mess I made.”

  While Flint picks up the fallen box and begins to rearrange the more tenuously stacked items, Abby cleans up the spill in the kitchen.

  “So you’re planning to come back here in the morning,” she says. “The traffic between here and Seattle is going to be a bitch.”

  “Yeah, that’s a given.”

  “You could stay here, if you want. The couch opens up to a bed.”

  He hesitates. “That’s a great offer.” It would save him a frustrating drive, and give him peace of mind knowing Abby had protection tonight. “But I don’t want you to think I’m pulling a Jump on you.”

  “Well, first of all, I won’t be doing your laundry. And second, it would be a favor to me. I’ll sleep a lot better knowing I’m not alone in the house. And third, we lived together for four years in college.”

  She appears at the doorway of the kitchen—sweat pants, spotted silk kimono, and dish rag. Has a woman ever been more beautiful? “I think I can trust you for one more night.”

  Chapter 73

  Lakeside Hospital

  Abby

  Where did Madison go?

  Abby double-checks the door number—yup, room 327—and stares at a sleeping boy, around eight or nine, whose leg is suspended from a harness over the bed. This was Madison’s room yesterday, and Abby didn’t think to check and see if she was moved since last night.

  Worry flickers in her chest as she heads to the nurses’ station. What if something happened? If Jump got wind that he was about to be found out as an imposter, would he have done something rash?

  The nurse on duty has a million things to do. “I came on at eight a.m. and there was no Madison Stanton on the patient list,” she tells Abby, then heads off to start a procedure. Which leaves Abby at a loss as to how to find Madison.

  “You looking for someone?” asks a woman lumbering down the hall.

  Abby realizes that her purple scrubs and the photo ID on the lanyard around her neck carry some weight inside the hospital. “My sister-in-law was on this floor yesterday, but someone else is in her room now. I’m trying to find out what room she was moved to.”

  “Don’t you worry, now.” Dressed in pink scrubs, probably an aide, the woman settles down heavily at the desk and runs a key card through the computer. “What was her name?” She types the information in with clawlike nails dotted with pink gems in the shape of a flower. “Hmm. Okay, I see her now. She was discharged during the night.”

  “Really?” Abby moves in view of the screen. “Was it Dr. Jump who discharged her?”

  “That information doesn’t show up on this list. But that’s good news, right? She got to go home?”

  “Yes, thank you so much,” Abby says.

  As the elevator hums upward, Abby wonders what circumstances would cause Madison to be discharged in the middle of the night. She wants to call Sharice and find out what happened, but cell phone use is not permitted inside the hospital, and she doesn’t have time to take a break.

  The minute Abby buzzes herself into the psych ward, Cilla pounces on her with information. “You’re in big trouble.”

  “I just got here,” Abby says, “and I’m five minutes early.”

  “Dr. Jump has been looking for you, and he’s on a rampage.” Cilla’s mousey little nose twitches beneath her dark glasses. “I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  He must know I’m onto him.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Abby tells Cilla as she heads to the locker room to stow her purse.

  “That’s not all. One of your patients had an episode last night and had to be subdued. He’s in lockdown now.”

  Abby turns back. “Who?” Even as she asks, she knows the answer.

  “Emjay Brown. Dr. Jump is blaming you, that you did something that set the patient off yesterday.”

  Shaking her head, Abby heads back to the loc
ker room.

  “Is it true? Hey, Abby, aren’t you scared of being kicked out of the program?”

  Abby keeps moving, pushing forward. Yesterday Madison, and now Emjay…two patients in two days.

  What do you expect when the patients are being treated by a fraud?

  Feeling precious moments slipping away, Abby quickens her step. She has to get to Dr. Steen, the director of the Psychological Services Unit.

  It’s up to her to stop Charles Jump.

  Now.

  Chapter 74

  Lakeside Hospital

  Charles

  People are such morons.

  Cranky, whiny babies like Madison Stanton who thinks it’s so hard being a teenager with great parents and a cell phone and firm, high tits that she just has to have a little drink to dull the pain.

  Uppity bitches like her mother. Sharice comes on with the manners and the reserved smile, the lipstick and skinny eyebrows. But one little bump in the path and she snaps her fingers at you as if you’re a bad dog who needs to get off the table. That woman has a stick up her ass—or maybe she deserves one.

  The nerve of her, pulling his patient out of treatment!

  He’s thought long and hard about what made Sharice Stanton turn on him, and it’s got to be that whore Abby. He thought she would keep her mouth shut, knowing what he could do to her, knowing how he could get to her and the little girl.

  But no…Abby doesn’t seem to understand that he’s not playing a game. This is a mission. He’s going after everything that once belonged to the king, and no one’s going to stop him—not an uptight shrew or a melodramatic whore who thinks she’s got all the answers in psychology. Ha! He can spin circles around her with theories and jargon and bullshit terminology. The shrinks act like it’s a science, but in practice it’s a mushy guessing game. The blind leading the insane.

  Doctors…what the hell do they know?