Method of Madness

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Method of Madness Page 8

by Brad Kelln


  "Don't be stu­pid," he sa­id out lo­ud and re­ac­hed for his pho­ne. "It's pro­bably just the unit." He put the pho­ne to his ear. "Hel­lo."

  A ma­le vo­ice spo­ke, "Oh, I'm sorry, I must ha­ve the wrong num­ber." Click.

  Dr. Cla­ric pul­led the pho­ne away and sta­red at the re­ce­iver. Now they know, he tho­ught. Fuck. They know who I am.

  ***

  No vans on the stre­et to­day, Dr. Cla­ric tho­ught as he pul­led in­to his dri­ve­way af­ter le­aving work a bit early. That's a re­li­ef. May­be they de­ci­ded not to zap me af­ter all. He la­ug­hed.

  He tur­ned the ig­ni­ti­on off and re­ac­hed in­to the back se­at for his le­at­her bri­ef­ca­se.

  As he wal­ked to the steps he flip­ped thro­ugh keys to find the one for the ho­use. He ca­me to a stop at the do­or and fo­und the right key. When he slid the key in­to the de­ad­bolt, the do­or pus­hed ope­ned easily. His he­art jum­ped.

  Just re­lax, he tri­ed to tell him­self. This do­esn't me­an anyt­hing. May­be I just for­got to shut the do­or tightly this mor­ning.

  He ga­ve the do­or anot­her, stron­ger push and let it swing in un­til it ca­me to a rest aga­inst the clo­set. He lo­oked down the hal­lway to­wards the kitc­hen. The­re we­re no ob­vi­o­us signs of a bre­ak and en­ter. He step­ped thro­ugh the do­or­way and re­mo­ved his key from the de­ad­bolt.

  "Hel­lo," he cal­led out and then im­me­di­ately felt fo­olish. If the­re's a burg­lar in he­re, they wo­uldn't just ans­wer me.

  "I've got a shot­gun and a big dog with ra­bi­es!" He smi­led. Don't be stu­pid, Bri­an.

  He set the bri­ef­ca­se down and hung the keys on a ho­ok be­si­de the do­or.

  He step­ped for­ward and pe­ered in­to the li­ving ro­om. It was empty, no sign of da­ma­ge or theft. He kept mo­ving thro­ugh to the kitc­hen. Not­hing se­emed dis­tur­bed, alt­ho­ugh Dr. Cla­ric wasn't exactly su­re what he sho­uld be lo­oking for.

  He to­ok a mug out of the cup­bo­ard and po­ured a glass of oran­ge pop. He only drank oran­ge pop be­ca­use he felt that it had so­me nut­ri­ti­onal va­lue, may­be a drop of oran­ge ju­ice. The ot­her stuff was just su­gar and caf­fe­ine.

  He ope­ned the fre­ezer and bro­ke three cu­bes of ice out of the tray, drop­ping them one by one in­to his drink. He fo­und him­self temp­ted to go thro­ugh the ho­use and check every ro­om, but he re­fu­sed to be pa­ra­no­id. He re­sol­ved to just re­lax and put everyt­hing out of his mind. He didn't li­ke fe­eling rat­tled, and he felt li­ke he'd ma­de an ass out of him­self at Cat­he­ri­ne's ro­unds this mor­ning. And just to add fu­el to the fi­re of his stu­pi­dity, he'd cal­led the damn pho­ne num­ber on the Web si­te.

  Ri­di­cu­lo­us, he tho­ught. But what exactly did I ex­pect? Do­ing stuff li­ke that is just ma­king it wor­se.

  He to­ok a sip of his drink and set it on the cof­fee tab­le.

  But who cal­led the mo­ment I hung up the pho­ne?

  Dr. Cla­ric re­ac­hed for the re­mo­te cont­rol on top of the TV but it wasn't the­re. He lo­oked back at the co­uch. No re­mo­te. He lo­oked back at the TV. He de­fi­ni­tely re­mem­be­red le­aving the re­mo­te on top of the TV be­fo­re le­aving for work that mor­ning.

  He sat down on the co­uch and scan­ned the ro­om. The­re! Dr. Cla­ric went over to the far cor­ner of the ro­om. The re­mo­te was on the end tab­le, un­der the lamp. He sho­ok his he­ad. How'd it get the­re? I don't sit anyw­he­re ne­ar that end tab­le when I watch TV.

