Текст книги "An Evil Mind"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Calmly Taylor crossed her right leg over her left one and waited.

Lucien began.

‘What so many seem to fail to understand, Agent Taylor, is that there’s a huge learning curve when it comes to becoming a man like me. I’ve had to evolve, adapt, improvise and become more resourceful throughout the years.’ He gave them a quick shrug. ‘But I always knew I would have to. Right from the start I wanted to try different things . . . different methods . . . different approaches, and though death is universal, essentially every victim has to be handled differently.’ Lucien made it sound as if killing was nothing more than a simple lab experiment. ‘But someone like me will always face one huge problem.’

‘And that is?’ Taylor asked, her interest measured.

Lucien smiled at her humorlessly.

‘Well, while you have countless resources and teams of agents and officers working around the clock to catch criminals, Agent Taylor, people like me are lone souls. My resources were very limited. Everything I had to rely on was in my head.’ He stared Taylor down coldly, still ignoring Hunter’s gaze. ‘I’m sure you are aware that not so long ago, the FBI published a study showing that at any one time there are at least five hundred serial killers loose in the USA.’ He chuckled. ‘Astonishing, isn’t it? People like me are a lot less rare than what many might believe. I’ve encountered several other murderers throughout the years. People who want to torture and kill for no reason other than pure pleasure. People who hear voices, or think they do, telling them to go out and kill. People who believe they are doing some divine work on earth, ridding God’s creation from sinners, or whatever. Or people who simply want to give their darkest desires wings. Some of them want to learn. They want to find someone who’d teach them. Someone like me.’

Lucien gave Hunter and Taylor a few seconds to fully savor the implications of what he’d said.

‘If I wanted to take on an apprentice, do you really think it would take me long to find one? All I would have to do is search the streets of any major city in this great country of ours.’ He spread his arms wide as if wanting to embrace the world. ‘The streets of America are overflowing with the next Ted Bundy, the next John Wayne Gacy, the next Lucien Folter.’

As outrageous as the boastful claim sounded, Hunter knew Lucien was right.

‘We could even have a talent show to search for America’s next Superstar Serial Killer.’ Lucien pulled a face as if he were seriously considering it. ‘I should actually suggest that to some cable TV channels. And it wouldn’t surprise me if one did consider such a show, because one thing is for sure – they would have a bigger audience than most of their other shit.’

Memories of Hunter’s latest investigation with the LAPD exploded in his mind like fireworks – a serial killer who had created his own reality Internet murder show. And just like Lucien had suggested, the audience logged in to watch it in droves.

Lucien stood up, grabbed the plastic cup from the small metal table, walked over to the washing basin in the corner, and poured himself some water before returning to the edge of the bed.

‘But returning to your question, Agent Taylor,’ Lucien continued. ‘I didn’t always disposed of my bodies in the same way.’ He had a sip of his water.

‘Susan,’ Hunter said, breaking his silence. ‘You said she was your first victim.’

Lucien’s attention turned to Hunter.

‘I knew you’d want to start with her, Robert. Not only because she was a friend, but also because you’re right. I did tell you that she was my first one. And that really is the perfect place to start, isn’t it?’ He took a deep breath and the look in his eyes changed, as if he weren’t bound by the walls around him anymore. As if the memory and the images were so vivid he could touch them. ‘So let me tell you how it all began.’

Forty

Palo Alto, California.

Twenty-five years earlier.

‘So, are you really going to go traveling?’ Lucien asked, placing a new round of drinks on the table.

Susan Richards nodded. ‘I sure am.’

Lucien and Susan had both graduated in psychology from Stanford University just a week ago, and were still flying high on their achievement. They’d been celebrating every night since.

‘Before I have to start job-hunting,’ Susan said, reaching for her drink – a double Jack Daniel’s and Coke. ‘I want to take a little time for myself, you know? Visit some different places. Maybe even take a trip to Europe. I always wanted to go there.’

Lucien laughed. ‘Job hunting? Have you gone mad? We just graduated from Stanford, Susan, which is the top psychology university in the country. If you decide not to start your own, practices from all over will be hunting you.’

‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ Susan asked. ‘Start your own practice?’

‘Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve been giving it a little thought lately, and I think that I might do the same as Robert.’

‘PhD?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it, yeah. What do you think?’

‘Yeah, if that’s what you really want, go for it, Lucien.’

Lucien tilted his head to one side and shrugged at the same time. ‘I just might.’

‘Talking about Robert,’ Susan said, adjusting herself in her seat, ‘it’s a pity that he had to go back to LA today.’

