Obsession (A Murderous Mind Book 2), page 5
He didn’t.
“Did you find a dead animal that looked tortured behind your house?” Dr. Vondi asked.
Lori’s eyebrows rose. It took her a few seconds, but she finally nodded.
“And you blame it on him? You think he did that?”
“I do.”
“Why do you think that? What in your head immediately goes to that?”
Lori stood up for the first time during a session. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stay seated anymore. Vondi didn’t flinch as Lori walked to the window on the right.
“Let’s say I’m wrong. Let’s say I’m crazy, and some chemical imbalance is driving me to think these things about my son. You need to know that I love him more than anything else in my life. More than Alicia or Scott. But let’s say I’m wrong. You’ve spoken to him. You said he was an interesting boy. What interests you about him?”
Silence followed her question, but Lori didn’t turn around. She basked in the quiet, letting Vondi’s silence validate the piece that wouldn’t be quiet or go away. The piece that kept saying Clara wasn’t done. She might have skipped a generation, but she lived inside John, unable to infect Lori either psychologically or genetically but somehow there.
“Dr. Vondi?”
“I’m thinking.”
“I know. What’s making you think so hard?”
“He won’t tell me everything. He’s holding something back. Most kids are shy at first, but this isn’t shyness with him. He’s keeping things from me, and he knows it, and I think he knows I know, if any of that makes sense.”
Lori smiled, but no happiness was present in her expression.
“What do you think he’s keeping from you?”
“I don’t know yet. Again, I’ve only seen him a few times.”
“Okay. Let’s keep this going and see if you can figure it out.”
10
PRESENT DAY
Father Charles awoke, drenched in sweat. His sheet stuck to his body, but he peeled it off. He swung his legs out of bed while taking in huge gulps of air.
“God, please make it go away,” he prayed aloud. “Please make it stop.”
God didn’t answer the priest. There were only silence and the images moving through his head like a horror movie. Father Charles hadn’t stepped foot into a theater showing one since he was fifteen, yet he could see only blood and hear only screams.
He had woken up like this for the second night in a row, unable to fall back asleep last night and knowing he wouldn’t be able to tonight.
“Why have You given this to me?” he asked. “I cannot handle it. I cannot do anything for this man or the people he harms, yet You brought him to me. Why?”
He continued to gasp as he tried to block the images out of his mind.
Cutting flesh.
Bloodletting.
Terrible pain running through so many people.
Behind it all, the one cutting, the one holding the knife, was John Hilt with an insane smile on his face, blood splattered on his cheeks.
He couldn’t go on having nightmares like this, not if he wanted to have any kind of life. He didn’t think the dreams would stop since his conscience wouldn’t let him shirk this as he had before.
“What do You want me to do?”
In that way, he and John Hilt were similar. God answered neither of them.
“Fine. Fine.” The priest was angry with his Maker. If God wouldn’t intervene, this rested in the hands of men. That was another way of saying it was in Father Charles Rapport’s hands.
The priest stood from the bed, walked into the living room, and retrieved his charging phone. He picked it up and found John Hilt’s number. What was he going to do? What could he do? Father Charles didn’t know, only that he couldn’t continue seeing those things when he closed his eyes…and if he did nothing, he would continue to see them.
He pressed John’s number and put the phone to his ear. The late hour didn’t even cross his mind.
“Hello?” John answered.
“Where are you?” the priest asked.
11
A PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN
The world was moving very fast, and John didn’t understand much of it. He was plenty smart; he knew it, and those around him did too, so intelligence had nothing to do with why he couldn’t understand what was happening to him.
His mother seemed to know better than he, yet neither spoke about it.
Like Harry.
Neither of them said a word about what had happened at the beach house, and everyone else around John, from his dad to his classmates, treated him as if he’d survived cancer. They felt sorry for him, and they wanted to help. Everyone was so nice.
Except his mom. How did she know?
John had told the psychiatrist that his mom thought he’d had something to do with Harry’s death, but he didn’t think the psychiatrist believed him. Not totally. It was true, even if his mom hadn’t said a word about it.
Everyone wanted to know if John was okay, but he was fine. Almost. One thing he couldn’t quite deal with was the dreams and what they meant. The dreams he spoke about with the psychiatrist were real, and John didn’t want to talk about why he couldn’t save Harry.
Or wouldn’t.
John had watched Harry die out there in the waves. No one else had seen it, and John hadn’t raised his voice loud enough to alert Harry’s parents until things had gone too far. Until Harry was almost dead.
He hadn’t been able to, and that was what he was struggling with now.
John had sat on the beach and watched Harry walk out into the ocean. Watched as his friend, his best friend, went out farther than he would have if his parents had been there. But they had gone inside to get drinks, so it was just John, Harry, and an endless ocean.