  Dr. Cla­ric de­ci­ded it was ti­me to check the rest of the ho­use.

  He went down the hall to his bed­ro­om, step­ped thro­ugh the do­or­way and flic­ked on the light. Everyt­hing was in or­der. He wan­de­red aro­und the ro­om, ca­re­ful­ly ins­pec­ting the dres­ser, the bed­si­de tab­le, the bed. He ope­ned the clo­set and lo­oked in, still not kno­wing what exactly he was lo­oking for: so­met­hing out of pla­ce, mis­sing? May­be so­met­hing new, so­met­hing he'd ne­ver se­en be­fo­re?

  This is crazy. I sho­uldn't be do­ing this to myself.

  Dr. Cla­ric left his bed­ro­om and mo­ved ac­ross the hall to his small of­fi­ce. It was a con­ver­ted bed­ro­om with a com­pu­ter and a fi­ling ca­bi­net. He oc­ca- si­onal­ly used the com­pu­ter but ot­her­wi­se was ra­rely in this ro­om. He tur­ned to le­ave but so­met­hing ca­ught his eye.

  A light was blin­king on the com­pu­ter mo­ni­tor. He step­ped clo­ser and lo­oked. The gre­en light on the po­wer but­ton was blin­king. He'd al­most mis­sed it.

  What the hell? He lo­oked at his com­pu­ter to­wer and it was off. He lo­oked back at the mo­ni­tor. Has this light al­ways blin­ked? He put a hand on top of the mo­ni­tor and it was co­ol to the to­uch. May­be I just for­got to turn it off, but I ha­ven't be­en in this ro­om in ages. Damn!

  He tur­ned off the scre­en and left the ro­om, he­ading to the gu­est ro­om. He wasn't su­re he'd re­mem­ber whe­re things had be­en left or what was in the ro­om any­way, but everyt­hing se­emed okay.

  The ba­se­ment!

  The ba­se­ment was un­fi­nis­hed: just a conc­re­te flo­or, wo­oden be­ams and a few win­dows that we­re dirty and let in very lit­tle light. He kept his was­her and dryer in the back.

  Dr. Cla­ric pe­ered down the ste­ep sta­irs, cur­sing him­self for not ha­ving the light switch at the top fi­xed. The lights in the sta­ir­well had a switch at the top and anot­her at the.bot­tom. Fi­xing the top switch had be­en on his "to do" list for months. It hadn't se­emed im­por­tant, un­til now.

  The ba­se­ment was dark. He to­ok a step down and held tightly on­to the ra­iling. You're wor­king yo­ur­self up for not­hing, he tri­ed to con­vin­ce him­self.

  Half­way down the sta­irs he pe­ered in­to the dark ro­om but co­uld only ma­ke out sha­dows. He tho­ught he co­uld see. the big gar­ba­ge pa­il whe­re he kept empty bot­tles and cans and he co­uld cle­arly see his mo­un­ta­in bi­ke, but that was abo­ut it.

  Dr. Cla­ric to­ok anot­her step and a grin­ding, his­sing no­ise exp­lo­ded thro­ugh the ba­se­ment. His fo­ot slip­ped out from un­der him and as he slid down a few sta­irs, he grab­bed for the ra­iling to bre­ak his fall. He lo­oked aro­und wildly as he tri­ed to iden­tify the shrill no­ise, then he re­ali­zed it was the fur­na­ce.

  Fe­eling a lit­tle fo­olish abo­ut be­ing so jumpy he sto­od and step­ped con­fi­dently down to the bot­tom of the sta­irs. He felt along the wall, fo­und the switch and tur­ned it on. Light flo­oded the ro­om and he let out a sigh of re­li­ef. He slowly scan­ned the ba­se­ment. Not­hing lo­oked out of the or­di­nary.

  Dr. Cla­ric de­ci­ded to be tho­ro­ugh and ta­ke a qu­ick walk aro­und. He mo­ved ac­ross the ro­om to the was­hing mac­hi­ne. He exa­mi­ned the so­ap, the la­undry bas­ket, the was­her and dryer, but fo­und not­hing sus­pi­ci­o­us. He he­aded to­wards the bo­xes stac­ked up in the cor­ner. What the hell?