Young Robert Hunter had been there for their graduation ceremony and for the first three nights of their week-long party spree, but he had taken the bus back to Los Angeles that morning to spend a week with his father, before he had to go back to Palo Alto to start his summer job.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Lucien replied, sipping his new cocktail.

They were sitting at The Rocker Club in Crescent Park, on the north side of Palo Alto. It was their favorite lounge – the staff were friendly, the booze was cheap, the crowd was usually young and up for a good time, and the music was rocking and upbeat.

‘He does miss his father quite a bit,’ Lucien added. ‘It’s the only family he’s got left.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Susan said. ‘His mother passed away when he was very young, didn’t she?’

Lucien nodded. ‘I think he was about seven or eight, but he never really talks about it. Even when he’s a little drunk, Robert still manages to avoid the subject. I think that there’s more to it than just standard trauma of losing a parent when young, you know?’

Susan paused halfway through sipping her drink. ‘Oh, please don’t.’

‘What?’

‘Please tell me that you’re not going to be one of those dopey psychology graduates who can barely have a conversation with someone without psychoanalyzing them, Lucien. Especially your friends.’

‘I . . .’ Lucien shook his head with a half-embarrassed smile on his lips. ‘I wasn’t psychoanalyzing Robert.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘No, I wasn’t. I was just saying that we’ve shared the same tiny dorm room for four years. He’s an odd person. Brightest guy I’ve ever met, but odd nonetheless, and I think that his mother’s death might go a little deeper than he lets on.’

‘Oh, really?’ Susan said, putting her drink down on the table and pulling a face. ‘Like what, for example, Doctor Lucien? Let’s hear your theory.’

‘I’m not a doctor, and I don’t have a theory,’ Lucien replied, pulling a face of his own. ‘I was just saying . . .’ He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Look, never mind. I’m not even sure why we’re talking about this. We’re here to party and celebrate.’ He reached for his drink. ‘So let’s party and celebrate.’

Susan raised her glass. ‘Yeah, I’ll drink to that.’

Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child of Mine’ started playing through the speakers. Lucien finished his cocktail in two big gulps.

‘C’mon, let’s go dance,’ he said, getting to his feet.

‘But . . .’ Susan pointed at her drink.

‘Drink it down, girl . . . rock and roll style,’ Lucien replied, urging her with a series of hand movements. ‘C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.’

Susan gulped her drink down, took Lucien’s hand and allowed him to drag her to the dance floor.

A couple of hours and several drinks later they were both ready to leave. Susan looked to be really drunk, while Lucien looked in much better shape.

‘I think we should leave your car here and take a cab,’ Susan said. Her words were starting to skid into each other. ‘You can pick it up tomorrow sometime.’

‘Nah,’ Lucien came back. ‘I’m still good. I can drive.’

‘No, you can’t. You drank just as much as me, and I . . . am . . . wasted.’

‘Yeah, but I was drinking cocktails, not double shots of JD and Coke. You know the cocktails here are mainly juice with a splash of booze. I could drink them all night and still be OK to drive home.’

Susan paused and regarded Lucien for a long instant. He did look quite steady on his feet, and he was right, the cocktails at the Rocker Bar weren’t very strong.

‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’

‘Positive.’

Susan shrugged. ‘OK then, but you’re driving slowly, you hear? I’m going to keep my eye on you.’ She made a V with her index and middle fingers, pointed at her eyes, and then slowly moved her hand in the direction of Lucien’s.

‘Ten-four, ma’am,’ Lucien said, giving her a military salute.

Lucien had parked down the road, just around the corner. At that time in the morning, the street looked deserted.

‘Buckle up,’ he said, taking the driver’s seat. ‘It’s the law.’ He smiled.

‘Says the man who had a truckload of cocktails before taking the wheel,’ Susan joked, struggling with the seatbelt.

Lucien waited, giving her the look.

‘I’m trying, all right?’ she said, a little flustered. ‘I can’t find the goddamn hole.’

‘Here, let me help you.’ Lucien leaned over, grabbed her seatbelt buckle, and quickly slid it into its lock. Then, with no warning, he moved a little closer and kissed her full on the lips.

Susan pulled back, surprised. ‘Lucien, what are you doing?’ It looked like she had gone sober all of a sudden.

‘What do you think I was doing?’

A very awkward few seconds flew by.

‘Lucien . . . I’m . . . very sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression tonight, or any other night. You’re a fantastic person, a really good friend, and I get along with you great, but . . .’

