The Sacrificial Daughter (33 page)

"We could do ten o'clock if that suits you instead," Dr Becker said. He was in the doorway, but just at that moment he had his back turned on Jesse to answer a question from her mom. He would turn around again any second. With wide staring eyes and feet that were as heavy as lead, she took two steps before the therapist turned and stared at her. She stared back. Her brain seemed to have seized up.

"Jesse? You ok, Hun?" her mom asked. Cynthia was gazing at Jesse's forehead and when the girl put her hand there it came back damp. She wiped it on her coat and felt the stolen papers in her pocket; she nearly gasped.

The doctor no longer looked so soft. His eyes were suspicious squints. "What are you doing?" Jesse had no business being right next to his desk and just then she felt to have been struck dumb by the question. Not knowing what else to do she turned trying to buy a second to recover her senses and pointed vaguely behind her. That's when her eye fell upon Dr Becker's diploma.

"I...I was just seeing where you went to school," she said in a stuttering voice. The doctor didn't seem to notice. He brightened at once at the idea someone was interested in his diploma.

"Ah yes, I went to the University of Michigan," he said, jovial once again.

"Go Wolverines," Jesse said on reflex. If she had thought about it she probably would have got the mascot wrong. She could never get them all straight in her head, likely because she didn't care.

"Go Wolverines," Dr Becker replied with a little wave of his soft fist.

"Yes, Wolverines, yeah," Cynthia said with a minimum enthusiasm. "Come on Jesse, I'm starving. I want to get something to eat and then we'll go get your head fixed. You look like you need some stitches. Thank you Dr Becker, we'll see you next week."

Seconds later they were in Cynthia's Lexus with Jesse breathing far harder than the short walk could have possibly demanded. She had been within a quarter-second of being caught stealing confidential papers. What the penalty for that was, she had no idea, but it was probably hefty.

"Chinese or a burger?" Cynthia asked. Jesse made a face and her mom matched it. "I know, not much of a selection...let's do Chinese. I hear the owner is actually Chinese, so that's a plus."

"Yeah, remember that Chinese place in Denton," Jesse said, relaxing as they pulled away. "Everyone who worked there was Mexican and the food tasted like tacos." Her mom smiled at the memory but then turned sad, giving her daughter a thorough inspection.

"Honey, whatever you're doing to yourself, you have to stop," Cynthia said. "You don't look good."

What I'm doing to myself?
How could she say such a thing? Jesse's familiar rage flared up, filling her with its protective malice and a dozen snide remarks enter her mind. Her father's first test was upon her. Was she going to lash out over the insensitive comment?

Swallowing the rude words coming up out of her throat, she turned to the window. Jesse watched the little town pass on by and whispered, "She loves me, that's all."

"What was did you say, dear?"

"I said, you love me," Jesse replied.

"I do love you," Cynthia said, giving Jesse a wry smile. "Do I not say I love you, enough so that you have to say it for me?"

Cynthia Clarke
didn't
say it enough, but that was a hurtful truth and Jesse only gave her a shrug. "No one ever says it enough, really," she answered. "You could say I love you to me a thousand times, but if I were to die, would you think that was even enough?"

"You're right about that," Cynthia said with a little laugh. "So I better get started...I love you, I love you..."

Jesse grabbed her mom's arm, "Once is enough...or maybe just one at a time. I'd rather have one really great big one than a thousand meaningless ones."

Just then they pulled into the parking lot of The Dim Sum. "Do you remember the good green tea that I like?" Jesse said getting out of the car.

"Wait," Cynthia ordered, pulling Jesse back. "Do you know who that man is?" Cynthia asked in a whisper, pointing out the passenger side window. "I've seen him hanging around and he gives me the creeps."

Jesse peered out at a car nearby. "That's Jerry Mendel and if you've seen him around it's because he's our neighbor. He lives right behind us. And I thought I was the paranoid one! Hold on..." Jesse stuck a thumb in her mouth and then used it to wipe at her mom's eye. "Sorry, you had some dirt or something there."

