Mad

by Miller, Renee

  “That’s enough profanity,” she said. “Just tell me what happened again. You lost me at ‘So I went to get a manicure,’ so let’s begin there.”

  He sighed. “I’m supposed to be doing a test. Rochelle forces us to face our so-called fears. I guess it’s her way of determining progress or whatever. In theory, it would be a good therapy tool, but this time, it was punishment. She knows I’m on to her shit, but she can’t kick me out, because someone ordered her to keep me for thirty days no matter what.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  He glared. “Anyway, Estella is afraid of fingers, so she thought this was the perfect way to challenge her as well. I’m not sure if it was me or Estella who was set up as the sacrificial fruitcake this time.”

  “Getting a manicure is a test for a woman with no fingers?”

  “Yes.” He was relieved that part of this catastrophe was over. “I mean, no. The manicure wasn’t for Estella. It was for me. She was supposed to watch so she could figure out a way to look at fingers without wanting to chew them off.”

  “Okay…”

  “Don’t try to understand it. It’s like rolling a square wheel uphill, through knee-deep shit, covered in French fry grease, while a hundred seagulls try to peck your eyes out.”

  “Sounds like a typical day for me.”

  “I feel like you don’t like me, Captain.”

  “Just get on with what happened. When did it start to go downhill? Did you get a manicure? Let me see.”

  “No. I was sitting on the chair, my hands in that bowl, and then Estella got a call.”

  “From Rochelle, you said. How do you know that?”

  “I asked who it was and Estella said it was Rochelle checking up on us. Then she put the phone away and asked to look at the nail file. The manicurist gave it to her, Buggy and I said it wasn’t a good idea, and she’s like, oh just relax, but she said it in a weird way.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It was weird. Like too much emphasis on “relax,” and she was kind of spacey. Let’s just say, when she said it, I got goosebumps. It was like when that clown in the Stephen King movie lured Georgie into the storm drain and told him the balloons float. You just know that kid shouldn’t want any part of that fucking balloon he’s holding. When Estella said to relax, my gut said relaxing should be the last thing I do.”

  “And then you punched the man with the glasses?”

  “No.” God she was dumb as a wad of dryer lint. “When she said relax, then Buggy said relax the exact same creepy way. Every time I hear that word from now on, relaxing is probably the last thing I’ll do.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Then Buggy took his fucking glasses off. Once he saw all the green—he’s terrified of green, by the way—he lost his shit. I jumped up, tried to get the glasses back on his face, but he fought with me.”

  “And then you punched him.”

  “Jesus, woman!” He rubbed his face. “Stop focusing on the punching.”

  “One of my officers assaulted a civilian, I have to make sure there’s no liability here.”

  “Fucksakes. I got up, fought with him, he freaked the fuck out, I said relax, then Stabby McFingerless repeated it, but in an even creepier way, and Buggy kept screaming, because everywhere the poor guy turned, there was green. Who was the decorator for this place? A homosexual fucking leprechaun?”

  “Milo…”

  He shook his head. “So I told Buggy if he didn’t calm the fuck down, I’d knock him out. He kept screaming, so I punched him. He was stunned a little, which made him stop fighting, and I got the glasses back on his face. He finally shut the hell up and relaxed. By the way, he won’t press charges. Buggy is weird, but he’s cool. He knows I did him a favor.”

  “And when did Estella allegedly stab herself?”

  “Nothing alleged about it. After Buggy shut up, I realized someone else was screaming. I turned, thinking Estella had attacked someone, but the women behind me were okay. I looked at the spot where I left Estella and she was on the floor and there was blood everywhere. I saw she had no eyes—can’t tell you what a disturbing fucking sight that is—and I reacted.”

  “Do you believe she did that on her own?”

  “Fuck if I know,” he said. “Probably. I was too busy with the other clown to see it. I imagine she did. She bit off her fingers, after all. What’s a little self-inflicted stab wound when you’ve already chewed off your own flesh?”

  The Captain seemed lost. She stared at Buggy, who now held an ice pack to his face. Leatherface knelt next to him, all concerned and probably horny. He gazed up at her like she was an angel or something. God, if Buggy banged that, he truly was a lunatic.

  “So you think she just snapped?” Captain Cunt finally asked.

  “No I don’t think she just snapped,” he said. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”

  “It’s all rather disjointed.”

  He sighed. “There’s no snapping when you’ve got no hold on sanity to begin with. However, Estella managed to sort of keep her shit intact. Rochelle called Estella right before everyone lost their shit. I think she used her hypnosis sessions to put a suggestion in both of them. When she called, she triggered it. That word, relax, was probably the order to lose their fucking minds.”

  “But Rochelle is helping them. Why would she do something to encourage their psychosis?”

  “Because she’s batshit fucking crazy too. Seriously, Captain, you’ve gotta keep up.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Milo blinked. “Is that all you have to say?”

  She shook her head. “I mean it doesn’t add up.”

  “On what planet does it not add up? Estella was fine—well not fine, but managing—until Rochelle called. Buggy was fine too. The good doctor calls, tells them to relax, and the fuckers explode. When you add all that up, and the rest of the shit I’ve told you, everything points to Rochelle. She’s killing these freaks.”

