Out of Touch, page 15
Mike didn’t say anything for a long moment. He stared hard at his half-eaten pancakes.
“He hypnotized you,” he murmured at last.
“That’s right.”
“You let him hypnotize you.”
“Mike, try to understand. He was my mentor and even my friend. I had no idea … who he really was, what he was capable of doing. I only thought he was trying to help me. And hypnosis is a perfectly legitimate therapeutic tool.”
Another silence fell.
Finally Mike looked into her eyes again.
“Do you have any idea what this means?” he said.
Dylan didn’t reply.
“You can’t work on this case,” he said.
“But—”
“He’s been inside your head. Literally. You said you didn’t remember everything about it before. Do you remember everything now?”
Dylan shook her head.
Mike continued, “So you don’t have any idea how he might have manipulated you.”
“He didn’t …” Dylan began.
But she stopped herself. She knew she was about to say something that probably wasn’t true.
“Dylan, you’ve figured out yourself how powerfully he can control people—even people he barely even knows. You and he were genuinely close. God only knows what kinds of ideas or notions he might have planted in your brain. I can’t have you working on this case. You might be a danger to everything we’re trying to accomplish. You might even be a danger to yourself.”
Dylan’s throat was tight, and she felt her eyes fill up with tears.
“I’m sending you home, Dylan,” Mike said. “For your own good.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Lyle Butler felt a flash of pity as he skimmed over the personal ads.
People are so lonely, he thought.
People are so sad.
People are so small.
He was sitting in his run-down apartment sipping a cup of coffee, with today’s edition of The Baltimore Eagle open on a table in front of him. As usual, he scarcely saw a single ad that wasn’t a desperate plea for some kind of relationship.
Ambitious professional male looking for docile young widow …
Curvaceous middle-aged divorcee seeking an intelligent, athletic gentleman …
Elderly cat lady seeking live-in female platonic companion …
Tall, handsome neurosurgeon looking for a woman worthy of all he has to offer …
Christian swinger who enjoys skinny-dipping seeks soulmate …
There’s a story behind each one of these, he mused.
His habit of checking out those ads in an actual newspaper and thinking about those people’s lives had been established years ago by his favorite professor. But today, his interest in them was even stronger than it had been when he was a college student.
This time, Lyle’s own creative words were there among those vapid pleas.
He ran his finger down the list until he came upon his own ad again.
What is home without a stepmother? Claire is returning to the house on the hill today. I’ll be there at 5:00. Will you?
He smiled with satisfaction at the terse, perfect wording.
Everything is coming together so perfectly, he thought.
Surely fate must be playing a role.
As soon as he’d heard that his idol had escaped from prison three nights ago, Lyle had swung into action. He felt sure his recent deeds would stir Dr. Charles Cameron’s curiosity and admiration. Now he was ready to draw the great man’s attention, and this time everything was going to be different.
He never guessed I had it in me.
For the truth was, Lyle had made no impression at all on Dr. Cameron as a student, and he’d even flunked the one and only course he’d taken from him before dropping out of college altogether. During the years since then, Lyle had brooded over how he’d failed in his hero’s eyes—failed so bitterly that Cameron surely didn’t even know who he was.
But that’s going to change today.
His revered professor had devoted part of each class period to poring over ads like the ones in front of him right now.
“Who are these people, really?” Dr. Cameron would ask the class in his best Socratic manner. “What is their story? What aren’t they telling us about themselves? How would you treat them as a therapist? Let’s look at them one by one …”
A fascinating class dialogue would always follow, and Lyle felt that he’d learned as much about the human psyche from those rambling, seemingly informal discussions as he had from any textbook.
He remembered what Dr. Cameron had said after every one of those discussions.
“I read the personals in the Eagle every single day, without fail.”
And that was how Lyle knew that the ad he’d placed there today was going to catch his hero’s attention. He was sure that even after a stint in prison, Dr. Cameron would never miss his beloved personal ads.
Lyle had hardly been surprised back when the extraordinary news had come out that Dr. Cameron was actually the serial killer known to the public as the Puppet Master. He’d always known that there was more to Dr. Charles Cameron than met the eye—much more than even his favorite students could see.
Lyle had also felt quite sure that no prison could hold a genius like Cameron. And of course he’d been right. The media accounts of Cameron’s escape had been sketchy, but Lyle had been struck by the fact that Dr. Cameron had murdered a guard before he’d gotten out of the prison—murdered him by slashing his throat.
So simple.
No strings this time.
Just a simple slash with a sharp blade.
Even I can do that.
And indeed, that’s what Lyle had set about doing, killing people he felt sure had wronged Dr. Cameron one way or another. He chose them from having read the bestselling book Capital Killers, which included a section about Cameron’s life and crimes.