Cynthia relaxed in a quick droop of her shoulders. "Yeah, now I know him. I think I'm just on edge, waiting for...you know."

"The next death," Jesse said. "You're right, it's nerve racking waiting for it to happen. But it must be worse for the rest of the town. I've seen the kids at school in the mornings huddled in little groups, watching the busses unload, counting their friends. They all have that same pinched look on their faces."

"I wonder what it's going to be like when it finally does happen," Cynthia said. "Do we bring a casserole? Do we pretend the kid who died never existed? You know...never bring him up in conversation again."

Just then Jesse felt sorry for the people of Ashton. Incongruously, it almost made her laugh. Just an hour before she had been demanding that her father destroy the town, but now she was blinking away tears for them.

I must be tired
, she thought. Aloud she tried to change the subject, "I remembered the tea that I like. It's oolong."

Jesse's plan to bite back her nasty remarks to her mother worked. They had the best day together that she could remember, despite their visit to the medical offices of Dr Sarah Becker, sister of the soft therapist. There she had her laceration cleaned out and stitched, a very painful process. She was also checked out, head to toe, an embarrassing process.

During all this Jesse was dying to get home to find out what Kyle Mendel, her ghost, her Ky, had to do with Harold Brownly. His name hadn't been on the transcript just once, it had been all throughout. It was just after three when they were finally released and as small as Ashton was, they were home eight minutes later.

"I'm going to take a nap," Jesse said to her mom. That was part of her plan at least; read the notes, figure out what draws the killer in and then sleep. Jesse's day had been a long one: a near fight in the woods, suspended from school, a trip to the police station, her head shrunk at the therapists and torture at the caring hands of the doctor.

Locking her door, she pulled out the transcript. It started in the middle of a conversation:

Dr. Becker: "And how did that make you feel?"

H Brownly: "I don't recall."

Dr. Becker: "You can't recall how you felt when you first heard your son had been killed?"

H Brownly: "It's been ten years. Upset, I guess?"

Dr. Becker: "Upset? Would that include sadness?"

H Brownly: "Yes."

Dr. Becker: "What about anger?"

H Brownly: "No."

Dr. Becker: "What about guilt?"

H Brownly: "Why would you think that I would feel guilty? He drowned and I wasn't there. That's a proven fact." (Note: client extremely agitated)

Dr. Becker: Please settle down. I'm talking about guilt on a more personal level, not in a legal sense. For instance, did you feel guilt over the fact you left your pool filled so late in the year and over the fact that you left the cover off?"

(Note: client only shrugs at question.)

Dr. Becker: "You barely answered when I asked about you being sad. You deny feeling anger and you shrug at the idea of guilt... Mr. Brownly, I can't say in all honesty that you're cooperating with your therapy. And Judge Te..." (Note: client stands up and begins pacing in a state of extreme agitation.) "I would prefer if you sat or laid back down."

H Brownly: "I know what the judge said. And...and this may not seem like it, but I am cooperating. But what does all this have to do with getting a D.U.I.?"

Dr. Becker: "Are you an alcoholic?"

H Brownly: "No."

Dr. Becker: "An alcoholic doesn't need an excuse to drink to excess, it's in their genes, but an average person is different. There's always a reason for the sort of drunken behavior you were exhibiting. Usually it's obvious, but sometimes it's hidden away deep within them. With you, I'm sure that it's both. The obvious reasons: your son was killed, and then..."

H Brownly: "He drowned. It was an accident."

Dr. Becker: "...And, then there was the second murder and the trial. Your wife leaving you was probably a blow as well."

H Brownly: "I guess I was feeling a little angry back then." (Note: client takes seat on couch.)

Dr. Becker: "Were you angry with Kyle Mendel?"

H Brownly: "What? That...that doesn't...No, I was not angry at Kyle. He has nothing to do with any of this."