  “But why?”

  “Why not?”

  “Milo, that’s not a reasonable answer.”

  “These people don’t do reasonable. The reason she’s getting away with all of this is because everything about these people is irrational. Their actions, their fears, their thoughts; none of it has a reason that would make sense to a sane person. They’re all unpredictable, so you could off every one of them and no one would suspect a thing.”

  “And now you know what it’s like to deal with you.”

  “I’m not crazy,” he said. “I’m odd, yeah, but this is a whole other level.”

  She stared at the tables. The nail file was now in a bag on its way to evidence, just in case someone else stabbed Estella. Someone had picked up the eyeball she managed to detach from her head—the other one hung from its socket—and it had accompanied her in the ambulance, because someone hoped it could be reattached. He shuddered. Estella, who probably wouldn’t make it to the hospital, had used the file to stab her eyes first. He shuddered again. Then she’d jabbed the thing in her neck. When she hit the floor, it must’ve fell out.

  And Buggy hadn’t said a word since he got the fucking glasses back on his face.

  “It’s not impossible that this was just a tragic accident,” she finally said.

  “The sixth one in as many months?”

  “Six?”

  “Pete, Tom, Sally, Shamus, Estella. There’s five. If we count Andy losing his mind, then it’s six.”

  “You said it was an accident.”

  “Which happened after the man murdered, hacked up and ate a woman, and then tried to stab his fellow patient. A guy doesn’t go from harmless fruitcake to completely unhinged all by himself.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “You’re saying you’re still not going to investigate,” he said. “Because you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe that you believe what you’re saying and I do trust your instincts,
Milo. However, that doesn’t mean the doctor is involved. I think maybe there’s something with this group, but I can’t accept that a doctor would hurt her own patients and I doubt a jury would believe it. Someone is responsible here, but I can’t accuse a doctor of sabotaging her patients’ wellbeing.”

  “It’s not like such a thing has never happened.”

  “There’s no proof.”

  “The other patients told me she knew Shamus.”

  “Who?”

  “The bird guy. He was a patient. If you check her phone records, you’ll see she got a call from him the night he died. She said she never answered, but I bet the phone company says otherwise.”

  “Milo—”

  “So was Sally.”

  “The snakebite victim?”

  “If you look at the ME’s report, you’ll see she was bitten, thus incapacitated, before that snake got in her ass. Someone would’ve had to do it after she was unconscious or dead. I hope for her sake she was dead.”

  “Circumstantial.”

  “I don’t think you know what that word means.”

  Her reply was interrupted by two women walking past them. One dabbed her eyes with a tissue while the other texted furiously on her phone. When they were out of earshot, the captain looked at him again.

  “I’m saying while what you say makes sense,” she said. “It’s also possible that the snake crawled in there afterward.”

  “Yikes.” He cringed. “Gross, but also impossible. The snake was dead.”

  “Suffocation after slithering inside her.”

  “Wow. You really thought this through.”

  “I’m just pointing out what a defense attorney will say.”

  “Okay, Pyro-Pete was a patient too. I’m willing to bet Slasher Tom was in treatment as well, and let’s not forget about Andy the child-licking cannibal.”

  “Why do you insist on nicknames? It’s disrespectful.”

  “Helps me remember.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Could be one of the patients doing it.”

  “Could be, but the doctor is the one in control. They’d do anything for her.”

  “She comes highly recommended.”

  “By whom?”

  “I looked her up,” she said. “Her website is full of reviews and statements from clients and doctors....”

  “Which she could’ve made up. Did you call an actual medical expert about her? Did you check her credentials? Perhaps you verified the stellar reviews you found. Did you even check with these so-called clients?”

  She blushed.

  “Of course you didn’t. You just sent me to a quack you knew almost nothing about to get me out of your hair, and now I’m knee-deep in fucking murders and nutcases.”

  “I was desperate!” she yelled. “You were getting out of hand and I didn’t know what else to do. I had cops calling me every fucking day about your shit. They were scared. You creeped them out, Milo. I had to do something that ensured I didn’t get a lawsuit and that allowed me to keep the best detective I have.”

  He smiled. Finally, some recognition. “So I’m the best detective you have?”

  “Milo,” she said. “This isn’t a laughing matter. What you’re suggesting is serious, and we can’t toss out accusations without hard evidence.”

  “Which is what I’m trying to get. It’s a little difficult when I don’t have my usual resources.”

  The captain looked at Buggy again. She pressed her lips together. “Fine. I’ll open a file. I want all of your notes by tomorrow morning.”

  “Done.”

  “And this investigation is undercover.”

  “It’d have to be, I suppose. Rochelle would probably kill everyone and run if she got wind of an investigation.”

  “That and if anyone else gets wind of what you’re really doing, I’ll say I had no idea, because you’re supposed to be on leave.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not technically on the force right now. That’s what suspension means. And Rochelle Middleton is a respected member of the community, and she’s wealthy and—”

  “There it is.” He should’ve known.

  “There what is?”

