A Dark Mind (39 page)

Jared made introductions and they all hugged Lizzy as if she were part of the family. She was glad to find out that Kassie and the baby would pull through. If all went well, their baby would be born in another seven months. Kassie’s husband, Drew Scott, was still in custody for disobeying federal agents, but they all had high hopes that he would be freed before the end of the week.

Lizzy’s phone vibrated. She excused herself and moved into the hallway. It was Jessica; she was concerned about Hayley’s mom, who had left the women’s shelter. Jessica was worried that Hayley might seek out Brian and do something she might later regret, something that might get her into trouble.

Since nobody could sleep last night, Lizzy and Jared had had a heart-to-heart talk with Hayley. Feeling good about how far Hayley had come in such a short time, Lizzy told Jessica not to worry. She also told her she would call her after she and Jared returned to the house.

Because of Hayley’s help with the Lovebird Killer case, the judge had already told Jimmy Martin that he would grant Hayley
leniency. For now, at least, she wouldn’t have to wear the ankle monitor. Hayley had a lot of people rooting for her, including Jimmy Martin, Jared Shayne, and now a judicial court judge.

Right after Lizzy hung up with Jessica, Jared joined her in the hallway. Kassie was awake, and he wanted to give her and her family time alone.

Lizzy filled him in on what was happening with Hayley, and they agreed it would be a good idea to stop by Hayley’s mom’s house on their way home. As she gazed at Jared, no words could explain how good it was to have him standing before her. It was difficult to fathom that she’d come so close to losing him. “So,” Lizzy said as she took Jared’s hand in hers, “are you going to marry me, or not?”

“The answer is still no,” he said. “You’ve hardly slept in three days. You’re riding the adrenaline wave. You’re in euphoria mode.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We’ve waited this long. Ask me in another week.”

“I’ll have to think about it. What if I meet a guy next week who can do twenty skips with a stone instead of a measly fifteen?”

Before he could answer, a woman who looked a lot like Kassie stuck her head out the door and waved her arm to get their attention. “Do you mind coming back inside for a moment? Kassie wants to thank you both for everything.”

Hand in hand, Jared and Lizzy returned to Kassie’s room. Everyone was smiling. It was turning out to be a good day.

When this monster entered my brain, I will never know, but it is here to stay. How does one cure himself? I can’t stop it, the monster goes on, and hurts me as well as society. Maybe you can stop him. I can’t.

—Dennis Rader

Sacramento

Sunday, June 10, 2012

It was already dark when Hayley slid off the back of Tommy’s bike and asked him to wait there. She didn’t like the ache she felt inside—like sharp teeth gnawing at her gut.

Why did Mom leave the shelter? She’d been doing so well.

Brian had something to do with her mom’s sudden disappearance, she was sure of it.

And she had a bad feeling about being at the house where she’d grown up. Mom still wasn’t answering her phone. Hayley and Tommy had just left the shelter. A woman on staff had told them that her mom had left two days ago. She’d left willingly with a man. No description. Just a man.

Hayley took her time walking to the front door, listening to the sounds as she went: rustling movements in a dead bush to her
right, probably a lizard. The croaking of frogs could be heard in the distance. The place was a mess, and even the recent rains had been unable to wash away the moldy smells of decay and neglect. She couldn’t imagine what Jessica must have been thinking when she’d visited.

The last time Hayley had been here was almost a year ago. The door had graffiti scribbled across it:
STAY OUT
was the message painted in large black letters across the middle of the door.

Good advice.

Her fingers settled over the ugly brass handle. She pushed down on the latch and the door came easily open. Maybe somebody was expecting her.

As she stepped inside, the first breath she took made her feel weak in the knees. The stench was overpowering, nearly unbearable, way worse than she remembered. Trash was everywhere. She couldn’t take a step without causing a rat to scurry out of its private home made of pieces of cardboard, cans, and food scraps.

She waded through waste and rubbish to get to the kitchen. She wasn’t ready to call out her mom’s name. Instead, she hoped and prayed that her mom had not returned, and never would return, to this dump. The kitchen counters had been used as an ashtray. Cigarette butts covered the old Formica top—black holes burned into every square inch. A leaky faucet was the only sound in the whole damn place. Above the sink filled high with dirty, moldy dishes was a cracked window. The backyard was covered with old tires and lots of broken plastic chairs.

Hayley’s gaze settled on the rusty old swing set. It was tilted to one side, but all she saw was a beautiful young woman pushing her only daughter on the swing. They both had grins on their faces. The sun was shining. The air was fresh.

Looking around the kitchen with new eyes, Hayley saw her mom coming toward her. She looked happy as she carried a small plate with a cupcake topped off with six candles, the tiny flames flickering. Together, they made a wish and then blew, laughing together when one candle still burned bright, refusing to dim.

She turned toward the sound of another rat scurrying across the floor. She thought of Tommy waiting outside for her. He had become such an important part of her life in such a short amount of time. He was someone she could call her friend. Someone she could confide in.

Eager to check the house and get out, she quickened her pace as she made her way down the hallway. Her mom’s bed had been slept in; dirty sheets and stained pillows were crumpled in a pile. Nobody appeared to be inside the bathroom. The yellowed curtain across the bathtub was pulled shut. Hayley took a fistful of plastic and yanked the curtain open.

She exhaled after she saw that it was empty.

Exiting the bedroom, she turned left and continued down the hallway. Two more doors to go through and she would be done. Her old bedroom was to the right and the garage door was straight ahead at the end of the hallway. With her hand on the doorknob leading to her bedroom, she realized she really didn’t want to go inside. She wished more than anything that the whole damn house had burned down years ago. That might have solved a lot of problems.