  In the cor­ner of the ro­om he kept a num­ber of sto­ra­ge bo­xes stac­ked in ne­at co­lumns. Each box was la­bel­led: "Christ­mas De­co­ra­ti­ons," "Clot­hes,"

  "Ma­ga­zi­nes." One box lay on its si­de with the con­tents spil­led on­to the flo­or. He cro­uc­hed down be­si­de it. The box lo­oked li­ke it had be­en knoc­ked off the top of the pi­le and left the­re. He lo­oked ca­re­ful­ly at the clot­hes. The­re we­re no ob­vi­o­us signs of dust or dirt on them, which me­ant they hadn't be­en the­re long. He got up and lo­oked at the ot­her bo­xes. The­re was a box sit­ting by it­self on the ot­her si­de of the stacks. It was la­bel­led "Old No­tes" and con- ta­ined as­sign­ments and mis­cel­la­ne­o­us items from his gra­du­ate stu­dent days. One of the flaps on the box was up, which was odd be­ca­use Dr. Cla­ric al­ways fol­ded the flaps down when he put them away. He bent to l
ift the ot­her flaps and lo­ok in­si­de. He didn't even re­mem­ber exactly what was in this box. He co­uldn't re­mem­ber the last ti­me he'd lo­oked in it.

  Dr. Cla­ric sto­od and put his hands on his hips. He sta­red at the bo­xes for so­me ti­me, trying to put things in pers­pec­ti­ve, trying to stay calm. Ne­vert­he­less he co­uld fe­el him­self fil­ling with an­ger, frust­ra­ti­on and fe­ar. Don't do this to yo­ur­self. The­re's got to be a re­aso­nab­le exp­la­na­ti­on.

  He sho­ok his he­ad. It was no use trying to con­vin­ce him­self ot­her­wi­se he knew the­re wasn't a re­aso­nab­le exp­la­na­ti­on. He knew he al­ways loc­ked his front do­or, that he had left the re­mo­te cont­rol on top of the TV. He knew he wo­uldn't ha­ve left the com­pu­ter mo­ni­tor on, and the­re was no way he wo­uld ever le­ave his sto­ra­ge bo­xes in this sta­te.

  Dr. Cla­ric was le­aning over to shut the "No­tes" box when the pho­ne rang. He pa­used and wa­ited for it to ring aga­in. It did. He ran up the sta­irs and re­ac­hed the pho­ne on the fo­urth ring, just as the ans­we­ring mac­hi­ne cut in.

  "Hel­lo," he sa­id bre­ath­les­sly.

  Click.

  He co­uldn't ta­ke the re­ce­iver away from his ear. He kept lis­te­ning to the de­ad air, ho­ping that so­me­how an ans­wer wo­uld co­me to him and exp­la­in what was go­ing on.

  He slowly lo­we­red the re­ce­iver back to the crad­le and drop­ped it in­to pla­ce. He tur­ned away from the pho­ne and it rang aga­in.

  He spun back aro­und and grab­bed the re­ce­iver. "Don't fuck with me!" he scre­amed and slam­med the pho­ne back down.

  Ne­ar hyste­ri­cal, Dr. Cla­ric ran to his front do­or and swung it open. He sta­red out on­to the stre­et, lo­oking for the whi­te van, but it wasn't ac­ross the stre­et. His eyes se­arc­hed fran­ti­cal­ly up and down the stre­et when he saw a lar­ge ve­hic­le just tur­ning the cor­ner. That's the van, he told him­self. It has to be. He ran down his front steps and out to the stre­et. The van was just tur­ning the cor­ner.

  "YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" he sho­uted, wa­ving his fist.

  THIRTEEN

  A ni­ne ye­ar old had be­en se­xu­al­ly mo­les­ted be­hind Mic Mac Mall in Dart­mo­uth. The vic­tim had be­en lu­red out of The Bay and ta­ken ac­ross the par­king lot to a ne­arby pri­va­te park at an apart­ment comp­lex. The boy co­uld only gi­ve a par­ti­al desc­rip­ti­on of the sus­pect, pro­bably be­ca­use he'd be­en sca­red out of his mind. The of­fen­der told the boy his who­le fa­mily wo­uld be mur­de­red if he "squ­e­aled."

