Mad

by Miller, Renee

  “That might be a problem,” Milo said. “This bunch doesn’t do normal.”

  “As normally as possible. When the time is right, I’ll pop by for a visit.”

  “And then?”

  “I’ll take her away where she can’t hurt anyone.”

  “You think she won’t put up a fight?”

  “She’ll come willingly. I only ask that none of you follow.”

  “No.” He didn’t like the plan at all. “She has to pay for her crimes. You can’t just cart her off and hope she doesn’t relapse. You were supposed to help me find evidence to prove what she’s done.”

  “When I’m through, she will never relapse again,” Eli said. “You have trust issues, Detective Smalls, and I know my vagueness is magnifying those issues, but please, trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  “No killing.”

  Eli smiled. “Who’s hungry?”

  ***

  Snot dripped from Charlie’s nose. The light from the barn made it glisten on his lip. Rochelle wished it didn’t have to be this way, but she had to make sure the plan would work before she attempted it on the rest of the group.

  “Why do we have to do this?” Charlie whimpered. “I’m sorry I stuck it in your ass.”

  “You’re not sorry.” Rochelle picked up the gas can. “But that’s not why we’re out here.”

  The cats had scurried away at the sound of Charlie’s sobbing. They didn’t like weakness any more than Rochelle did. It was embarrassing for both herself and Charlie that he carried on like this.

  “Please, let me down.” Charlie begged. “I won’t tell.”

  “Relax,” Rochelle said the trigger word and watched Charlie’s face. His eyes narrowed for a moment, but he still cried like a two-year-old in a timeout. “Charlie, I said relax.”

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” He stopped sobbing. Good.

  “No.” Rochelle poured the gas over Charlie’s head. He sputtered and coughed, but he couldn’t go anywhere, because Rochelle had used plenty of rope to secure his legs and shoulders tightly to the old flag pole behind the barn. She’d left only his lower arms free, so he could light the torch. “You’re going to kill yourself, Charlie. Just like we discussed.”

  “I can’t,” Charlie said. “I want to go back to the house.”

  Rochelle handed him the torch. He took it, but sobbed. She handed him the lighter as well. Charlie held it in his other hand, but made no move to light the torch. “Charlie, relax. You can do this.”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t drop the items in his hands. Sometimes the power of suggestion amazed her.

  “Yes, you can. Light the torch, Charlie.”

  Sniffling, Charlie lifted the lighter. His hand shook as he tried to resist the urge to light the torch, but Rochelle smiled as the flame ignited the gas flowing out of it.

  “Please, Rochelle. I’m so sorry.”

  Charlie held the torch outward, away from his gas-soaked body. He didn’t let it go, though.

  “Relax.” Rochelle drew the word out. “Do it.”

  Charlie closed his eyes and touched the torch to his crotch. The flames blossomed across his body. Rochelle closed her eyes as he screamed. The sound was deafening, but she wasn’t worried about the neighbors. Her house was secluded, with no one to hear them for miles. Charlie would die long before the rest of the group arrived and no one would ever know.

  His cries soon became gurgles, and then soft gasps. Finally, she heard nothing. Rochelle opened her eyes. Flames still devoured Charlie’s charred form, but he was gone. She took the torch from his hand, and she walked around the post, torching the remainder of his body. The ropes gave way, and Charlie fell forward.

  She stood over his body, moving the torch back and forth, inhaling the acrid but sweet scent of burned flesh. She’d first smelled that heavenly odor when Pete died. It still did wonderful things to her body. Should’ve purchased another vibrator, she thought absently.

  No, there wouldn’t have been time. She’d have to put the fire out and haul Charlie into the barn before the others arrived. Her toughest patient, the one most resistant to suggestion, had finally submitted. The others would be a piece of cake.

  In the morning, Milo’s police buddies would investigate, and they’d find everyone died in the fire. Rochelle would be long gone by the time they realized there weren’t enough bodies.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Shit-fuck-the-cunty-bitch.” Ozzie blurted as Rochelle entered the living room.

