The Good Listener (6 page)

“You saw me on TV? Which interview?”

“All of them. I was there in the news station at the last one. I called your name.”

“Wait a minute. That was you that called my name?”

“Yes.”

“How or why were you there?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Why didn’t you say anything other than calling my name and getting out of sight?”

“It wasn’t the right time.”

He had been watching me.

“Let me ask you this. Did you come by here? Late one night and somewhat hide out behind the building?”

“No.”

I wasn’t sure that I believed him.

“But that’s what you said right? You said that I have to trust you? I have to trust you with my thoughts. My feelings. And my secrets. I have to trust you in order for you to be able to help me. What better way to build trust than to ask questions?”

“You’re right. Ten years of marriage. No kids.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you have kids?”

“We haven’t had the time.”

“Do you want them?”

“Yes.”

“Does he want them?”

“Sure.”

“Aren’t you supposed to give your husband what he wants? I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone else to.”

I ignored his comment.

My uterus or marriage to Joel wasn’t what we needed to be discussing.

“So tell me, how can I help you change your mind? How can I save your victim? How can I stop you from committing murder?”

“That’s something that you have to figure out.”

“Why do you want to kill her?” I questioned.

“Because I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Are you really going to kill her?”

“Would I be here if I wasn’t? Would I have come and confessed it to you if I didn’t have any real plans of doing it? I don’t think so.”

“But what about your career?” I inquired.

“Who said anything about getting caught?”

“So you don’t think you would get caught?”

“No.”

“But what if you did? Are you willing to risk everything? Your career? Your life? Your freedom?

“Yes. But I wouldn’t get caught.”

“And you would commit the murder yourself?”

“That’s the only way to do it. No one else can do it the way that I could.”

My stomach turned.

I dreaded to ask the next question, but I had too.

“Have you ever killed before?”

He stared at me.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Blake stared at me long and hard, making me extremely uncomfortable.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I have killed before. And I liked it.”

I wasn’t as surprised by his answer as I thought I would have been.

He definitely gave me the vibe of a serial killer, according to all of the things that I’d researched and studied about them.

But I was still frightened to a certain extent just to be sitting in the same room with him.

“You liked it? You didn’t feel guilty at all?”

“No. Not one ounce of guilt. That’s why I need help. Something is wrong with me. I don’t want to do it again.”

“Then don’t.”

“If it were that simple I wouldn’t be here Hannah. I live for those moments when blood splatters on my face or when someone takes their last breath, and I’m the last face that they see. It makes me feel alive.”

I struggled to keep my face together, and my heart dropped to the pit of my belly.

The look in his eyes told me that there was truth and a story behind every word that he had just said.

I almost didn’t want to continue the conversation, but I knew that I had to keep going.

I couldn’t show him fear. I couldn’t show him that I couldn’t handle his confession.

“Who? Who did you kill Blake?”

“Would you ever try to go to the police? I’ve already said more than enough, and I’m just getting started. I would hate for things to turn ugly.”

Was that a threat?

Sure sounded like one to me.

“Why would I go to the police? You know that I can’t do that. What you say to me here stays in here.”

He looked at me.

I wasn’t sure if he was actually implying that he would harm me if I tried to tell authorities of his plans, but not only could I not by law, now I surely wouldn’t out of fear.

Something told me that I had better not take his words lightly, and I didn’t plan to.

I guess now I was stuck helping him whether I wanted to or not.

“Who did you kill Blake?”

He was edgy, and I could tell that he was about to shut down on me.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re already dead. Some have been maggot food for years, others are….it just doesn’t matter.”

“Could I be the judge of what matters or not Blake? It could be the smallest thing or the smallest detail that leads the way to your breakthrough.”

“In due time.”

He was making everything so difficult.

But I was good at my job, so I could play his games with him until he got tired of running.

The way I saw it, the longer he came to me to talk it out, the longer his next victim stayed alive.

We seemed to stare at each other for a while.

He didn’t say a word and every time that I started to say something else, he asked for silence.

So we simply sat there and finally he spoke.

“What did you say your favorite color was again?”

Huh?

And we were back to the basics again.

I was doing something that I never tried to do with my patients.

I was diagnosing him with all of the things that I thought could possibly be wrong with him before having enough time and information from him to back it up.

But there were so many things that I felt could be issues with him that my head felt as though it was going to explode.

I never called my patients this out loud and most of the time, I wouldn’t even allow myself to think it, but Blake was every last drop of crazy.

He definitely needed more than just therapy.

And I was starting to regret getting involved.

As Blake continued to ask irrelevant questions, I took a deep breath, relaxed and for the rest of the session I let him lead.

