Chapter 25
Lotta Late Nights
“Hey kid,” Vaughn says when I sit down across from him on Sunday morning. The lines around his eyes are etched deeper than normal, he’s got the largest-sized coffee this place offers, and he’s trying to stifle a yawn. He looks exhausted.
“Late night?”
“Lotta late nights,” he agrees, gulping down some more coffee. “How was your dinner with Katie and Mark?”
“Not bad. No one died. No one even got stabbed. Katie’s in California now, though.”
“Why?”
“The police came to talk to her last Sunday after you and I met. They were trying to figure out if she had anything to do with Brandon Miller’s death,” I elaborate when his eyes narrow.
“Anyway, since then, the reporters have been circling. So, she decided to leave town. It seemed like a good idea, so I didn’t argue.
But then after that…” I trail off. I haven’t told Vaughn about Garret Fischer yet.
Or that Katie knows everything. Or that she’s got plans of her own now.
“After that?”
I let out a long, slow breath. “After that, on Wednesday, Garret Fischer made a new patient appointment and came to my office.”
“Alyssa,” Vaughn grates out, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand.
“And then it seemed like a really good idea for her to be somewhere else.”
“Alyssa,” Vaughn repeats. “What does he know?”
“Nothing he can prove,” I state.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. Trust me, Vaughn. He sat across from me for the better part of an hour. He can’t prove anything,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee. “But he’s going to try to kill me before too long. And it turns out the team hired private security to… I don’t know. Sit outside their houses, I guess.”
Vaughn closes his eyes, takes a long breath, and then says, “He’s out of town now?”
I nod. “Until early Friday morning.”
“What’s your plan for when he gets back?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“Alyssa,” Vaughn chides again.
“When they get back, I’ll stay with Mark. Katie’s out of town, so why not? Garret won’t try anything there. And I’ll figure out how to work around the security detail. I won’t do anything unless I’m sure I can get away with it.”
“If you get yourself killed…”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it,” Vaughn says.
I shrug. “What else am I supposed to do, Vaughn? There’s no going back now.”
“You know your father said those same words to me right before your house was raided?”
“No, but that doesn’t surprise me. Was anyone trying to kill him?” I ask.
“No, he was just an asshole who didn’t want to quit.”
“And what about me?”
Vaughn sighs. “I already regret this, but everything you asked for is in there,” he says, using the toe of his boot to nudge the bag at his feet toward me, seeming to agree that I’m in too deep to quit now. “There are instructions for everything.”
“Thanks, Vaughn,” I murmur as I hook the strap with my heel and pull the bag the rest of the way to me. “I’m going to go see him on Tuesday. Want me to say hi for you?”
“Sure. Why not?” Vaughn grumbles, but he’s not very happy about it.
I’m sitting in the prison visitor’s room, waiting for my dad to be brought out.
The light from the windows is practically nonexistent due to the heavy cloud cover and drizzle that’s been falling throughout the morning.
The usual four-hour drive from Portland took closer to five hours last night, thanks to some snow falling in the mountains.
It’ll probably be the same on the way home, and I’m not looking forward to it.
He’ll be getting out in a few months, though.
I shouldn’t need to make this drive too many more times.
The room is emptier than usual. Only three tables are occupied, and there was no wait to get in today.
The weather must be keeping people away.
And the time of year, I suppose. A lot of people are probably saving their November visits for closer to Thanksgiving.
I should talk to Mark about that. I have no idea what his plans are or if we’ll be spending the holiday together.
Assuming we’re still together at that point. Assuming I’m still alive at that point.
I prop my chin on my hand and sigh. I could’ve just left well enough alone—except it wasn’t ‘well enough’—and I’m not built to sit around and watch rapists get away with it. And if I were, I never would’ve met Mark in the first place.
A second later, my dad sits down opposite me.
“Hey dad,” I greet.
“Hey Alyssa. Why do you look so glum?” he asks.
“You’ve always been really good at that,” I comment.
“What?”
“Knowing what I’m thinking. You’d think at some point you’d have lost the knack for it, with only seeing me once every thirty days or so.”
He shrugs. “It’s just one of those things. You’re good at it too. It’s probably half the reason you became a shrink. So, what’s up?”
“Nothing. Just lamenting my decisions.”
“You kept the hair. Does that mean you kept the guy?” my dad asks.
“I’m working on it,” I tell him. “Why? Do you want to meet him?”