She turned the knob, knowing it had to be done. The putrid smell of rotted eggs and human stink made her gag.

There
was
a Hell and she was looking at it.

Her old desk was still there, pushed against the wall to her left. Dirty, chipped plates were stacked high in the middle of the
desk. Even from the doorway where she stood, she could see maggots making a feast of an ancient meal. The floor was littered with empty soup cans and beer bottles.
One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer, you take one down, you pass it around, ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.
That was only one of many songs Brian would sing when he finished off a bottle of beer. There was such an eclectic mix of things inside the room that she really didn’t know where to look first.

Probably best if she didn’t linger here too long.

The closet door, an old wooden slider, was closed. A strong sense of foreboding fell over her.
Leave. Get out while you can.
But she already knew that she couldn’t leave without making sure there was nothing inside the closet. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She ignored it and continued to walk across a sea of old clothes. Bottles and cans clinked together as she went. Cigarette butts, a mountain of them, decorated the corner of the room.

Before she looked inside the closet, she sank down to her knees and took a quick glance under the bed. Again, she took another relieved breath, filling her lungs with mold. Nothing under the bed except more trash. Glad to have that over with, she pushed herself to her feet. Next, she reached for the rough hole in the wood that served as a makeshift handle to open and close the closet door. The wood door creaked and squeaked in protest, but it came open. No clothes hung from a warped wooden post. There was one shelf, though, and way in the back, she saw a shoebox. She reached for it and opened the lid. The first thing she saw was her mom smiling back at her.

The entire box was filled with old pictures.

All sorts of pictures: wonderfully happy pictures of her and her mom on the swing, eating cupcakes, dancing and hugging.
All of those memories that had flashed in her mind while she stood in the kitchen.

Who took all of these pictures?
she wondered as she shuffled through the pile. Faster and faster, one picture after another, she flipped through the memories. And there it was on the very bottom. A distant memory preserved on paper, but not a memory inside her head. Who was that man? Her father? Could it be?

With the box under one arm and the picture in her right hand, she walked out of her bedroom, down the hallway, and back to her mom’s bedroom. Standing in front of the mirror in her mother’s bathroom, she held the picture next to her face and gazed into the mirror.

Two peas in a pod.

It was him—her father. She looked just like him: dark hair, seminormal-looking nose except for the little dent in the tip. Their eyes were the same, too.
What was his name?
She turned the picture over. No date. No name scribbled on the back.

Can’t have everything.

In the photo she stood in between her parents. She was smiling. Her father was smiling, too, but her mom was looking up at him, love beaming from her eyes.

What happened? What went wrong? So close to having it all.

Her phone vibrated again and this time she picked it up. It was Tommy.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“I’ll be a few more minutes.”

She hung up the phone, and then slid the photo she’d been looking at into her back pocket. Clutching the box as if it were some sort of lifeline, she headed for the garage.

No longer feeling the same trepidation she’d felt when she’d walked into the house fifteen minutes ago, she opened the garage door.

“No.”

The box dropped from her hands. Pictures scattered. A couple of the photos fluttered to her feet.

Hayley didn’t blink.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away from those eyes. Wide-open eyes. Not the loving smiling eyes she’d just seen in the photo, but dead lifeless eyes. Mom was on her back, her head propped up on enough debris that it appeared she was looking right at Hayley.

Brian had said he would use the axe from the shed to cut off her mom’s head. Instead, the axe was embedded in the top of her skull, the wood handle sticking straight out to the right, the weight of it pulling her head as if she were curious about why Hayley hadn’t come sooner. Mom was wearing her pink nightgown, the same gown she’d been wearing for too many years. Only it wasn’t pink any longer. It was red—blood red.

Walking toward her, Hayley sank to her knees and took hold of her mom’s cold hand, entwining their fingers, clutching tightly, willing her mom back to life, praying this moment was not real and instead just a figment of her wildly fucked-up imagination.

Hayley wasn’t sure how long she lay there, but when the tears stopped, she looked up and saw her reflection in the broken mirror across the way. Her arms were wrapped around her mom’s bloody corpse.

Mom was gone.

Forever.

She curled up close and rested her head on her mom’s cold, hard chest, all the while staring at the bright red eyes in the mirror looking back at her. She recognized those eyes; they were
her
eyes. It was over now, Hayley realized. It was all over and the demon inside of her had won.

Fuck hope.

Fuck optimism.

Fuck you all.

My deepest appreciation goes to my editor, Alan Turkus, for believing in me and my stories. I would like to thank Alison Dasho for working so hard to help make
A Dark Mind
a better book. Many thanks to my beta readers: Janet, Joey, Brittany, and Joe. I want to thank Zoey Winters of Granite Bay for using her wicked imagination to help brainstorm my Lizzy Gardner series. I am forever grateful to Sandy Scrivano for reading
Abducted
and telling me I had a best seller on my hands, and then pushing me to publish it. And to Sam Johnston, thank you for being my number one fan!

Photograph by Morgan Ragan, 2012

T.R. Ragan grew up in a family of five girls in Lafayette, California. She is an avid traveler whose wanderings have carried her to Ireland, the Netherlands, China, Thailand, and Nepal, where she narrowly survived being chased by a killer elephant. Before devoting herself to writing fiction, she worked as a legal secretary for a large corporation. She is the author of
Abducted
and
Dead Weight
, the first books in the Lizzy Gardner series. Writing under the name Theresa Ragan, she is also the author of
Return of the Rose
,
A Knight in Central Park
,
Taming Mad Max
,
Finding Kate Huntley
, and
Having My Baby
. She and her family live in Sacramento.