I allowed him to ask me any question that he wanted to, anything under the sun.

I allowed him to jump from topic to topic.

I allowed him to tell me any and everything that he felt the need to.

And I did my job; I listened.

Once he was gone, I spent hours typing notes about him and researching possible solutions and mental studies that he seemed similar to.

I had to force myself to leave, and once I was home, I sat in the car for another hour simply rereading a few of my notes on him.

It was clear that he had the mind and the signs of a psychopath, and if I didn’t find a way to get through to him, he was going to do just what he’d said that he was going to do.

He was going to kill…again.

And there was no doubt about it.

~***~

“Hello?”

They hung up again.

I wondered if it was Blake.

Of course, I had definitely given him my personal number just in case he had an after-hours urge or some kind of emergency where he needed to talk on a day that he wasn’t scheduled.

But thinking back to when the mysterious calls began, he didn’t have my contact information back then so it couldn’t be him.

But considering that the calls were always private and the number was always unavailable, I wasn’t sure if it was someone playing games or someone that really needed my help.

But I answered, hoping that one day they would brave enough to speak, and on that day I would be all ears.

“Doesn’t that bother you? Folks playing on your phone.” China asked.

“Nope.”

“Anymore strange roses?”

“Not in a little while. I really needed this,” I chimed.

I’d worked myself to death.

I was exhausted and the one day that I’d decided to give myself a break, Joel had to work late himself, so I took China up on her offer for dinner.

Honestly, I was actually glad to be hanging out with her instead of my husband.

Since I’d been seeing Blake and working even harder, his complaining and nagging was through the roof.

He never seemed to shut up and here lately, whenever he started talking, I ended up with a headache.

China was much better company.

“I invited Summer to come along with us; but she had plans,” I said to her.

China waved off my comment and took a sip of her drink.

China and Summer were pretty much my only friends.

I was well acquainted and close with my other colleagues, but we rarely spent time outside of work.

They all had full blown families with wives, husbands and kids, so they were often struggling to make time for loved ones just like I was.

But China and Summer were both childless and single, so they were always available.

Considering that I was an only child, and both of my parents were deceased, all I really had was them, Joel and his family.

If it weren’t for me being married, meeting China and hiring Summer, I would be pretty much all alone except for a few distant cousins that I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Joel wants a baby.”

“Really? That’s great. I thought that’s what you wanted too or did I miss something?”

“I do, but I’m just not sure if right now is the right time. I have a full plate. It’s just a lot going on at work.”

“Work? I have never heard you complain about work Hannah or even use it as a reason not to start a family.”

“Funny. Joel said the same thing.”

The murder issue with Blake had me completely off of my game and the fact that he was so sure that I was the only one that could help him just added more pressure.

He wouldn’t even consider going to any other psychologist.

Believe me, despite my fear that he might want to tie up loose ends I’d still suggested it, but it he refused.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure that you’ll find the right words to say. You always do,” China concluded, sensing that something really had me bothered.

But I wasn’t so sure.

For the first time, ever, I was second guessing my abilities.

I found myself thinking twice before opening my mouth.

“And you were right. I left the married man alone.”

Thank you.

I smiled at China.

She had been through so many different men in all of the years that I’d known her, and I was sure that she was tired.

At first, it was all fun and games, but she was getting older, and whether she admitted it or not, she wanted real love.

And I was hoping that she found it soon.

After a while, I actually managed to relax and take my mind off of Blake.

I enjoyed the rest of our dinner and then finally it was time to head home.

When I arrived, I found that Joel wasn’t there.

Of course, he’d known of my plans to meet with China and after I had been home for about an hour or so and with still no sign of him, I called him.

But he didn’t pick up.

Exhausted, I figured that I would relax on the couch so that I could hear him come in.

Minutes later the doorbell rang and with caution, I headed to the door. I was surprised to see that it was the police.

Immediately, I started to panic and ask questions about my husband, and they looked at me confused.

“Are you Dr. Lewis?”

“Yes, I am. Is my husband okay? Where is he?”

“I’m not sure where your husband is ma’am. Do you know a Mrs. Whiteside?”

What?

I nodded.

“Yes. She was a patient of mine. I haven’t seen her since her last day of therapy. Is she okay?”

“I’m afraid not. She’s dead.”

What?

“When? How?”

She was fine the last time that I saw her.

It just didn’t make sense.

“Hours ago. We won’t say how, but her husband found her. Dead. It’s presumed to be a suicide. Your cell phone number was the last number that she’d dialed.”

My heart felt so heavy, and tears escaped from my eyes and rolled timidly down my cheeks.