Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“They deserved every single cut of my knife…”
I stopped the recording again, closing my eyes to block out images it created, rubbing my nose as if that would clear them, then I returned to the page on my laptop that currently served as my thesis. I typed my notes along with a few more comments and then just stared at the screen.
Idiot.
Three days had passed since I met Emery, my father’s killer. My brother, uncle, and cousins’ killer. My immediate family and more than half my extended family had been gone for almost six years now. My mother died when I was four from cancer, and my grandparents passed before I was born. If it hadn’t been for Wes, my father’s friend, and his wife, I would have been put into the foster system. If it hadn’t been for Jamie and my small circle of friends, I would be utterly alone.
All thanks to Emery.
I finally met him, had a chance to tear him apart figuratively, and I blew it. Or at least I felt I had. Dr. Langley made it very clear that Emery hadn’t talked to anyone as much as he had to me that night in years.
But it still felt like a failure. I hardly learned anything. Only that, somehow, Emery thought my family deserved what they got. Which was horrifying as much as it was untrue.
I wanted more to the story. Needed it. I emailed Mrs. Conley back about the interview and that it hadn’t been enough. But the emotion Emery had pulled from me…the memories…it was so much. Maybe too much. I didn’t know if I could stomach seeing him again.
But for my family, for myself, I was desperate for the truth. For three nights, I went back and forth on my decision to email Dr. Langley, begging him for another chance with Emery. Eventually, I gave in. Only to not hear a word back.
That night might be all I get. Maybe he thought it had been too much for me. That no matter how hard I tried to hide my fear behind a pretty smile, he had witnessed the pale face and bright eyes of someone who was terrified. Who wasn’t strong enough to handle someone like the Devil of Harper Pointe.
My gaze fell to the picture frame on my desk beside my computer. Me, my father, and my brother, Terri, at a pumpkin patch on my tenth birthday. Terri had been nine years older than me and had just started college. He had also started working for my father’s company, Martel Health Industries a year prior. He had wanted to either be like Dad, a clinical neurologist, or a surgeon like Uncle Pete since our cousin, Vince, already started his masters in internal medicine. Because that’s what my family did…had done. They helped people, not hurt.
So how could Emery say such a thing? How could he say they deserved what they got?
My phone vibrated, flashing a text from Jamie.
I’m back and I want to hear everything that happened. NO PHONE CALL. Meet me at Lela’s. 2:30.
I rolled my eyes and sent a message back. As if I would call. Besides, I hadn’t been out of my apartment in days, not even to go to the library or campus. I wouldn’t be meeting Mrs. Conley until tomorrow, and my other classes were online to give me more time to work on my thesis and less time driving and sitting in a classroom.
I turned off the recorder and placed it in my bag. I wasn’t about to let Jamie hear any of it, but I needed it with me, some strange paranoia demanding that I keep me and Emery’s conversation close lest it somehow get deleted, even when I copied it to my computer. Or maybe it was because I wanted to listen to it again in the car.
As I went for my coat, Sammy—my black and orange feline—meowed and rubbed softly against my leg.
“I’ll be back, sweetie,” I said, bending to scratch her head. She meowed again in response as I made for the door.
Even though Lela’s was only down the road, I drove. In early September, the air was already chilling and the clouds hinted at rain. Surprisingly, the little coffee shop wasn’t too packed today. Jamie waved at me from the window seat as I entered.
“There’s my girl,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. His blond hair was styled back as usual, and he wore a crimson wool sweater that reminded me of the changing leaves. He hugged me tight, and I smiled as I always did at his greeting.
“How was Chicago?” I asked as I went to sit, noticing he had already ordered my favorite caramel-flavored coffee.
“Oh, I hated it!” he said enthusiastically, sitting back down in his seat with his espresso in front of him.
“Really?”
“Yes, absolutely. I almost sat in piss on the train, and a man wouldn’t stop yelling at everyone. The conference started late and was boring. You missed nothing,”
“Well, that’s a relief. I told you it would be awful going alone. You should have brought Ben.”
He waved my suggestion off. “He complains if he has to walk more than five minutes anywhere and would have missed the conference, getting distracted by the nearest art gallery with a bar. No, no he was better off here.”
“Well, I’m sorry it was lame.”
“Me too. But who cares. You and I both know what we're really here for.” He leaned in, staring me down through his glasses, cupping his espresso. “Well?”
I took a deep breath. “Well…it happened.”
“Yeah, and?”
I wasn’t really sure where to start. And Jamie must have seen me struggling. He took my hand. “Was it that bad?”
“No…I mean, it wasn’t easy, but…I didn’t fuck up and run away, so, you know, that’s something.”
“Yeah, but did you get him to talk?”
I nodded.
“What did he say? Did he tell you why he did what he did?”
“No.”
“Figures. But you did get him to talk.”
