When Beth Wakes Up

by Matthew Franks

  “I bet you wish you could turn it off sometimes. Just to escape from it for a while.”

  “Sure, but I can’t. It’s always with me whether I like it or not.”

  “But it doesn’t hurt to pretend.” She reached out and put her hand on mine. “Does it?”

  I withdrew my hand from hers, trying not to act as uncomfortable as I felt. “I promise. I’ll be back before you know it. Will you still be here?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll be at the beach again. Or maybe I’ll be in Paris.”

  She grinned at me. “I guess you’ll just have to find me.”

  After I left her mind and returned to the hospital room, I hesitated to leave for a moment.

  In my experience, once a subject started to seek out distractions, that was typically the time he was closest to a realization. Finding ways to avoid facing the truth tended to serve an underlying need to evade the pain that came with it. Obviously, Beth was quite different from the inmates, but, if history taught me anything, telling me I had kind eyes and touching my hand meant we were on the brink of something. I just needed to be careful getting us there.

  I left her room and asked one of the nurses if she could direct me to a business center.

  She frowned at me as if to say “This ain’t the Four Seasons, buddy.” A head nurse was kind enough to let me use her tiny space behind the receptionist’s desk. I got onto the internet and did a search for “the Highway Killer.” Several options popped up, and I clicked on one near the top that said, “Victims Over Time.”

  At the top of the webpage, a newspaper article from 2008, there were five pictures of women that appeared to be in their middle to late twenties. I thought about Leonard Feister for a moment and wondered if he had looked at the same site before he fabricated his story about being the killer. I read through the piece to discover that three of the victims lived in Louisville and the other two lived in small towns in Ohio. Every one of them was, as Linden latently explained, beaten to death and left in a field off a highway.

  I further investigated to learn that the first victim, Mary Madsen, was killed in 1989, which would’ve placed her in the late sixties as a young child. The next one, Linda Kassi, was murdered two weeks later, indicating a similar time frame for when she was a little girl. The third woman, Ashley Rogers, was found near the Ohio River in March of 1996, making her a child of the seventies. The last two, Macie Lox and Rhonda Sinclair, were killed two years apart in 2006 and 2008. They also both attended “Thomas Frederick Elementary School” in the 1980s, ten years before Beth would attend there for her first year as a kindergartener.

  I looked at the photos of the five women again and pictured the five little girls at Beth’s imaginary playground standing in a row above them. The timeline fit perfectly. Not only that but, on some level, Beth knew them. Whether she had researched them or was somehow connected to them remained to be seen. Whatever the case, it couldn’t have been a coincidence, especially since she’d had such a strong reaction when I mentioned the Highway Killer on the beach.

  Just then my cell phone buzzed. It was Jessica. “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey, stranger,” she said. “It seems like years since I’ve talked to you.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been so caught up in this case, I’ve—”

  “You don’t have to explain. So, what is she like?”

  “Who?”

  She laughed. “The woman in the coma, you goofball. What is she like?”

  “She’s, uh, a nice person, I suppose.”

  “That’s it? Nice?”

  “I don’t know, Jess. She’s been through a lot. I haven’t exactly gotten to know her on a personal level.”

  “Then how have you gotten to know her? I’m sorry. I just miss you. That’s all. You know how I get when you’re gone.”

  “I know, but I’ll be home before you know it. I really think we’re getting closer to finding some answers.”

  “That’s great. I love you. I won’t pester you anymore.”

  “You’re not pestering me. There’s just a lot going on.”

  “I’ll let you go then. Call me when you can.”

  Once when I was six years old, my mom baked an apple pie. When it was it ready, she took it out of the oven and placed it on the counter to cool off before dinner. She left to go to the store, leaving my dad and me alone at the house. While my dad was busy watching TV, I sat in the kitchen, tortured by the enticing aroma of the pie as it sat on the counter. Unable to take it any longer, I took a bite and then haphazardly spread it around to look like I hadn’t. When my mother got home, all she said was hello to me and I immediately confessed. Why? Because women have an uncanny way of making me feel like they already know.

  “She kissed me,” I told Jessica.

  “What?!”

  “One of the first times I went into her mind, I pretended to be her fiancé and she kissed me, thinking I was him.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?!”

  “I was trying to trigger her memory.”

  “Well, it sounds like you triggered something else!”

  “Look, I just thought I should tell you. As soon as she did it, I pulled away.”

  “Jesus, Max. Anything else like that happen?”

  “Um…she may have told me I had kind eyes and touched my hand. But that’s it. I swear.”

  “Does this woman have feelings for you?”

  “Of course not!” I insisted. “She’s been traumatized. Any interest in me is purely an avoidance mechanism. If I were her, I wouldn’t want to relive what happened. I’m sure that when I go back, she’ll have realized she has to or else we’ll never know who attacked her.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Trust me. It was only a momentary lapse of reason. I’m certain she’s forgotten about it.”