First Lyle had targeted Neal Ketchum, a former guard at Atterfield Penitentiary who was known for his sadism toward prisoners, including Dr. Cameron himself. Then he’d gone after Ian Harper, an orderly at Thorson Mental Health Center in Grinnell, which Dr. Cameron had described as no better than a prison.
Lyle was pleased and flattered that the media and the police assumed that Dr. Cameron himself had committed both of these murders.
Yesterday he’d ordered his ad to appear in The Baltimore Eagle.
But then he’d had a particularly delicious surprise.
Just last night, a woman named Yvonne Tully had been murdered right here in Baltimore. The media had offered few specifics about the crime, except to say that the victim’s throat had been slashed, and that Dr. Cameron was almost certainly the killer.
Lyle had been delighted.
Although he had no idea why Cameron had targeted this particular woman, surely that murder must have been a sort of reply to his own killings.
After all this time, he had finally caught his favorite professor’s attention.
Now it seemed to him that they were engaged in a sort of homicidal dialogue, a kind of Socratic discussion not unlike those that had taken place in Cameron’s psychology class.
So perfect, he thought, looking at his watch and rising to his feet.
For it was time to head to “the house on the hill” he’d mentioned in his ad.
It was time for him to rendezvous with Dr. Charles Cameron himself.
For he had no doubt that the man would respond to his message.
Before today was over, Lyle and Dr. Cameron would continue their conversation face to face.
This time, his idol would be pleased with him.
And they would collaborate on a murder.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Dylan felt a strange new kind of tension in the air as Mike drove her to the bus station. They had barely said a word to each other during the drive, and she didn’t sense any opening for discussion right now. Of course the fact that he was sending her back to Arlington by the next available bus didn’t exactly brighten either of their spirits.
But it’s more than that, she thought.
She hated being taken off the case, but under the circumstances how could she blame him for the decision he’d made? She wasn’t angry with Mike, but was he angry with her?
But no, it wasn’t anger she felt between them now. With a bit of surprise, she realized what was keeping Mike so quiet.
He’s worried.
He’s worried about me.
And maybe he should be.
After all, she’d just told him that a dangerous serial killer had once hypnotized her. He’d gotten inside her head, and even she didn’t know all of what he’d done while he was in there.
Mike finally broke the silence as he kept driving.
“Have you made the reservation yet?”
“I’ll do it right now.”
She took out her cellphone and used a travel app to reserve the next bus to Arlington.
“Done,” she told him.
Then they both fell silent again.
When they arrived at the Baltimore bus station, Dylan expected Mike to pull up to the front entrance and simply let her out of the car. Instead he drove into the adjoining lot and parked. Then he got out of the car with her.
“You don’t have to walk me into the bus station,” she said.
“I know.”
But he did walk beside her into the large, open, brightly lit station. Together they made their way through the scattering of other travelers, most of whom were pulling suitcases on wheels. Mike hovered nearby as she got her ticket from the self-service machines, then sat down next to her in the row of padded seats.
I guess he’s worried I might not actually get on the bus.
Again, after all the things he’d just learned about her, she wasn’t sure she could blame him for not completely trusting her.
“Mike, my bus doesn’t board for forty minutes,” she said.
He crossed his arms and didn’t reply.
“You can’t just sit here waiting for me to leave. You’ve got a killer to hunt down.”
He made no reply for a few moments.
Finally he said, “Dylan, when you get back home, I want you to find a therapist who can help you deal with … well, this thing.”
“OK.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
“This isn’t something you can handle on your own.”
“I understand.”
Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of arrival and departure announcements. The various voices crackling over the PA system sounded like they were arguing with each other.
Looking at Mike, Dylan could see that he was struggling to decide whether to say something else. She reminded herself that he was worried about her. And again she also reminded herself that he seemed to be attracted to her.
Or maybe he was feeling even more than that. Was he trying to summon the courage to say something about it?
Please, Mike, not now.
This isn’t the right time.
The truth was, she couldn’t imagine there could be a “right time” for such a confession from him. She liked Mike a lot, and sometimes felt a twinge of attraction to him.
Maybe, she admitted to herself, even a little more than a twinge.
But the last thing she needed in her life right now was any more emotional complication. There were too many open questions about her relationship with Andrew. What she and Andrew had had together was familiar and comfortable, and it had seemed to be durable. They had both assumed they would continue sharing their lives.
Now Dylan was still holding out hope that she and Andrew could get their lives back together again, and she was pretty sure he still wanted that too. So she said nothing to give her FBI partner any help with the words he might be struggling to say.
Finally Mike heaved a long sigh and got up from his chair.
“Call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
Without another word he made his way through the clusters of other travelers and out of the bus station.
