Split Second (67 page)

T
ess ran, her ankle throbbing. Her feet ached and were now bleeding despite her attempt to wrap them with what once were the sleeves of her blouse. She had no idea where she was headed. The sky had clouded up again, bulging gray and ready to burst. Twice she had come to a ledge that overlooked water. If only she had learned to swim, she wouldn’t have cared how far away the other side appeared to be. Why couldn’t she escape this eternal prison of trees and vines and steep ridges?

She had spent the morning eating wild strawberries or, at least, that’s what she thought they were. Then she drank from the muddy bank of the river, not caring what algae also slipped into her cupped hands. Her reflection had frightened her at first. The tangled hair, the shredded clothes, the scratches and cuts made her look like a madwoman. But wasn’t that exactly what she had been reduced to? In fact, she couldn’t think of Rachel without feeling something raw and primitive ripping at her insides.

She couldn’t be sure how much time had gone by while she cringed in a corner of the hole. She had cried and rocked, hugging herself with her forehead pressed against the wall of dirt. At times she had felt herself slipping into some other dimension, hearing her aunt shouting down at her from the top of the hole. She could swear she had seen her aunt’s pinched face scowling at her and waving a bony finger, cursing her. She had no clue whether she had spent one night or two or three. Time had lost all meaning.

She did remember what had brought her out of her stupor. She had felt a presence, someone or something rustling above at the ledge of the hole. She had expected to look up and see him like a raptor, perched and ready to jump down on her. She didn’t care. She wanted it to end. But it wasn’t the madman, or a predator. Instead, it was a deer looking into the hole. A young, beautiful doe curiously staring down at her. And Tess found herself wondering how something so lovely and innocent could exist on this devil’s island.

That’s when she pulled herself together, when she decided once again that she would not die, not here, not in this hellhole. She had covered her temporary companion as best she could with branches from a pine tree, the soft needles like a blanket on the battered, gray skin. And then she crawled out into the open. However, there had been no sense of relief in leaving the earthly tomb that, ironically, had become a sanctuary of sorts. Now after running and walking for miles, she felt farther away from safety than she had felt inside that musty grave.

Suddenly she saw something white up on the ridge and through the trees. She climbed with new energy, pulling herself up with tree roots, ignoring the cuts in her palms that she hadn’t noticed before. Finally on level ground again, she was gasping for air, but she had a better view. Hidden by huge pine trees was a huge white, wooden frame house.

Tess’s pulse quickened. She blinked, hoping the mirage would not disappear. An incredible wave of relief swept over her as she noticed a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney. She could even smell the wood from the fireplace. She heard a wind chime and immediately saw it hanging from the porch. Along the house, daffodils and tulips were in full bloom. She felt like Little Red Riding Hood finding her way through the woods to her grandmother’s warm and inviting house. Then she realized the analogy might prove more real than fantasy. An alarm seemed to go off in her head. The panic raced through her veins. She turned to run and slammed right into him. He gripped both her wrists and smiled down at her, looking exactly like a wolf.

“I was looking for you, Tess,” he said calmly while she pulled and twisted against his strength. “I’m so glad you found your way.”

Washington, D.C.
Monday, April 6

M
aggie couldn’t believe Cunningham had insisted she keep her Monday-morning appointment with Dr. Kernan. It was bad enough that they had to wait for some kind of unofficial permission from the Maryland authorities. How could they be sure Stucky wouldn’t find out? If any of the information leaked, they wouldn’t need to worry about Stucky setting another trap. No, this time he’d be long gone. It would be another five or six months before they heard from him again.

She had made the trip, angry and on edge—an hour’s drive in D.C.’s early-morning rush. And now she had to wait some more. Once again Kernan was late. He shuffled in, smelling of cigar smoke and looking as though he had just crawled out of bed. His cheap brown suit was wrinkled, his shoes scuffed, with one shoestring untied and dragging behind him. He had plastered down his thin white hair with some foul-smelling gel. Or maybe it was the Ben-Gay assaulting her nostrils. The man looked like a poster model for homeless mental patients.