  Ser­ge­ant Wa was he­ading up the in­ves­ti­ga­ti­on. So­me fo­ot­work had tur­ned up a co­up­le of wit­ness ac­co­unts of a tall, be­ar­ded man ne­ar the lib­rary on the sa­me day of the at­tack. Ot­hers re­por­ted a be­at-up sta­ti­on wa­gon. The re­ports only con­fir­med what was sus­pec­ted any­way the as­sa­ult was most li­kely the work of a re­cently pa­rol­led sex of­fen­der from the At­lan­tic Cor­rec­ti­onal Ins­ti­tu­te in New Bruns­wick: Terry Mes­si­er. He'd only ser­ved eigh­te­en months of his fo­ur-ye­ar sen­ten­ce for con­vic­ti­ons of se­xu­al in­ter­fe­ren­ce, in­vi­ta­ti­on to se­xu­al to­uc­hing and se­xu­al as­sa­ult. Even tho­ugh he'd be­en di­ag­no­sed as an exc­lu­si­ve ho­mo­se­xu­al pe­dop­hi­le-the most dif­fi­cult type of pe­dop­hi­le to tre­at and the type most li­kely to re-offend he'd res­pon­ded well to tre­at­ment and was con­si­de­red an "accep­tab­le risk" for com­mu­nity re­le­ase.

  Wa was se­ated in a small, spar­sely fur­nis­hed ro­om. A sing­le mic­rop­ho­ne sat in the cent­re of the me­tal tab­le. A lar­ge two-way mir­ror was ins­tal­led in one wall and a small vi­deo ca­me­ra was vi­sib­le in the cor­ner ne­ar the ce­iling. Ac­ross from Wa sat Terry Mes­si­er. He was a tall, awk­ward lo­oking man with a thick, un­kempt be­ard, who emit­ted a slight smell of body odo­ur. The idea of this man to­uc­hing child­ren ma­de Wa sick to his sto­mach.

  "So Mr. Mes­si­er, can you tell me what you've be­en up to sin­ce yo­ur re­le­ase from pri­son?"

  "I 'ad not be­en do­ing any­ting. I at­tend tre­at­ment and do what de docs tell me," he sa­id in a thick French-Ca­na­di­an ac­cent.

  "How's that tre­at­ment go­ing for you?"

  "Oh, it is fi­ne. I gu­ess de­re's lots to know, eh? I want to know all dis tings."

  "All what things?"

  "Abo­ut, 'ow you say, my cycle." He ma­de a cir­cu­lar mo­ti­on in the air with his fin­ger. "So dat I am ne­ver of­fend any­mo­re."

  Wa knew that iden­tif­ying an of­fen­se cycle was one of the fun­da­men­tal com­po­nents of tre­at­ment for sex of­fen­ders.

  "You're pretty con­cer­ned abo­ut not of­fen­ding, then."

  "Oh yes, cer­ta­ine­ment"

  Wa shif­ted in his se­at, le­aning for­ward to mo­re clo­sely exa­mi­ne Mes­si­er.

  "What we­re you do­ing two days ago, Mon­day, at abo­ut three in the af­ter­no­on? '

  "Oh I see. Why it is dat you ask?"

  "Just ans­wer the qu­es­ti­on."

  "I link it is dat I do not 'ave to ans­wer de­se qu­es­ti­on."

  "Got so­met­hing to hi­de, Terry?"

  "Cer­ta­inly not. I am, 'ow you say, re­for­med."

  "Don't rack with me. This isn't a joke."

  "Oh, but I tink it is. In fact, I tink you are a joke. I tink you an dis who­le de­part­mon is a joke. You pick de first na­me dat de com­pu­ter spit at you and you bring me in. I tink dis is a joke and I le­ave now." He sto­od and pus­hed his cha­ir back.

  "Sit the fuck down," Wa bar­ked wit­ho­ut even lo­oking up at him.

  Mes­si­er fro­ze, un­cer­ta­in abo­ut his next mo­ve. He was re­aso­nably su­re the po­li­ce had no right to hold him, or even qu­es­ti­on him, wit­ho­ut char­ging him.

  "I sa­id sit yo­ur fag­got ass down," Wa grumb­led in a low, even vo­ice.

  "You 'ave no right You can­not spe­ak at me dis way."

  "Sit."

  "Non"

  Wa lo­oked up slowly. His he­ad ac­hed and he was ti­red. He hadn't se­en his own child­ren in al­most a month. He co­uldn't be­ar the tho­ught of a conf­ron­ta­ti­on with a sus­pect, es­pe­ci­al­ly a sus­pect as dis­tas­te­ful as Terry Mes­si­er.