‘But you don’t have those kind of feelings for me.’ Lucien finished Susan’s sentence for her. ‘Is that what you were about to say?’

Susan just stared at him.

‘What if instead of me being the one sitting here, it were Robert?’

Susan was taken aback by the question.

‘I bet you wouldn’t pull back like you did. I bet you’d be all over him like a two-dollar whore. Your clothes would probably be gone, and you’d be sitting on his lap, undoing his belt with the utmost urgency.’

‘Lucien, what the hell is going on? It’s like I don’t even know you right now.’

Lucien’s eyes went stone cold, as if all the life and emotion had been sucked out of them.

‘And what makes you think you knew me at all?’

The arctic tone of Lucien’s words made Susan shiver. She was still struggling to understand what was happening when Lucien exploded into action, violently launching his body forward, and using his left hand to pin Susan’s head against the passenger window.

Lucien hadn’t fastened his seatbelt, which gave him a lot more freedom of movement.

Susan tried to scream, but Lucien rapidly slid his hand over her mouth, muffling whatever sounds came out of it. With his right hand, he opened the small compartment that sat between the two front seats and reached inside.

Susan grabbed at Lucien’s left hand and tried to push it away . . . tried to free her mouth . . . her head, but even if she’d been sober, he’d still be way too strong for her.

‘It’s OK, Susan,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’

With incredible speed, Lucien’s right hand shot toward Susan’s face. She felt something prick the side of her neck, and in that instant their eyes met.

Hers full of fear.

His full of evil.

Forty-One

Lucien recounted the events that took place that night with the same enthusiasm as someone recollecting what he’d had for breakfast. All the while his eyes were locked on Hunter.

Hunter tried his best to remain impassive, but hearing Lucien’s account of how he had subdued Susan had started to slowly tighten a knot in his throat. He shifted his weight in his chair, but never once broke eye contact with Lucien.

Lucien paused, had another sip of his water, and said nothing else.

Everyone waited.

Silence.

‘So you drugged her,’ Taylor said.

Lucien gave her an unenthusiastic smile. ‘I injected her with Propofol.’

Taylor glanced at Hunter.

‘It’s a fast-acting general anesthetic,’ Lucien clarified. ‘It’s incredible what you can get your hands on when you manage to get access to the medical school building at Stanford.’

‘So what happened next?’ Taylor asked. ‘Where did you take her? What did you do?’

‘No, no, no,’ Lucien said with a slight shake of the head. ‘It’s my turn to ask a question. That was the agreement, was it not? So far, this “question game” has been very one-sided.’

‘Fair enough,’ Taylor agreed. ‘Tell us what happened next and then ask your question.’

‘No deal. It’s my turn now. Time to finally feed my curiosity.’ Lucien massaged the back of his neck for a moment before looking back at Hunter. ‘Tell me about when you were a kid, Robert. Tell me about your mother.’

Hunter’s jaw tightened.

Taylor looked a little confused.

‘Quid pro quo,’ Lucien said. ‘You as cops, or profilers, or federal agents, or whatever, are always looking to try to understand what makes people like me tick, isn’t that right? You’re always trying to figure out how the mind of a ruthless killer works. How can a human being have such disregard for another human life? How can someone become a monster like me?’ Lucien delivered every word in a steady, mono-sounding rhythm. ‘Well, on the other hand, a monster like me would also like to know what makes people like you tick. The heroes of society . . . the best of the best . . . the ones who’d risk their lives for people they don’t even know.’ He paused for effect. ‘You want to understand me. I want to understand you. It’s as simple as that. And as Freud would tell you, Agent Taylor, if you want to delve deep into someone’s psyche, if you want to understand the person they became, the best place to start is with their childhood and their relationship with their mother and father. Isn’t that right, Robert?’

Hunter said nothing.

Lucien slowly cracked every knuckle on both of his hands. The creepy, bone-creaking sound reverberated against the walls in his cell.

‘So, Robert, please indulge me in a twenty-five-year-old curiosity of mine, will you?’

‘I don’t think so, Lucien,’ Hunter said, his voice as serene as a priest’s in a confessional.

‘Oh, but I do, Robert,’ Lucien replied in the same peaceful tone. ‘I really do. Because if you want to know any more about what happened to Susan, including where you could find her remains, you will indulge me.’

The knot in Hunter’s throat got a little tighter.

‘Tell me what happened, Robert? How did your mother die?’

Silence.

‘And please don’t lie to me, Robert, because I can assure you that I’ll know if you do.’