Again, he didn’t acknowledge her as he shifted and creaked in his chair, back and forth, until he decided he was comfortable. This time Maggie felt too restless and angry to be intimidated. She didn’t care what strange insights he might probe from her psyche. Nothing Kernan could do or say would reduce or heal the chaotic storm ticking away inside her chest like some time bomb ready to explode without warning.

She tapped her foot and drummed her fingertips on the arm of the chair. She watched him sift through his mess. God, she was sick of everyone’s messes. First Tully’s, now Kernan’s. How did these people function?

She sighed, and he scowled at her over his thick glasses. He smacked his lips together in a “tis, tis,” as if to scold her. She continued to stare at him, letting him see her contempt, her anger, her impatience. Letting him see it all, and not giving a damn what he thought.

“Are we in a hurry, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” he asked as he thumbed through a magazine.

She glanced at his fingers and caught a glimpse of the magazine’s cover. It was a copy of
Vogue
, for God’s sake.

“Yes, I am in a hurry, Dr. Kernan. There’s an important investigation I’d like to get back to.”

“So you think you’ve found him?”

She looked up, surprised, checking to see if he knew. But he appeared engrossed in the magazine’s pages. Was it possible Cunningham had told him? How else would he know?

“We may have,” she said, careful not to reveal anything more.

“But everyone is making you wait, is that it? Your partner, your supervisor, me. And we all know how much Margaret O’Dell hates to wait.”

She didn’t have time for his stupid games.

“Could we please just get on with this?”

He looked up at her again over his glasses, this time surprised. “What would you like to get on with? Would you like some special absolution, perhaps? Some sort of permission to go racing after him?”

He put the magazine aside, sat back and brought his hands together over his chest. He stared at her as if waiting for an answer, an explanation. She refused to give him any of what he wanted. Instead, she simply stared back.

“You’d like us all to get out of your way,” he continued. “Is that it, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” He paused. She pursed her lips, denying him a response, and so he continued, “You want to go after him all by yourself again, because you’re the only one who can capture him. Oh no, excuse me. You’re the only one who can stop him. Perhaps you think stopping him this time will absolve
you
of his crimes?”

“If I was looking for absolution, Dr. Kernan, I’d be in a church and certainly not sitting here in your office.”

He smiled, a thin-lipped smile. Maggie realized it was the first time she had ever seen the man smile.

“Will you be looking for absolution after you shoot Albert Stucky between the eyes?”

She winced, remembering their last session and how out of control she had been. It reminded her that she still felt out of control, only now the anger gave her a false sense of how close the ledge really was. If she remained angry, perhaps she wouldn’t see the ledge at all. Would she even feel herself slipping or would the fall be abrupt and sudden when it happened?

“Maybe I’ve been around evil too long to care about what I need to do to destroy it.” She was no longer concerned with what she told him. He couldn’t use any of it to hurt her. No one could hurt her more than Stucky already had. “Maybe,” she continued, letting the anger drive her, “maybe I need to be as evil as Albert Stucky in order to stop him.”

He stared at her, but this time it was different. He was contemplating what she had said. Would he have some smart-ass response? Would he try his reverse psychology on her? She wasn’t one of his naive students anymore. She could play at his game. After all, she had played with someone ten times as twisted as him. If she could play at Albert Stucky’s game, then Dr. James Kernan’s would be nothing more than child’s play.

She stared him down, without flinching, without fidgeting. Had she rendered the old man speechless?

Finally he sat forward, elbows on his messy desk, fingers constructing a tent of bent and misshapen digits.

“So that’s what concerns you, Margaret O’Dell?”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she kept the question from her face.

“You’re concerned,” he said slowly, as if approaching a delicate subject. It was an unfamiliar gesture, one that immediately made Maggie suspicious. Was it another of Kernan’s famous tricks or was he genuinely concerned? She hoped for a trick. That, she could handle. The concern, she wasn’t too sure about.

“You’re worried,” he began again, “that you may be capable of the same sort of evil Albert Stucky is capable of.”