John saw it happen. One moment, Harry’s strokes were smooth and strong. The next, his voice rang out from the sea. John saw him flailing, his back no longer facing the sun, trying to keep himself above water. The ocean waves were pulling him out much faster than his strokes had been able to do.
John had turned around and looked at the house. He hadn’t stood to rush to the ocean or the house. He’d waited to see if anyone heard Harry.
John had killed things before. He’d killed the squirrel after skinning it alive. He wouldn’t have been able to describe the thrill that came with that if someone put a goddamn gun to his head and said he had three seconds or everything went dark. He knew no one else would understand the rush, and that scared him. He knew what people would say if they found out and was shocked that his mother had said nothing.
He loved doing it. Every second. His entire concentration and force of will focused on that moment, the rest of the world fading as if it had never existed.
Yet, even in those moments, he hadn’t thought about doing anything similar to a person. Humans were sacrosanct in his mind, off-limits for the new thrills he was finding as he grew older. He’d hurt them, sure. He’d hurt that bully for Harry years ago, but murder was too far.
Until Harry screamed. “HELP!”
Loud to John’s ears, but when he turned around, he saw no movement from the house.
He glanced at the sea, hearing Harry’s screams, loud at first but waning as the boy swallowed salt water.
John’s pupils contracted to tiny points as he stood up.
He couldn’t help himself. Something forced him to walk to where the waves crashing on the shore soaked his feet and the sand he stood on.
“HEL—” The water cut the word off.
John saw nothing else besides the ocean and its single inhabitant. He watched Harry struggle to keep his head above water and the way the water frantically pulled him both out and downward. John saw the exhaustion on his friend’s face.
All John had to do was open his mouth and scream for help.
He didn’t. He watched, and he loved every second of it.
Finally, when Harry had no chance, regardless of what he did, he called for help.
John told everyone he had been lying on the sand with his eyes closed and his headphones in his ears. He hadn’t heard Harry call out. When he realized something was wrong, he jumped up and screamed for help.
John didn’t understand, even weeks after, why he’d let his friend die—except that his whole being wanted to watch every single moment. His mom knew or had an idea, yet John didn’t dare turn to her. Didn’t dare turn to anyone. How was he supposed to tell anyone what he’d done? They wouldn’t understand. Not now, and not ever.
“I’d like to keep this quiet if you don’t mind. I don’t want to cause John any more stress than he’s already under,” Dr. Vondi said.
“Of course. I completely understand,” the woman in the business suit told him. As the principal of John’s school, she was granting Vondi permission to interview his teachers.
“Where would you like to start?” she asked. “His teachers or the counselor he’s been seeing?”
“This might seem a bit different, but I think it’d be best to talk to the teachers he had last year before all this happened.”
“Yes?”
“I want to build a foundational knowledge of him to see what changes are normal and what might have been caused by what he saw.”
The principal nodded. “Okay. Let me find out when Mrs. Tchen has her next break.” She typed on the keyboard, then looked at Vondi. “She should be available in about thirty minutes. If you don’t mind waiting in the reception area, I’ll have her come get you when her class is out.”
“Not at all. Thanks so much for your help.”
“We are all just devastated by what happened.”
Vondi shook the woman’s hand and left her office. He headed for the reception area, which was little more than a few chairs and a secretary. Vondi took a seat and started his wait.
He hadn’t told Lori he was coming, and John didn’t know. He’d told Lori what she needed to hear during her last appointment, but that didn’t mean it was the truth. John wasn’t opening up, and that didn’t scratch the itch in the center of Vondi’s brain.
Something was different about the kid, more different than anything Vondi had seen in the twenty years he’d sat in that chair, crossing and recrossing his legs. He had seen psychopaths, sociopaths, and many other variations of evil, but he didn’t feel any of those labels applied to John.
Part of the kid was good.
He loved his mother, his father, and his sister. He enjoyed their company and wanted to please them. Psychopaths didn’t have that piece in them. They saw people as chess pieces to be moved, the end goal being their own happiness. John cared about other people’s happiness as well, so that ruled out Lori’s concerns. He was not Clara and never would be.
Yet the itch was there, and it was maddening. Vondi found himself thinking about John in sessions with other patients. He thought about John at home when he was alone with the television on and didn’t take in the programs he was allegedly watching.
It was not an obsession, or he didn’t think it was. Not yet, but was it possible that he might get there? He didn’t want to think about that yet. He wanted to scratch the itch, hopefully with this next conversation.
“Hi, Dr. Vondi? Is that right?”
Vondi had expected an Asian woman, but a tall, red-haired Caucasian stood in front of his chair.
“Yes,” he replied, standing and extending his hand.
“Mrs. Tchen,” she said. “If you don’t work in a school, I’m sure that sounds awkward—all these adults walking around calling each other by their last name. It helps remind the kids to do the same. Feel free to call me Liv.”