Dylan was left sitting alone, feeling unhappy and strangely stranded. She shuffled her feet restlessly and wondered what she should do while she was waiting to board the bus to Arlington.
At that moment her cellphone buzzed. When she saw who it was from, she felt a familiar warm glow.
She accepted the call immediately.
“Dylan, how are you?” Andrew said. “I’ve been hoping to hear from you. I haven’t called you because I thought maybe … well, maybe you needed some space, some time to think. I’ve been feeling awful about … where we left things the last time we talked.”
The last time we talked?
Then she remembered—they’d spoken on the phone the day before yesterday when she was at Atterfield Penitentiary.
It seems like longer ago.
They’d certainly ended that conversation on a bitter note. Andrew had tried to order her around, telling her to go home right away and have nothing more to do with the FBI. Dylan hadn’t responded very gracefully.
“You walked out on me, remember?” she’d said. “Which means you kind of gave up any right to make decisions for me.”
“I said some things I shouldn’t have,” Andrew told her now. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I’ve been worried sick about you. Is there any news about Cameron?”
“No, he’s … still at large.”
“Are you safe? Are there still police watching your apartment? Or are you at work? Are the police still there too?”
Dylan swallowed hard.
“Andrew, I’m not at my apartment. And I’m not at work, either.”
“Where are you, then?”
“I’m … in Baltimore.”
“Baltimore? What are you doing there?”
Dylan fought down a sigh. There was nothing to do but tell him the truth. And anyway, he’d surely approve of the way everything had just changed for her.
“Andrew, I’ve been working with Agent Flynn again. I’ve been trying to help him catch Dr. Cameron.”
Dylan heard Andrew gasp.
“Dylan, I … I don’t know what to say …”
“But you don’t need to worry about it anymore,” she hurried to tell him. “Things haven’t worked out here, and I’m on my way home. I’m catching a bus in just a few minutes. Whatever happens next, I’m finished with the case.”
She heard him let out a sigh of relief.
“You made the right decision,” he said firmly.
It wasn’t exactly my decision, she thought. But she knew it wouldn’t make things better for her to say so.
After a short pause, Andrew added, “I really want to see you.”
“I really want to see you too.”
She was a bit surprised to realize how much she meant it. But now Andrew wasn’t talking to her like he had on the phone yesterday, giving her orders about what she could do and not do. He sounded a lot more like the sweet, considerate Andrew she’d fallen in love with.
Dylan realized that she’d really missed Andrew a lot.
“Can I meet you at the apartment?” he asked.
“Yes, but …”
Her voice faded.
But what?
I’m still not telling him everything, she realized.
And she needed to do that right now, before they got together again in person and she lost her nerve or got so caught up in their mutual affection that she let it go again.
“Andrew, there’s something else you should know.”
“Whatever it is, you can tell me when we’re back at home.”
“No, I think I need to say this now.”
She heard his impatient sigh, but Dylan felt compelled to go ahead. This was a long overdue chance for her and Andrew to reconcile, to pick up life together the way things had been before she’d first started to work with the FBI. In a way, it was a fateful moment, and above all else, she felt the need to be perfectly honest.
“Andrew, I’ve put in an application to train at the FBI Academy in Quantico.”
Another silence fell. Dylan sensed that Andrew was stunned—and she couldn’t blame him.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of my being accepted,” she said hastily. “But if I am …”
She hesitated. She felt her heart sinking as she realized she had a serious decision to make. And for the sake of both Andrew and whatever relationship they might have, it was best to make that decision right this very second.
Given how badly things had worked out for her on this case, the decision seemed pretty simple.
“It was a mistake to apply,” she told him. “I realize that now. If I’m accepted, I’ll turn it down. I won’t go.”
A silence fell, but Dylan heard his sigh of relief.
“I just wanted you to know everything,” she said.
“I’m glad. And glad you’ll be turning it down.”
“You’ve still got a key to the apartment,” she reminded him. “Just let yourself in if you get there ahead of me.”
“I will, Dylan. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The call ended, and Dylan sat staring at the board with the bus schedule. She felt too empty and numb to cry.
It’s best this way.
The decision was made, and surely it was good that she didn’t have to think about it anymore. The scratchy voice on the loudspeaker was making the first announcement about the platform number for her bus back to Arlington. She was about to put her phone away when it rang again.
Her heart leapt with a flash of hope. But what was she hoping for exactly?
Do I want it to be Andrew again?
Or do I want it to be Mike?
She looked at the phone and saw that the caller was “unknown.”
She sighed with disappointment as the ringing continued. It was her habit to ignore such calls, which were often hazardous, nuisance-causing scams. She always figured if the caller was legitimate, they could leave a message on her voicemail.