  “She’s a wealthy member of the community. How much did she donate to the department?”

  “Nothing. Are you implying—?”

  “Yes I am.” He hated the politics involved in his job. Half of the criminals in his town either had a badge or donated enough cash to make sure their fellow criminals could have a badge.

  “It is what it is,” She said. “You get me evidence, though, and I don’t care how big her bank account is, she’s going to jail.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Rochelle didn’t want a meeting, but the group was coming undone. She’d been so proud of herself for doing what he said was impossible. For four years, Rochelle had managed and reformed desperate souls. She’d made them happy and for the most part, they worshipped her for it.

  The power had been heady, and maybe that was her first mistake. She’d gotten greedy. After Tom strayed from the flock, she should have stopped taking new members. But Pete showed promise, and she needed a success after the Tom debacle. Pete had been the first member she let into the group without screening through private sessions. She knew he had been a risk, but his problems were so serious, she hoped a support system such as a group of friends might give him a reason to fight his dangerous compulsions. Then he’d gone and set that hooker on fire.

  Rochelle sighed. She tried to cover it up, but Pete insisted on turning himself in. Once she removed him from the group, she told herself that his bad juju had tainted the others.

  She’d still been hopeful, though, because the inclusion of Pete, a far higher risk patient than the others, had made them feel necessary and useful. When he was forced to leave, the others grieved, but something else happened too. They all turned to Rochelle for guidance. She was their anchor, their savior; the only person who cared about their welfare.

  High on her ability to control them so completely, Rochelle had invited Shamus to meet everyone. Her intention had been to distract them from the loss of Pete, and Tom… but Sally smelled a rat, and she wouldn’t let Pete stay dead. So Rochelle had no choice but to scratch her off the list as well.

  And Shamus seemed like a good addition at first. He’d managed a few months incident free without the group, so Rochelle brought him into the fold. True, she hadn’t officially made him a member, but he fit nicely, even managed to get Estella to fall for his strange charm. Then he had the incident at the park, and soon after, the pet store happened.

  And the curse continued. Poor Estella.

  Rochelle turned off the stovetop and sighed. All she wanted to do was fix them. Then he’d see she didn’t need his help. Rochelle was good at making people better. It was her gift. No, it was her calling. He wanted to use them for his own gain, and didn’t care if they got better. In fact, Rochelle suspected he wanted to amplify their problems, which would be disastrous.

  Oh, he’d love Milo. Maybe she’d let him have just one test subject....

  She tried so hard, worked so tirelessly, but Milo had undone all of it in a matter of a few days. They refused to let her in now, thanks to him. It was like they enjoyed being damaged.

  Rochelle pulled a strand of hair from her head. The sharp, brief pain that resulted calmed her frazzled nerves. She pulled another, and then two, before forcing herself to stop.

  He would’ve told her to stop pushing. Maybe suggested she let them find their own ways, make mistakes all willy-nilly in the name of self-discovery. Rochelle snorted. They’d self-destruct in less than a week without her guidance. Just look at what happened when he let Rochelle make mistakes.

  She rubbed her temples. God, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? He had no power over her anymore.

  “Rochelle?”

  Fucking Milo. Rochelle had maintained at least a little bit of control until she let him in. He was the reason they couldn’t move on.
“What?”

  “You okay?”

  She wasn’t fooled by the note of concern in his voice. He was out to ruin her. Rochelle had no proof of his intentions, but she knew it just the same. “Yes. Is there something you needed?”

  “You were just taking a long time. I thought you wanted some help.”

  “No.” Rochelle stared at the carafe full of coffee. Always coffee. Why did she insist on making pot after pot? No one ever drank it but her. “I’ll be in soon. Go on.”

  Footsteps signaled his retreat from the kitchen. Rochelle picked up the carafe and then set it on the tray with the mugs and the cream and sugar. She lifted the tray and took a deep breath. Estella would be the last. She’d fix these people or die trying. Besides, there was too much attention on them now. If the deaths made more than the local news, he might notice....

  Rochelle cleared her throat. He was far away and probably suffering from dementia by now. She should’ve taken care of that loose end a long time ago, but sometimes Rochelle cared too much. He was special to her, so she’d let him be and tried to forget the way he’d betrayed her trust.

  Doctors should never betray their patients’ trust. He was the one who told her that, but he still went to her parents, urged the dean to remove Rochelle from the program. One mistake and he gave up on her. Well, he was old and foolish. He’d let a pretty face sway his loyalty, and Rochelle suffered the consequences. She was doing what God intended her to do.

  Hadn’t he said she was brilliant? Hadn’t he gone on and on about her unique perspective, which could be invaluable as a doctor. Then he took it all back after... Rochelle shook her head. She was done with that life. Done with him.

  Maybe the group was just too damaged. Milo might be a manipulative asshole, but perhaps he’d done her a favor when he turned them against her. He forced her to see the group without her rose-colored glasses and what she saw wasn’t pretty.

  If they didn’t want her help, Rochelle would just have to find a new group in a new city. She’d put this group out of its misery first so that he couldn’t tear down what she’d fought so hard to build.