  Something was bothering him, or maybe the alcohol Milo let him consume was messing with his meds. Rochelle told them all how dangerous it was to indulge in alcohol or any other drug not prescribed by her. Seems they valued his opinion over hers.

  The glasses on the tray rattled as Rochelle set it firmly on the coffee table. She wanted to slam it down, but then their special drink would be wasted.

  Not that they’d care about the effort she put into this meeting. Group was at seven sharp, and Milo sauntered in at half past, with the rest trailing behind him. She smelled alcohol as they took off their shoes and then made their way to the living room.

  She tried not to be mad. Her patients should have lives, after all. It irked her that those lives included Milo.

  Rochelle smiled. Not for much longer.

  “Where’s Charlie?” Milo asked. He leaned against the wall next to her chair.

  Why wouldn’t he just sit down? Rochelle clenched her teeth.

  “Nothing?” he prompted.

  “What?” Rochelle snapped.

  “Where. Is. Charlie?”

  “He won’t be here,” Rochelle said. She’d dragged his body into the barn, which she’d set fire to once she was done with the house. “I’m afraid he’s developed an infection. I drove him to the hospital earlier.”

  He scowled. “Convenient.”

  He didn’t believe her. Oh well. Rochelle didn’t care. After tonight, she never had to look at Milo, or the reminders of her failure ever again.

  “Where did you all go this evening?” Rochelle asked as she took her seat. “I smell wine and something spicy.”

  “Milo took us out for dinner,” Nina said.

  “Did he?” Rochelle stared at Milo, willing him to just sit the fuck down. She closed her eyes. Now his crass attitude was affecting her usually calm demeanor. Rochelle rarely swore, not even in her own head.

  “Hey, don’t give me the stink eye,” he said. “They don’t get out much. I figured it’s good for all of us. Besides, I owed Nina. I thought you were a fan of day trips.”

  “Cum-twat,” Ozzie muttered. “Shit-sicle sucks my nuts.”

  “What’s that Oz?” Rochelle didn’t look away from Milo. His smirk said he was up to something.

  “Nothing.” Ozzie knocked on his head.

  “Oz is feeling a little frazzled. Missing Estella, I suppose.” Milo raised an eyebrow. “And Andy. Should we start missing Charlie too?”

  “If you wish.” Rochelle wasn’t giving him anything. She’d ignore his digs until he was dead. Then she’d have the last laugh. “You know; I’d have come with you if you’d asked. It’d be good for us to meet outside this house now and then.”

  “Next time I’ll be sure to invite you,” he said. “I would’ve asked you to come tonight, but I figured you’d be busy at the hardware store with Charlie.”

  “A visit to the hardware store can be accomplished before lunch.” Rochelle was a little offended by his exclusion. He was trying to turn them against her, and had been from the moment he stepped into her house.

  “What’s this?” Buggy lifted the juice pitcher from the tray. “Where’s the coffee?”

  She almost threw a glass at him. “You never drink coffee when I make it. I thought tonight I’d make what you guys like.”

  Buggy sniffed the brown liquid inside the pitcher. “Iced tea?”

  “You don’t like iced tea?”

  “Of course I do.” Buggy poured some juice into a glass. �
��Anyone else?”

  Nina nodded, as did Ozzie.

  Milo shook his head. “I find it’s usually wise not to drink the punch.”

  “You don’t like iced tea?” Rochelle’s nerves frayed a little. If he didn’t drink the tea, she’d have to find another way to immobilize him. He wasn’t hypnotized like the rest.

  “Not really. Even if I did like it, I prefer to use my own cup, but I’m fresh out of those at the moment.”

  “I have some plastic cups in my pantry. Unused, still in the plastic. That’s how you like it, right? Sterile?”

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  Shit. Rochelle planted a smile on her face anyway. She poured herself a glass of iced tea, but held it on her lap. No way was she going to drink it. “Okay, we have so much to discuss tonight.”

  “Do we?” Milo asked.

  “Yes, we do. I think we’re going to stop the tests for a while. Obviously, they cause more problems than I anticipated. Instead, I want to work on your coping mechanisms.”