“Aren’t we all, Dr. Kernan?” She paused for his reaction. “Isn’t that what Jung meant when he said we all have a shadow side?” She watched him closely, wanting to see how it felt to have one of his students contradict him with his own teachings. “Evil men do what good men only dream of doing. Isn’t that true, Dr. Kernan?”

He shifted in his chair. She should have counted the succession of eye blinks. She wanted to smile, because she had him on the ropes, so to speak. But there was no victory in this truth.

“I believe—” he hesitated to clear his throat “—I believe Jung said that evil is as essential a component of human behavior as good. That we must learn to acknowledge and accept that it exists within all of us. But no, that doesn’t mean we’re all capable of the same kind of evil as someone like Albert Stucky. There’s a difference, my dear Agent O’Dell, between stepping into evil and getting your shoes muddy, and choosing to dive in and wallow in it.”

“But how do you stop from falling in headfirst?” She felt an annoying catch in her throat as the inner frenzy threatened to reveal itself. Her thoughts of revenge were black and evil and very real. Had she already dived in?

“I’m going to tell you something, Maggie O’Dell, and I want you to listen very closely.” He leaned forward, his face serious, his magnified eyes pinning her to the chair with their unfamiliar concern. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Jung or Freud when it comes to this evil crap. Remember this and only this, Margaret O’Dell. The decisions we make in a split second will always reveal our true nature, our true self. Whether we like it or not. When that split second comes, don’t think, don’t analyze, don’t feel and never second-guess—just react. Trust. Trust in yourself. You do that—just that—and I’m willing to bet you end up with nothing more than a little mud on your shoes.”

Washington, D.C.
Monday, April 6

M
aggie couldn’t believe Cunningham had insisted she keep her Monday-morning appointment with Dr. Kernan. It was bad enough that they had to wait for some kind of unofficial permission from the Maryland authorities. How could they be sure Stucky wouldn’t find out? If any of the information leaked, they wouldn’t need to worry about Stucky setting another trap. No, this time he’d be long gone. It would be another five or six months before they heard from him again.

She had made the trip, angry and on edge—an hour’s drive in D.C.’s early-morning rush. And now she had to wait some more. Once again Kernan was late. He shuffled in, smelling of cigar smoke and looking as though he had just crawled out of bed. His cheap brown suit was wrinkled, his shoes scuffed, with one shoestring untied and dragging behind him. He had plastered down his thin white hair with some foul-smelling gel. Or maybe it was the Ben-Gay assaulting her nostrils. The man looked like a poster model for homeless mental patients.

Again, he didn’t acknowledge her as he shifted and creaked in his chair, back and forth, until he decided he was comfortable. This time Maggie felt too restless and angry to be intimidated. She didn’t care what strange insights he might probe from her psyche. Nothing Kernan could do or say would reduce or heal the chaotic storm ticking away inside her chest like some time bomb ready to explode without warning.

She tapped her foot and drummed her fingertips on the arm of the chair. She watched him sift through his mess. God, she was sick of everyone’s messes. First Tully’s, now Kernan’s. How did these people function?

She sighed, and he scowled at her over his thick glasses. He smacked his lips together in a “tis, tis,” as if to scold her. She continued to stare at him, letting him see her contempt, her anger, her impatience. Letting him see it all, and not giving a damn what he thought.

“Are we in a hurry, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” he asked as he thumbed through a magazine.

She glanced at his fingers and caught a glimpse of the magazine’s cover. It was a copy of
Vogue
, for God’s sake.

“Yes, I am in a hurry, Dr. Kernan. There’s an important investigation I’d like to get back to.”

“So you think you’ve found him?”

She looked up, surprised, checking to see if he knew. But he appeared engrossed in the magazine’s pages. Was it possible Cunningham had told him? How else would he know?

“We may have,” she said, careful not to reveal anything more.

“But everyone is making you wait, is that it? Your partner, your supervisor, me. And we all know how much Margaret O’Dell hates to wait.”

She didn’t have time for his stupid games.

“Could we please just get on with this?”

He looked up at her again over his glasses, this time surprised. “What would you like to get on with? Would you like some special absolution, perhaps? Some sort of permission to go racing after him?”