Forty-Two

For a moment Hunter’s memory flashed back to Susan Richards’ parents. He and Lucien had met them a couple of times when they’d made the trip from Nevada to Stanford to visit their daughter. They were a very sweet couple. Hunter couldn’t remember their names, but he remembered how thrilled and proud they were of Susan for being accepted into such a prestigious university. She was the first person in either of their families to have ever gone to college.

Just like Hunter’s parents, Susan’s mother and father had come from very poor backgrounds, and neither of them had been able to finish high school, having to drop out before their freshmen year and find jobs of their own to help their families. When Susan was born, they’d promised themselves that they would do whatever it took to offer their daughter a better chance at life than the ones they had. When they started saving for her college fund, Susan was only three months old.

According to the law in the USA, death in absentia, or presumption of death, occurs when a person has been missing from home and has not been heard from for seven years or more, though the amount of years may vary slightly from state to state. Despite what the law says, in the absence of remains or any concrete proof, Hunter was sure that if Susan Richards’ parents were still alive, they’d still be holding on to a sliver of hope. The least he could do was give them some closure, and the chance to bury their daughter with dignity.

‘My mother died of cancer when I was seven years old,’ Hunter said. He still looked pretty relaxed in his seat.

Lucien smiled triumphantly. ‘Yes, that much I already know, Robert. What type of cancer?’

‘Glioblastoma multiforme.’

‘The most aggressive type of primary brain cancer,’ Lucien said, his voice emotionless. ‘That must’ve been a tough blow. How fast did it develop?’

‘Fast enough,’ Hunter said. ‘Doctors found it too late. Within three months of the diagnosis she passed away.’

It was Taylor’s turn to shift her weight in her chair.

‘Did she suffer?’ Lucien asked.

Hunter’s jaw tightened again.

Lucien leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and very subtly started rubbing his hands against each other.

‘Tell me, Robert.’ The next four words were delivered slowly, with a pause between each of them. ‘Did your mother suffer? Did she scream in pain at night? Did she go from being the strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones? Did she beg for death?’

Hunter could see that Lucien had switched his game, at least for the time being. He wasn’t interested in getting under Taylor’s skin anymore. Today, Hunter was his target. And Lucien was doing a damn good job.

‘Yes,’ Hunter replied.

‘Yes?’ Lucien said. ‘Yes to what?’

‘To everything.’

‘So say it.’

Hunter breathed in.

Lucien waited.

‘Yes, my mother suffered. Yes, she did scream in pain at night. Yes, she did go from being a strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones, and yes, she did beg for death.’

Taylor stole a peek at Hunter and felt goose bumps creep up all over her body.

‘What was her name?’ Lucien asked.

‘Helen.’

‘Was she in a hospital or at home when she died?’

‘At home,’ Hunter said. ‘She didn’t want to be in a hospital.’

‘I see.’ Lucien nodded. ‘She wanted to be with her family . . . with her loved ones. Very noble, though strange and a little sadistic that she’d want her seven-year-old son to witness first-hand all of her suffering, all of her pain . . . and I’m guessing it must’ve been something quite excruciating.’

Through the avalanche of memories, keeping a steady face had become impossible. Hunter looked away and pressed his lips together, taking a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was as steady as he could muster, but there was no hiding the sadness in it.

‘My mother worked as a cleaner for minimum wage. My father worked nights as a security guard, and to complement the little money he earned, during the day he would take any odd job he could get. The end of each and every month was always a struggle in our house, even when they were both healthy. We had no savings because there was never anything left to save. My father’s small health insurance wouldn’t cover the costs. We couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Back home was the only place she could be.’

A long, dragged silence.

‘Wow, that’s one sad story, Robert,’ Lucien finally said coldly. ‘I can practically hear the violins. Tell me, were you at home when your mother died?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘No.’

Lucien returned to a regular seating position and nodded calmly before standing up. ‘I told you that if you lied to me, Robert, I’d know. And that was a lie. This interview is over.’

Taylor’s surprised gaze waltzed between Hunter and Lucien.

‘Fuck Susan’s remains,’ Lucien said. ‘You will never find those. Good luck explaining that to her family.’

Forty-Three

Lucien turned and slowly walked over to the washbasin.

Taylor tensed on her seat, but the awkward moment lasted just a few seconds before Hunter lifted both of his hands in a surrender gesture. ‘OK, Lucien, I’m sorry.’

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, but kept his back to Hunter and Taylor. He took his time, as if he was considering Hunter’s apology.