Dr. Becker: "Are you fascinated with Kyle Mendel?"

H Brownly: "Why are we talking about Kyle? We were just talking about my drinking."

Dr. Becker: "Because they are related. In your last session, you told me how you held Kyle on the day he was born and that you'd never harm him. Do you ever get feelings of envy or jealousy when you think of Kyle?"

H Brownly: "No."

Dr. Becker: "What about when he's with friends? Does that bother you to see him having fun with them?"

H Brownly: "No. Why should it bother me?"

Dr. Becker: "That's a good question. You've stated that you love Kyle. Can you tell me about those feelings?"

H Brownly: "They're not feelings! Not the way you think. I don't fantasize over him. Son of a bitch! He's lived his whole life next door to me, if I love him it's like an uncle would."

Dr. Becker: "Like an uncle? Do you feel protective over Kyle?"

H Brownly: "Yes." (Note: client's response is quick and strongly affirmative.)

Dr. Becker: How far would you go to protect Kyle? Would you kill to protect him?"

H Brownly: "I don't know...it depends on the situation. Can we go back to talking about my DUI?"

Dr. Becker: "In just a minute. You said you saw Kyle and Mary Castaneda together last year. How did that make you feel?" (Note: client shrugs.) Did you feel she was a bad match, that there could have been someone better for him?"

H Brownly: "How am I supposed to know. I only saw them together once."

Dr. Becker: "Did you see Mary after that?" (Note: client shrugs.) "And do you hear voices? From the TV or the radio?"

H Brownly: "No! These are stupid questions."

Dr. Becker: "When the water runs, is that when you hear the voices?"

H Brownly: "Stop it! I don't hear voices. Why do you keep changing the subject? What kind of therapy is this? You're just trying to get me to admit to something I didn't do."

Dr. Becker: "Can you please sit down? Do I have to ask Officer Daniels to come in here? Good, thank you. I'm trying to get you to open up. To talk to me."

H Brownly: "By getting me angry? I can't even think straight!"

Dr. Becker: "Yes. It's when you're angry that the walls come down. When you're calm you barely say anything besides hello." (Note: client sits.) Now, can you tell me when your fascination with Kyle Mendel began?"

H Brownly: "I'm not fascinated with..."

Dr. Becker: "You are, and to a certain extent we all are. Why is that? Why do you follow him around?"

H Brownly: "Because he is the key."

Dr. Becker: "The key to what?" (Note: client shrugs.) "The key to what, Harold?" (Note: client refuses to answer.) "What do you hope to gain by following him?"

H Brownly: "So I can find out who's really following him."

Dr. Becker: "You're the one really following him. No one else."

H Brownly: "That's not true. The real killer watches him."

Dr. Becker: "When you are following Kyle, have you seen this killer?"

H Brownly: "Yes, a few times, but I can never seem to get close enough to see his face. He always disappears when I get close."

Dr. Becker: "When was the last time you saw this person?"

H Brownly: "Sunday night, down by the berm. It was him. He ran as soon as I saw him and I lost him in the woods"

Jesse stopped reading for a moment as a chill of understanding swept her. It had been Harold who had been chasing her after all. She'd always known it, but seeing it in writing made her skin crawl. "Holy crap!" she muttered, before going back to the transcript.

Dr. Becker: "What would you have done if you had caught up to him?" (Note: client shrugs.) "Would you have tried to hurt him? (Note: client shrugs.) Or would you have tried talking first?"

H Brownly: "I don't know what I would've done. What would you have done?"

Dr. Becker: "I would've tried talking to him, just like I'm talking to you. I would've tried to help him."

H Brownly: "That's great. You'll help a killer but you won't help me. Why aren't we talking about my drinking problem? That's what I'm here for, damn it."

Dr. Becker: "Your drinking issue is tied up with all of this. You can't pretend otherwise. Now let's get back to Kyle..."