  “Yee-haw,” he drawled.

  Rochelle should’ve just used a gun. She’d relish shooting him in the face. Come to think of it, she could still do that. She’d noticed he always carried his gun, although she’d asked him to leave it at home during group. Once the others were sedated, she’d just grab his gun and shoot him. Sure, it’d look suspicious if one victim of the fire had a gunshot wound, but Rochelle didn’t plan to stick around for the cops to question her about it.

  For now, she’d ignore Milo’s miserable attitude. “Ozzie, I think we’ll begin with you. How have the visualization and breathing exercises worked? Try the tea. You’ll like it.”

  “Bull-fucking-shit.” Ozzie said. He stared at the glass Buggy gave him, but made no move to drink it. “I can’t even—”

  The doorbell chimed, cutting off Ozzie’s reply. Rochelle frowned. This night was going downhill fast.

  “Maybe it’s Charlie,” Nina said.

  “No. He’s not coming back.”

  “Why? You kill him?” Milo asked.

  Rochelle’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of freaking out. “Buggy, would you be a dear and see who it is? If it’s a salesman or anything like that, tell him we’re not interested.”

  Buggy looked at Milo, who nodded, and then stood. What the hell was that about?

  Rochelle shifted in her chair, sloshing iced tea over the edge of her glass and onto her hand.

  “Are we—cunt-nugget—still talking about me?” Ozzie asked.

  “In a minute.” Rochelle tapped the side of the glass. She heard the front door close, and then a few seconds later, Buggy entered the room.

  A shadow moved behind him. It was a man, but the light behind his head made it impossible for her to make out who it was.

  “Hello, Rebecca,” a familiar voice said.

  Rochelle gripped the glass tightly. She felt it give way beneath the pressure of her fingers, and then a faint stinging sensation followed by cold liquid spilling into her lap.

  “Oh no, love.” The newcomer rushed to her chair. He knelt, picking the pieces of the glass out of her palms and setting them on the coffee table. “You’ve cut yourself. Would someone get me some towels?”

  His hair had turned white, but Eli’s face remained unchanged. She remembered the pale blue eyes, the full lips, that mischievous grin... and the dimple in his right cheek. Rochelle dreaded this day. She had been careful to do all she could to avoid it.

  But Eli found her.

  “She okay?” He asked as he handed a roll of paper towel to Eli.

  Milo. Of course it was Milo. Rochelle couldn’t breathe.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Eli winked. “Is that any way to greet an old friend? You’re shaking. I suppose it is a shock seeing me after so long. Take a deep breath.”

  Rochelle found herself obeying. Eli always made her feel like a helpless child. “You can’t be here.”

  “Rebecca,” Eli blotted the blood on her palm with the towels. His touch was gentle, but his eyes cold. “You’ve been naughty.”

  “Naughty doesn’t cover it,” Milo said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rochelle held her head up.

  “I’m talking about the patients you offed. If you’d confess to murdering at least one of them, we could avoid any nastiness and call it a night.”

  “I haven’t offed anyone.” Rochelle pushed Eli’s hands away and then stood. “And my name is Rochelle.”

  “I don’t doubt you believe that,” Eli set the paper towel on the table. “But Rebecca is still in there somewhere. Wherever she is, I hope she knows I’m proud of her.”

  Rochelle’s chest ached. She felt tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t need your approval.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Eli smiled. “Where is Charlie, love?”

  Rochelle shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “You—whore-shit—said he was in the hospital,” Ozzie said.

  Eli kept his eyes on Rochelle. She wilted under his stare.

  He smiled. “No, he’s not in the hospital. Where is he? If you lie, I’ll know.”

  She wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, when she opened her mouth, the confession leaked out. “He’s in the barn.”

  “Why is he in the barn?” Milo asked. He stood next to Eli. Rochelle was surprised to note Milo was a few inches taller. Eli always seemed larger than life.

  “Rebecca?” Eli prompted.

  “He’s… no.” Rochelle closed her eyes. “Get out of my house. Now.”

  “Buggy and Nina, can I trust you to check the barn?” Milo asked.