  "You sit down or I'll-" Wa be­gan aga­in but stop­ped sud­denly. The man stan­ding ac­ross from him had sud­denly chan­ged. Wa was now lo­oking at a thin, ga­unt, pasty in­di­vi­du­al in dis­he­vel­led clot­hes. He had a yel­lo­wed grin and his fa­ce was dis­fi­gu­red, the flesh han­ging slack from his fa­ce. At a glan­ce it still co­uld ha­ve be­en Terry Mes­si­er, but the man stan­ding in front of Wa didn't ha­ve a be­ard.

  "What the fuck?" Wa scre­amed and jum­ped to his fe­et with such for­ce that his cha­ir skid­ded back in­to the wall.

  Mes­si­er lo­oked to­wards the do­or. He didn't un­ders­tand what was hap- pe­ning but he tho­ught he sho­uld le­ave. He won­de­red why the­re we­ren't ot­her cops co­ming in­to the ro­om, ta­king cont­rol of this si­tu­ati­on.

  "Edward Car­ter?" Wa scre­amed as the man le­aned on the tab­le and sne­ered at him.

  Wa, you ne­ver knew, did you? It was ne­ver you. It was just me. I used you. I used all of you. It was in Qum­ran that I fo­und myself.

  "What the fuck are you tal­king abo­ut?"

  The man le­aned furt­her over the tab­le un­til he was spe­aking di­rectly in­to Wa's fa­ce. You, yo­ur li­fe, yo­ur wi­fe and kids. So­on they will be mi­ne. All that is ta­in­ted co­mes to me. Mo­re and mo­re and mo­re.

  "You stay the rack away from them. You stay the fuck away from me!"

  I think I'd li­ke to do so­me kids. I sho­uld start with yo­urs. The man pa­used and then ad­ded, If you ha­ven't al­re­ady fuc­ked them.

  "Shut yo­ur fuc­kin' mo­uth," Wa bar�
�ked. His who­le body was sha­king in fury.

  "What is go­ing on? You are crazy!" Mes­si­er sa­id, bac­king to­wards the wall.

  "You stay away from my kids!" Wa scre­amed and le­apt ac­ross the tab­le, tack­ling him aro­und the chest. The two men drop­ped to the gro­und with Wa lan­ding he­avily on top. He felt the hard bo­nes of a man's fa­ce me­eting his right hand as his left hand tightly held his neck. So­on he felt hot flu­id co­at his knuck­les and every blow sent drop­lets of blo­od out in all di­rec­ti­ons.

  Wit­ho­ut any war­ning so­me­one tack­led Wa from the si­de. He went spraw­ling out on the flo­or and re­cog­ni­zed Ser­ge­ant And­rew Ste­ven­son on top of him.

  "What the fuck are you do­ing, Wa?"

  Wa strug­gled aga­inst Ste­ven­son and then lay still. He he­ard anot­her vo­ice yell, "Get an am­bu­lan­ce right now!"

  "It's all on ta­pe. You can't do that," Ste­ven­son was sa­ying, but Mitc­hell

  Wa co­uldn't he­ar him. His he­ad had rol­led to the si­de and he was lo­oking at the blo­ody, be­ar­ded fa­ce of Terry Mes­si­er.

  The­re was no Ed­ward Car­ter. The­re ne­ver was.

  FOURTEEN

  Max watc­hed Cat­he­ri­ne Mer­cer re­turn from the non-con­tact vi­si­ting area. His eyes dar­ted back and forth lo­oking for staff, co-cli­ents, pro­bably even for de­mons. He wan­ted to talk to Cat­he­ri­ne aga­in. He ne­eded to talk to her aga­in. He un­ders­to­od her pa­in.

  Cat­he­ri­ne slo­wed as she saw him.

  "Who we­re you tal­king to?" he his­sed.

  She al­most smi­led. Max was odd but harm­less and pro­bably the ni­cest per­son she'd met at the Ma­xi­mum Se­cu­rity Psychi­at­ric Cent­re. "Just the pas­tor from my church."

  "You won't ever con­vin­ce any of them," he whis­pe­red. "If they ever to­ok us se­ri­o­usly they'd be out of work. They ne­ed men­tal pa­ti­ents in or­der to ke­ep the­ir jobs."

  She nod­ded with re­luc­tan­ce. "I know, but I ne­ed to talk to so­me­one. I just ha­ve to…" Her vo­ice fa­ded away.

 

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