“I’m Gerald,” he told her, smiling.
“Great. Ms. Hallen said there’s a conference room open this way if you want to follow me?”
They entered the room, and Vondi sat across the table from Liv.
“So, how can I help you, Gerald? Ms. Hallen said you wanted to discuss John Hilt?”
“I do,” he said. “I’m seeing John as a patient, and I want to understand what other people think of him. I’ve only seen him a few times, but I’m finding it hard to break through his exterior. I’m not sure if it’s because of what happened or if it’s something others have experienced.”
Liv nodded. “I taught John last year when he was in seventh grade. He’s a quiet kid, to tell you the truth. He and Harry were very close. Has he spoken about him much?”
“I know about their friendship.”
“Those two were inseparable. I’m not sure anyone got John to speak as much as Harry.”
“Did you teach Harry as well?”
“No, he was in…” She paused. “I think he was in Mrs. Ware’s class. I saw them together a lot since they both came to my study hour.”
“What do you think about John?”
“As a student?”
“As a person.”
Liv sat forward, eyes narrowing. “Can I be honest?”
“Of course.”
“I feel like you’re not being truthful about what you want here, and that’s making it hard for me to answer you. Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask?”
Dr. Vondi sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Fair enough. Did you ever feel there was anything odd about John? Anything that made you think he might be different from other kids?”
A few seconds passed before the teacher spoke. “I’d have to say yes. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else this.”
“What’s different about him?”
Another silence, this one longer than the last. “I’ve only taught at this school, and it’s not a rough one. Very small free or reduced-cost lunch population. I say that because most of the kids here are kind. You have the bickering and snobbery that comes with the upper middle class, but you don’t have the pure anger that comes with the lower class. I don’t know a lot about John’s family, but the difference is there, I think. He has a ruthlessness about him that I haven’t seen in any other kids.”
She stopped talking. Vondi was about to say something, but she started again. “He was kind to Harry. He was kind to me. To be honest, I never saw him do anything to anyone that wasn’t on the up and up. Still, John is different from the other kids walking around here.” She looked Vondi in his eyes. “I would deny saying this, but he’s the type of person who might get off on hurting someone.”
“I talked to Mrs. Tchen,” Dr. Vondi began.
John’s brow furrowed. “My teacher from last year?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to learn more about you, I suppose,” Dr. Vondi said. He hadn’t been sure whether to have this conversation and, if they did, what he would say. Here they were, patient and doctor, discussing what many would think of as a betrayal. Vondi had never done it with any of his other patients.
“What do you mean, learn about me?”
“Well, John, you’re not telling me much. You’re keeping things from me, and you know it.”
“So? I have to tell you everything?”
Dr. Vondi opened his mouth, but no words came out. In what other patient relationship had he demanded everything be discussed? What right did he have to do it now?
“What do you want to know?” John asked. “I don’t care that you went to Mrs. Tchen. She’s cool. But go ahead. What do you want to know?”
Vondi tried to control his facial muscles from showing surprise or eagerness, both of which filled his head like water fills a pool. Surprise at the honesty and eagerness to scratch the itch that seemed intent on driving him mad. An eagerness he didn’t understand and honestly didn’t want to since he was scared of whatever was causing him to feel this.
“I want to know why, in your dream, you can’t save Harry and why you don’t want to tell me.”
John looked at him, distrust written on his face as if someone had scribed the word with a magic marker. “What are you going to do if I tell you?”
“Nothing. There’s just no way for us to create a solid foundation if I can’t understand the most basic things about you.”
“In my dream, I can’t save him because I don’t want to. I’d rather watch him drown.”
12
PRESENT DAY
Father Charles asked, “Where are you, John?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Harry said. “You’re losing your mind.”
John turned the key in the car’s ignition and started it. He pulled away from the curb, part of his mind rejoicing at the interruption.
“Just driving around,” John told the priest.
“Where?”
“The highway,” he said as he drove past Kaitlin Rickiment’s apartment complex. He could feel the gun between his legs on the seat.
“Can you stop any of this, John?” Father Charles asked.
The car came to a four-way stop. The road was empty and quiet this late at night. Harry was yapping, but John blocked him out. He listened to the silence on the phone and the echo it created in his head.
The question asked. Nothing in his mind jumped to answer it. Perfect stillness enfolded the tension the priest’s question created.
“No,” he said finally. “It’s too far gone.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“What I always do.”
“Will you come see me?” the priest asked.
“Now?”
“Yes. I’ve…I’ve perhaps been derelict in my duties. You can’t keep doing this, John. We have to get you help.”
Tears rushed to John’s eyes.
“I can’t believe this,” Harry said, trying to break through the wall John had built. “You’re tearing up because some holy man wants to help you? We’re minutes from killing the girl, John. FUCKING MINUTES! Hang up.”