He put the magazine aside, sat back and brought his hands together over his chest. He stared at her as if waiting for an answer, an explanation. She refused to give him any of what he wanted. Instead, she simply stared back.

“You’d like us all to get out of your way,” he continued. “Is that it, Special Agent Margaret O’Dell?” He paused. She pursed her lips, denying him a response, and so he continued, “You want to go after him all by yourself again, because you’re the only one who can capture him. Oh no, excuse me. You’re the only one who can stop him. Perhaps you think stopping him this time will absolve
you
of his crimes?”

“If I was looking for absolution, Dr. Kernan, I’d be in a church and certainly not sitting here in your office.”

He smiled, a thin-lipped smile. Maggie realized it was the first time she had ever seen the man smile.

“Will you be looking for absolution after you shoot Albert Stucky between the eyes?”

She winced, remembering their last session and how out of control she had been. It reminded her that she still felt out of control, only now the anger gave her a false sense of how close the ledge really was. If she remained angry, perhaps she wouldn’t see the ledge at all. Would she even feel herself slipping or would the fall be abrupt and sudden when it happened?

“Maybe I’ve been around evil too long to care about what I need to do to destroy it.” She was no longer concerned with what she told him. He couldn’t use any of it to hurt her. No one could hurt her more than Stucky already had. “Maybe,” she continued, letting the anger drive her, “maybe I need to be as evil as Albert Stucky in order to stop him.”

He stared at her, but this time it was different. He was contemplating what she had said. Would he have some smart-ass response? Would he try his reverse psychology on her? She wasn’t one of his naive students anymore. She could play at his game. After all, she had played with someone ten times as twisted as him. If she could play at Albert Stucky’s game, then Dr. James Kernan’s would be nothing more than child’s play.

She stared him down, without flinching, without fidgeting. Had she rendered the old man speechless?

Finally he sat forward, elbows on his messy desk, fingers constructing a tent of bent and misshapen digits.

“So that’s what concerns you, Margaret O’Dell?”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she kept the question from her face.

“You’re concerned,” he said slowly, as if approaching a delicate subject. It was an unfamiliar gesture, one that immediately made Maggie suspicious. Was it another of Kernan’s famous tricks or was he genuinely concerned? She hoped for a trick. That, she could handle. The concern, she wasn’t too sure about.

“You’re worried,” he began again, “that you may be capable of the same sort of evil Albert Stucky is capable of.”

“Aren’t we all, Dr. Kernan?” She paused for his reaction. “Isn’t that what Jung meant when he said we all have a shadow side?” She watched him closely, wanting to see how it felt to have one of his students contradict him with his own teachings. “Evil men do what good men only dream of doing. Isn’t that true, Dr. Kernan?”

He shifted in his chair. She should have counted the succession of eye blinks. She wanted to smile, because she had him on the ropes, so to speak. But there was no victory in this truth.

“I believe—” he hesitated to clear his throat “—I believe Jung said that evil is as essential a component of human behavior as good. That we must learn to acknowledge and accept that it exists within all of us. But no, that doesn’t mean we’re all capable of the same kind of evil as someone like Albert Stucky. There’s a difference, my dear Agent O’Dell, between stepping into evil and getting your shoes muddy, and choosing to dive in and wallow in it.”

“But how do you stop from falling in headfirst?” She felt an annoying catch in her throat as the inner frenzy threatened to reveal itself. Her thoughts of revenge were black and evil and very real. Had she already dived in?

“I’m going to tell you something, Maggie O’Dell, and I want you to listen very closely.” He leaned forward, his face serious, his magnified eyes pinning her to the chair with their unfamiliar concern. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about Jung or Freud when it comes to this evil crap. Remember this and only this, Margaret O’Dell. The decisions we make in a split second will always reveal our true nature, our true self. Whether we like it or not. When that split second comes, don’t think, don’t analyze, don’t feel and never second-guess—just react. Trust. Trust in yourself. You do that—just that—and I’m willing to bet you end up with nothing more than a little mud on your shoes.”