  “Sure,” Buggy said.

  “No!” Rochelle opened her eyes. “No one can go out there.”

  “Why is that?” He frowned. “Did you booby-trap it?”

  “What?” The room was spinning. Rochelle was certain she’d vomit.

  “The barn. Is it booby-trapped? Is Charlie tied up out there somewhere?”

  “No.” That wasn’t a lie. Charlie wasn’t tied up and she hadn’t thought of setting any traps. “I just don’t want you to go out there. Have a drink.”

  He chuckled. “A minute ago you wanted us to get out. Make up your mind.”

  “Sit. Have a drink. Eli? Would you like a drink?”

  Eli glanced at the iced tea. “Is that… Oh Rebecca. Did anyone drink the iced tea?”

  Buggy and Nina shook their heads. Ozzie set his glass on the table.

  “Why?” Milo asked.

  Eli lifted the pitcher so the light shone through the base. “See the white bits?”

  He nodded. “Drugs?”

  Eli set the pitcher down again, and looked at Rochelle. “What was the plan?”

  “No plan.”

  “You’re lying. I must insist you tell me, love.”

  Rochelle wasn’t under his control anymore. She worked hard to break the hold Eli had on her, so why were the words on her lips? Why did she feel the urge to spill it all? She clamped her lips together and shook her head.

  “Fine,” Eli said. “I tried the easy way. Now we’re going to have to do this the hard way. The game is over, Rebecca. Finis.”

  A fog clouded Rochelle’s vision. She blinked to clear it, but her brain wasn’t interested in what was happening around her. She was trapped by Eli’s gaze. “Finis?”

  “Yes.” Eli glanced at Milo’s waist. “Finis.”

  Rochelle followed his gaze. She saw the strap of a gun holster beneath Milo’s jacket. He wasn’t supposed to bring his gun to group. Why did he insist on bringing his gun? She looked back at Eli. “Please, Eli. No.”

  “Finis.” He said firmly.

  “What the fuck are you psychos talking about?” Milo stepped in front of Rochelle. “If I go to the barn, am I going to find Charlie’s body?”

  Rochelle looked at his jacket. “Finis.”

  “H
ello,” Milo waved his arms, revealing the gun. “Earth to Rochelle.”

  “Finis,” she whispered and reached for the gun.

  ***

  Rochelle lunged at Milo. He stumbled back, pushing her hands from his sides. As she backed away, he realized she managed to get his gun. He swore and then lunged at her. She was quick, though, and scurried around the other side of the chair.

  “Rochelle,” he said. “Think about this.”

  Fuck. She’d shoot everyone, and with his luck, he’d survive so Captain Cunt could tear him a new one over letting someone steal his gun. First rule of policing: Never give up your fucking gun.

  “Finis.” Eli said again.

  He kept his eyes on Rochelle, but addressed Eli. “What the Christ does finis mean?”

  “The end.” Rochelle said, and lifted the gun to her chin.

  “Fucksakes, don’t do it.” He rushed the chair, pushing it into Rochelle’s gut.

  The gun fired, but then he heard it hit the floor. He blinked. Thank fucking Christ she didn’t blow her head off.

  A heartbeat, then two more, and Nina gasped.

  “Fuck,” Ozzie said.

  “I have to,” Rochelle whispered.

  Before she could try again, he picked the gun up. “Rochelle, you’re under arrest.”

  Eli sighed. “Everyone all right?”

  “Depends on how you’d define “all right” I suppose.” Buggy said. “Because physically, I’m right as rain. Whatever that means. However, I just witnessed a woman who has been my metaphorical rock for many months attempt blow her head off.”

  “She didn’t actually do it,” Nina said.

  “Cunt. Shit. Mmmm… splitting hairs, Nina,” Ozzie said.

  He glanced at Ozzie. “I hope that wasn’t a pun, Oz.”

  “Too soon, shit-guzzler.”

  “Okay, Eli,” Milo said after a moment of awkward silence. “What kind of voodoo did you just work?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. I said no killing. Did I not? I specifically recall saying there was to be no killing more than once.”