‘Well, I guess I can’t really blame you, can I, Robert?’ he said at last. ‘You needed to give it a shot to see if I could really tell if you were lying or not. It’s only logical. Why would you trust me now? I could never tell with you before, could I? You never really had any telltale signs. You were always the one who could keep a straight face through any situation.’ He finally turned to face his interrogators again. ‘Well, old friend, I guess you’re getting old, or perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten much, much better at reading people.’

Hunter didn’t doubt that for a second. Many serial killers become experts in observing people and reading their body language and hidden signs. It helps them choose the right victim and pick the precise moment to strike.

‘So,’ Lucien continued. ‘For old times’ sake, I’m going to let this one slide, but don’t lie to me again, Robert.’ He sat back down. ‘Maybe you would like to rephrase your answer?’

A short pause.

‘Yes, I was home when my mother died,’ Hunter began again. ‘As I’d said, my father worked nights as a security guard, and my mother passed away during the night.’

‘So you were alone with your mother?’

Hunter nodded.

Lucien waited, but Hunter offered nothing more. ‘Don’t stop now, Robert. Did her screams scare you at night?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you didn’t go hide in your room, did you?’

‘No.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because I was more scared of not being there for her if my mother needed me.’

‘And did she? On that last night? Did she need you?’

Hunter held his breath.

‘Did she need you, Robert?’

Hunter saw something in Lucien’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before – total certainty, as if he already knew all the answers, and if Hunter deviated from the truth even a little bit, Lucien would know.

‘Yes,’ Hunter finally replied.

‘How did she need you?’ Lucien asked. ‘And remember, don’t lie to me.’

‘Pills,’ Hunter said.

‘What about them?’

‘My mother used to take them. They made the pain go away, at least for a little while. But as the cancer grew stronger inside her, the effect of the pills grew weaker.’

‘So she needed more,’ Lucien said.

Hunter nodded.

A pensive look came over Lucien’s face; a moment later, his lips stretched into a wicked smile.

‘But they were prescription painkillers, right?’ he said. ‘Probably very strong, probably schedule two, probably opioids, which means that exceeding the dosage was a big no-no. Those pills weren’t by her bedside, were they, Robert? They couldn’t have been. The risk of accidental overdose would’ve been too great. So where were they? In the bathroom? In the kitchen? Where?’

Silence.

‘The pills, Robert, where were they kept?’ Lucien insisted.

Hunter could hear the threat in his voice.

‘My father kept them in the cupboard, in the kitchen.’

‘But your mother asked you for them that night.’

‘Yes.’

Lucien scratched the scar on his left cheek.

‘She couldn’t handle the pain anymore, could she?’ he pushed. ‘She’d rather be dead. In fact, she begged for death, and you were the messenger, because you brought them to her, didn’t you? How many pills did you bring her, Robert?’ Then it dawned on him and he lifted a hand at the same time as his eyes widened a touch. ‘No, wait. You brought her the whole bottle, didn’t you?’

Hunter said nothing, but his memory took him back to that night.

Nights were always worse. Her screams sounded louder, her groans deeper and heavier with pain. They always made him shiver. Not like when he felt cold, but an intense shiver that came from deep within. Her illness had brought her so much pain, and he wished there was something he could do to help.

Seven-year-old Robert Hunter had heard his mother’s painful screams and had cautiously opened the door to her room. He felt like crying. Since she’d gotten ill, he felt a lot like crying, but his father had told him he mustn’t.

Her illness had made her look so different. She was so thin he could see her bones poking at her sagging skin. Her striking long blonde hair was now fine and frizzled. Her once-sparkling eyes had lost all the life in them and had sunk deep into their sockets.

Shaking, he paused by the door. His mother was curled up into a ball on the bed. Her knees pushed up against her chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Her face contorted in pain. She screwed up her eyes and tried to focus on the tiny figure standing at the door.

‘Please, baby,’ she whispered as she recognized her son. ‘Can you help me? I can’t take the pain anymore.’

It took all his strength to keep his tears locked in his throat. ‘What can I do, Mom?’ His voice was as weak as hers. ‘Do you want me to call Dad?’

She managed only a delicate shake of the head. ‘Dad can’t help, honey, but you can. Could you come here . . . please. Can you help me?’

His mother looked like a different person now. Her eyes had the darkest bags under them. Her lips were cracked and crusted.

‘I can heat up some milk for you, Mom. You like hot milk.’

He would do anything he could to see his mother smile again. As he stepped closer, she winced as a new surge of pain took over her body.