  She sighed. “Just solve the case and come home. We need you here too.”

  “How’s Katie?”

  “She’s okay. I think your little pep talk helped.”

  “Good. I love you, Jess. Always and forever.”

  “I love you too, Max. I’ll talk to you later.”

  After I got off the phone, I realized that the receptionist had been eavesdropping. She hurriedly opened a medical chart on her desk and pretended to scan through it. I left the head nurse’s office space and walked back toward Beth’s room. Along the way, I ran into Linden, who was watching a soap opera in the waiting room. It was so out of character for him that I nearly laughed. After reporting my findings to him, I quietly entered Beth’s room and sat down by her side. I focused on her face and projected into her mind.

  When I materialized inside, I was standing in a fancy restaurant. The waiter from the “retirement” hotel passed me holding a tray with a bottle of champagne and two glasses on it. I walked into the main dining area and saw several tables, all of which were candle lit and decorated with long stemmed roses. A couple sat at each table, some of them talking and holding hands. The familiar waiter sat the bottle of champagne down on a table where only one person sat across from an empty chair. It was Beth. She was wearing a long white dress and makeup.

  Her hair looked like she had spent the day at a salon. She saw me, and a violinist appeared beside her and began to play soft, romantic music.

  “There you are,” she said, smiling and waving me toward her. “I was afraid I was going to have to eat alone.”

  “Aw, shit,” I said to myself.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I walked over to the table and sat across from her, knowing full well that I had to be careful about what I said and how I acted. I had some experience with inmates trying to befriend me in dreams so I could enable them but none in the realm of romantic transference. I suppose I should consider it a blessing given the fact I worked in a prison. Nevertheless, I was treading into new territory.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, still smiling.

  “You as well,” I said.

  She lo
oked around and sighed. “Bobby never took me to a place like this. I was lucky if I got Chinese takeout on a Saturday night.”

  “You deserve better.” I knew it was a leading statement but couldn’t stop the part of myself that needed to console. I immediately went to the follow-up. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Maybe you just haven’t met them yet.”

  “Or maybe I have.”

  “Have I showed you a picture of my wife and kids?” I dug into my pocket and willed a photograph of Jessica and Katie to appear in my hand. I took it out and held it out for her to see. “Aren’t they something?”

  She waved it away, refusing to look. “If they’re so special, why aren’t you with them instead of me?”

  “Because I’m here to help you.”

  “You want to help me?” She snapped her fingers and a slow ballad played overhead. “Dance with me.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m married.”

  “Jesus, Max. I asked you to dance, not take your pants off.”

  “Look, Beth. You’re a great person…” I motioned all around us. “But this is just a distraction. I really think we’re getting closer to—”

  “Blah. Blah. Blah. Aren’t you getting tired of talking about the same thing over and over again? I know I am.”

  “I know this must be hard for you.”

  She turned red and picked up an imaginary fork off the table. “I swear to God if you say one more thing like that, I’m going to stab my eye out with this fork.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay. You’re obviously not ready.”

  She placed the fork down on the table and suddenly became pleasant again. “Listen, I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do. That’s one of the reasons I like you so much. Tell you what. One dance and we’ll go right back to the boring business of finding out who tried to kill me. Deal?”

  “Beth, please.”

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, unwilling to budge. Making it even more awkward, she reminded me of Katie in the middle of one of her stubborn teenager mutinies. I found that the only way to get her out of it was to compromise somehow while still getting her to see why her behavior is unacceptable and childish. In Beth’s case, however, all the cards were in her hands.

  “Okay,” I finally said. “One harmless, little dance. But after that, we get back to work. Do I have your word?”

  She held up her hand, palm out. “Girl scout’s honor,” she said.

  She got up and moved to an open area between tables. All the other lights in the imaginary restaurant dimmed, and a spotlight fell exclusively on her. The other patrons turned their full attention to her as if she were a bride about to have her first dance. She motioned me toward her. I sighed and left the comfort of my chair. I joined her on the floor, and she put her arms around my neck. I hesitantly put mine around her waist, careful to not let my hands fall too low.

  I’d always hated dances. When I was in junior high, a friend of mine talked me into going to one. It was in the eighties so the music they played was either hit or miss although usually the latter. I remember hiding behind the punch bowl until a determined eighth grade girl approached me and asked me to dance. Sweating, I walked out to the floor with her and proceeded to make a fool of myself. I continued my uncoordinated streak with Beth as I accidently stepped on her foot.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” she said, her face a little too close to mine. “Do you remember when we kissed on the veranda?”

  “Uh, actually you kissed me because you thought I was Mr. Stevens.”

  She giggled. “Ah, yes. Mr. and Mrs. Stevens. We could always pretend to be them again and see where things take us.”

  I let go of her. “Beth.”

  “Alright, fine,” she said, coaxing me back into our dancing position. “My point was the kiss was nice, no matter who you were pretending to be.”