“Yeah.” I shifted in my seat. “He said…he told me they deserved it.”
“What?”
“He told me if he could do it again, he would.”
“What the actual fuck,” Jamie whispered. “Shit, Eve, I’m so sorry.”
I tried to act unaffected. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “It’s not like I thought he’d say he regretted it.”
“Yeah, but I thought he’d deny it. Many killers do. This is very weird.” His sharp blue eyes watched me curiously. “Was it a religious fixation? Did he believe they were going against god or something?”
“No, nothing like that.”
Jamie sighed. “Well, now you know that much at least. And how fucked he is. Plenty to talk about for your thesis, right?”
“I don’t think it’s enough.”
He blew out a breath, sweeping a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Listen, I get your obsession. When I got to interview the Smiley Killer, I nearly wet my pants. Seriously, I get the thrill—”
“It’s not like that.”
“—but this is too personal. What this guy did…Eve, you can’t keep your emotions at bay. Not with him. We’ve gone through undergrad together, seen and heard some awful shit and learned to see things as an observer. To understand. Do you think you could ever understand him? Forgive him?
I didn’t know how to answer that so he continued, “No. I don’t know that you could, especially now that you know he doesn’t want to be forgiven.” His eyes widened at a sudden realization. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“No, he has no idea who I am.”
He let out a slow breath. “That’s good. At least you know how he feels. You know I’m totally here for you on this, Eve. As a fellow psych 101 wannabe. And I know I’m only repeating what I said to you before you went and saw him. Your secret will always be safe with me, but I’ll add this; seeing your family’s killer was a crazy move.”
“I know. I know it could mess me up even more. But this guy has been in my head for a long time already. And it’s my decision. I want to know why. Maybe he’s just crazy. Or maybe there was a reason. But at least I’ll know.”
Jamie reclined in his seat. “So you’re gonna try to get another interview?”
“Trying.”
“Well, you have more balls than most men I know; I’ll give you that at least. If they even let you. Or if he even wants to talk again.”
“I know,” I said bitterly.
“Lena called me, said she’s having a party over the weekend and wants us there. I say we go and take our mind off the crazy stuff.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, no. You aren’t going hermit on me now. That’s the deal. You can go hard on your project and I won’t pressure you out of it, but you don’t close yourself off.”
I huffed. “Fine.”
My phone went off and I checked it to find a familiar number. My heart leaped into my throat. “I have to take this,” I said, starting to stand.
“Stay here and take it. I need to use the restroom anyway.”
Once he slipped down the hallway, I answered, “Mr. Langley, hi!”
“Ms. Layne, I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time...”
“Not at all.”
“Good, good. I just wanted to call and tell you I saw your email. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to respond. We have been so busy here since the last time you visited.”
“It’s fine, I understand.”
“I’m going to give you my honest opinion. I think it's very risky, having you come again. I was hesitant the first time even with Mrs. Conley's recommendation.”
“I understand, sir, but—”
“Let me finish, please. It makes me nervous, even as good as our security is. Emery is one of our most dangerous patients. It’s a wonder he even got the insanity plea. Most would believe he should be locked in prison under strict confinement, but I have no say in the law when it comes to this.”
The image of him that night chained to the chair, his devilish eyes boring into mine was still burned in my skull.
“But I take my work seriously with every patient no matter who they are,” he continued, “and what I know is Emery, like any patient, needs help. He needs someone to guide him through his traumas, his thoughts, why he has them, and how they can be changed. Mended. Medicine can only do so much, after all. That’s what therapists are for. I didn’t want to give up on him, but after some time, I worried he might be a lost cause. That his demons couldn’t be shaken.
“But your visit made some kind of an impression. Risky or not. I’m not sure what he might be playing at, I hope nothing but…”
“What are you trying to say, Dr. Langley?” I asked, wanting him to get to the point.
“He wants to see you,” he concluded.
I stiffened. “He does?”
“And I don’t mean, just for shits and giggles. Forgive my language. He says he’ll work with us. Well, work with you. He’s never requested to see our therapists and doctors before, but he says he’s willing to try. But only if you are his therapist. I tried to argue with him that you are not an accredited doctor and that you are merely a student, but that hardly mattered to him. I gave it some thought, and I've decided to put his needs over the rules. You, of course, won’t be able to properly diagnose him or suggest medication, but we will record what we can and make our own conclusions from there. It’s an odd situation, but as long as he’s talking, I think it’s a start. What do you think, Eve, would you be interested in taking this chance with Emery?”
I clutched the phone so tight in my hand I could feel my palm sweating. This was really happening.
“Eve, are you there?”
“Y-yes. Yes, I’m here, sorry.”
“I understand if this is too much to ask.”
Jamie returned, and I turned to him. His eyes widened in concern, but all I could do was smirk at him. “No, I’m glad you asked,” I said. “When can I start?”