‘Please, baby. Help me.’ Her breath was coming in short gasps.

Despite what his father had told him, he simply couldn’t hold his tears anymore. They started rolling down his face.

His mother could now see he was scared and shaking. ‘It’s OK, honey. Everything will be fine,’ she said in a trembling voice.

He stepped closer still and placed his hand in hers.

‘I love you, Mom.’

His words brought tears to her eyes. ‘I love you too, honey.’ She gave his hand a subtle squeeze. It was all she could muster with the little strength she had left in her. ‘I need your help, honey . . . please.’

‘What can I do, Mom?’

‘Can you get my pills for me, honey. You know where they are, don’t you?’

He ran the back of his right hand against his running nose. He looked scared. ‘They’re very high up,’ he said, hiding his eyes from her.

‘Can’t you reach them for me, baby? Please, the pain has been going on for so long. You don’t know how much it hurts.’

His eyes were so full of tears everything appeared distorted. His heart felt empty, and he felt as if all his strength had left him. Without saying a word, he slowly turned around and opened the door.

His mother tried calling after him, but her voice was so weak, it didn’t travel more than just a few yards.

He came back a few minutes later carrying a tray with a glass of water, two cream biscuits and the bottle of medicine. She stared at it, hardly believing her eyes. Very slowly, and through unimaginable pain, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. He stepped closer, placed the tray on the bedside table and handed her the glass of water.

She wanted to hug him so much, but she barely had the strength to move; instead, she gave him the most honest smile he’d ever seen. She tried, but her fingers were way too weak to twist the bottle cap open. She looked at him, and her eyes begged for help.

He took it from her trembling hands, pressed down on the cap and twisted it counterclockwise, before pouring two of the pills onto her hand. She placed them in her mouth and swallowed them down without even sipping the water. Her eyes pleaded for more.

‘I read the label, Mom. It says you shouldn’t have more than eight a day. The two you just had make it ten today.’

‘You’re so intelligent, my darling.’ She smiled again. ‘You’re very special. I love you so much and I’m so sorry I won’t see you grow up.’

His eyes filled with tears once again as she wrapped her bony fingers around the medicine bottle.

He held on to it tightly.

‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll all be OK now.’

Hesitantly, he let go. ‘Dad will be angry with me.’

‘No, he won’t be, baby. I promise you.’ She placed two more pills in her mouth.

‘I brought you these biscuits.’ He pointed to the tray. ‘They’re your favorite, Mom. Please have one. You didn’t eat much today.’

‘I will, honey, in a while.’ She had a few more pills. ‘When Daddy comes home in the morning, tell him I love him, and that I always will. Can you do that for me?’

The boy nodded. His eyes locked on the now almost empty medicine bottle.

‘Why don’t you go read one of your books, darling? I know you love reading.’

‘I can read in here, Mom, so you’re not alone. I can sit in the corner if you like. I won’t make a noise, I promise.’

She extended her hand and touched his hair. ‘I’ll be OK now, honey. The pain’s starting to go away.’ Her eyelids looked heavy.

‘I’ll guard the room then. I’ll sit just outside the door.’

She smiled a pain-stricken smile. ‘Why do you wanna guard the room, honey?’

‘You told me that sometimes God comes and takes ill people to heaven. I don’t want him to take you, Mom. I’ll sit by the door and if he comes I’ll tell him to go away. I’ll tell him that you’re getting better and not to take you.’

‘You’ll tell God to go away?’

He nodded vigorously.

She started crying again. ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Robert.’

Taylor looked at Hunter and felt her heart shrivel inside her chest.

A cold smile began to crack on Lucien’s lips, like ice over a dark, frozen lake. ‘So you left the room,’ he said.

Hunter nodded.

‘And that was when the nightmares started,’ Lucien said in conclusion, like a psychologist who had finally broken through a patient’s barrier.

A disconcerting silence took over the entire basement corridor, but not for long. With his gaze fixed on Lucien, Hunter finally let go of the memory.

‘Susan, Lucien,’ he said. The sadness had vanished from his voice. ‘You have what you wanted, now tell us what happened after you drugged her in the car?’

Forty-Four

La Honda, 18 miles from Palo Alto, California.

Twenty-five years earlier.

Susan Richards was jolted awake by the loud sound of a heavy door slamming shut. Despite the sudden noise, her eyes opened slowly, blinking constantly, as if grains of sand had been blown into them and were now scratching at her cornea. Her eyelids felt heavy and tired, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get her eyes to focus on anything. Everything around her came as nothing but a big blur.