  We danced a while longer. She eventually put her head on my shoulder, but I kept my hands in the same platonic spot. At one point, I convinced myself I was dancing with my grandmother to preclude even the remotest of inclinations. When the song finally came to an end, I took a deep breath and exhaled. I released my hold on Beth and started to remind her of her promise. Before I could get out the words, she sprung at me and abruptly kissed me on the lips. I instantly pulled away from her.

  “Wow,” she said facetiously. “I must really be disgusting.”

  “It’s not that and you know it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I already told you. I have a family.”

  “But what if you didn’t? Then would you?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not ethical.”

  “Screw ethical.” She paused for a moment and glanced at the imaginary patrons gawking at us from their tables. “Oh, I get it. You want us to go someplace more private?”

  “I didn’t say that. I—”

  She snapped her fingers, and the restaurant promptly changed into the beach. We were at the same spot as last time except it was nighttime and the full moon provided the only illumination. In lieu of the two chairs from before, there was a blanket spread out on the sand with a bottle of wine in an alloy chiller and two glasses beside it. I was taken aback at how quickly she transformed the surroundings. Whereas earlier it was a gradual process, now it was the equivalent of flipping a light switch.

  “Impressed?” she said.

  “I see you’ve been practicing,” I said.

  She moved closer to me and lifted her dress over her head. “Well, I had a good teacher.” She let it fall to the ground.

  “What are you doing?”

  “This is my mind and I can do what I want in it.” She proceeded to take off her shoes. “Right now, I feel like being naked.”

  “This isn’t going to change anything.”

  After removing her shoes, she reached around to unhook her bra. “We’ll see about that.”

  Right as she began to remove the undergarment, I shifted one hundred and eighty degrees. “I’m not playing this game with you.”

  “Then let’s play a different one.” She threw her bra onto the sand by my feet, followed seconds later by her panties. “Turn around.”

  “Beth—”

  “Do it or you’re not welcome in my head anymore.”

  I slowly turned to face her, all the while averting my eyes. “Are you happy?”

  “Now take off your clothes.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  “Fine. I’ll do it for you.” She snapped her fingers.

  I looked down to see that I was nude but in another man’s body. “Are you kidding?” I pointed at the freakishly large penis she’d conjured between my legs. “That’s not even mine!”

  She reached out to touch my face. “Then show me.”

  I withdrew from her and willed myself to be dressed again. “That’s enough.”

  “Aren’t you attracted to me?”

  “Do you want to know the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. When I see you, I see my daughter. I think about how much I want to protect her from the world and that makes me want to help you even more.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re an asshole. You know that?” She stormed off down the beach.

  “Beth, wait.”

  “Just leave me alone!”

  “I was being honest!”

  “Go away, Max! I don’t want you here!”

  Still in the buff, Beth disappeared along the shoreline. Not wanting to be where I wasn’t welcome, I disconnected from her mind. No sooner than I had returned to the hospital room, a nurse entered and went straight to Beth’s vital sign machines. Once my head cleared a little, I saw that her heart rate was slightly elevated. I got up before the nurse could ask me to leave and stepped out into the hallway to find Linden waiting for me.


  “What’d you do this time, Crawford?”

  I shook my head and walked past him. “Told the truth,” I replied.

  “Couldn’t you at least sugar-coat it a little?”

  Ignoring him, I went into the waiting area and sat down in one of the chairs. I shut my eyes, trying to refocus and plan my next move. I had barely had a minute when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Just knowing that it was Jessica and she was going to drill me about Beth, I took my phone out and prepared myself to tell her everything. To my surprise, however, Jessica’s number didn’t show up on the display screen. In its place was a local number that I didn’t recognize.

  Thinking it was a telemarketer, I dismissed the call and put the phone back into my pocket. Linden walked in and handed me a cup of coffee. Without saying a word, he sat across from me. I think he could tell I was spent so he left me alone and turned his attention to the telenovela on the TV. My phone buzzed again. I retrieved it from my pocket and saw that it was the same number. Linden turned his attention away from the boob tube and looked at me curiously. This time, I answered.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Mr. Crawford,” a sobbing voice came through the line.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Allie Martin, Beth’s mother.” She tried to compose herself. “I’m sorry to call you like this, but you were the first person that came to mind.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. What’s wrong, Mrs. Martin?”

  “It’s Edward.” She paused for a moment. “He’s missing.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I debriefed Linden on the situation, and we headed to the Martin house. I hated leaving Beth, but something told me it would be a while before she’d speak to me again. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have been as honest as I was with her. At least not in that moment.

  Oh, well. The past is an unchangeable beast that looms like a thundercloud, and an umbrella is forever out of reach.

  When we arrived at Beth’s childhood home, Mrs. Martin met us on the front porch. She wasn’t as put together as the first time we visited, understandably, but welcomed us with the same cordiality as before. When we entered the house, there was even a silver tray with an empty pitcher and two glasses on it neatly placed in the middle of the coffee table. She noticed the pitcher, let out a sigh, and picked it up.