“Do you want to bring him up here to see me? It might not exactly make the best impression,” my dad says, gesturing to himself and his beige DOC uniform.
“Eh. He already knows you’re here. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’s been inside a prison visitor’s room,” I tack on with a smirk.
“No?”
“His older brother is in prison for murdering his dad. Sounds like his dad had it coming, though.”
“Exactly who is it you’re dating, Alyssa?”
“Mark Eriksson. He’s the head coach for the Black Bears,” I add since I’m not sure what sports my dad keeps up with.
“The coach for the guys who raped Katie?” my dad questions, eyebrows raised. “The team that’s unexpectedly had three of those guys die in the past month and a half?”
“Yes.”
“Alyssa,” my dad mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. Vaughn had exactly the same reaction yesterday. They like to pretend they’re nothing alike, but they are. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Righting wrongs? Balancing the scales?”
“And this guy—”
“Mark.”
“Mark. You want to bring him here to meet me? Why?”
“I…” I take a long breath and exhale it. “I don’t know. I guess because I’m in love with him,” I admit, finally saying the words out loud.
My dad closes his eyes and sighs. “You and goddamned Vaughn. How is it you’re my child but you take after him?” my dad grouses, eyes still closed. He sits there silently for a moment. Finally, he opens his eyes and stares at me. “You fell for a mark named Mark.” He bursts out laughing.
It’s Wednesday night, and I’m alone in my condo, reading the instruction manual for the tranquilizer gun with a nature documentary playing in the background. I miss having Katie around.
The bag Vaughn gave me had the tranq gun in a neat, little carrying case with a set of ten practice darts and an equal number of real ones, five CO2 canisters—each of which is rated to fire a total of six darts—and a laser sight along with eight glass vials, each containing five hundred milligrams of Telazol.
Next time Mark wants to buy Vaughn an absurdly expensive bottle of bourbon, I’m going to have to let him.
The Telazol is supposed to be reconstituted at a ratio of five milliliters of sterile water per vial, rendering a solution containing a hundred milligrams of Telazol per milliliter.
Rhys Steichen is six-five. I’d guess he’s around two hundred and twenty-five pounds, but I’m doing my calculations based on a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man.
Or bear, since the closest dosing instructions I found for someone that size came from the Alaska Department of Fish and Game Division of Wildlife Conservation’s Wildlife Capture and Chemical Restraint Manual.
I figure since bears share the feature of being omnivores, the dosing guidelines for humans—not that Telazol is ever recommended for use in humans—should be similar enough.
Fingers crossed. I could accidentally kill Rhys Steichen.
Not that it really matters since I’m going to purposefully kill him anyway.
I would like to ask him some questions before I do, though.
Also in the bag was a folder with documents summarizing Rhys’s typical routines.
Luckily for me, he has a late-night food-delivery habit.
Based on the notes Vaughn gave me, I’m betting that as soon as he gets home tomorrow night, he’ll put in a delivery order from one of the trucks at whatever food cart pod is still open.
His yard has a large hedge encircling both the front and the back.
There’s no seeing the house from the street.
I checked. And assuming his security detail is sitting in a car on the street outside of his house, not inside with him—which seems likely—I just have to arrive before they do.
The hedge will block their view of what’s happening in the yard.
Then I’ll knock on Rhys’s door, leave a bag of takeout, hide in the shadows when he comes to get it, and hit him with a tranq dart.
That’s the easy part, because it’ll probably take a few minutes until he’s fully incapacitated.
If he shouts for help during those few minutes, and whoever’s sitting outside his house hears him…
Well. I’m screwed. As long as that doesn’t happen, once he’s unconscious, I can drag him back into his house.
Then I’ll have a couple of hours to restrain him before he wakes up.
Once he’s awake, I can question him. And once he’s answered my questions, I can kill him. Between the practice darts and the laser sight, that part should be a walk in the park.
Assuming he doesn’t shout for help. But I don’t see any way around that as long as he has a security detail. I’ll just have to roll the dice and run if he does. Live to fight another day, and all that.
If it works, there will only be one hockey-douchebag left. Mission almost complete.
I jump when my phone vibrates against my thigh, almost dropping the tranq gun as I reach for it. It’s Mark.
“Hey,” I say, accepting the call and pausing the documentary. He’s in Texas right now, so while it’s nine for me, it’s eleven for him. “How’s it going? Did you win?”
“I’m good. You could just watch the games, you know,” he says with a grin.
“If you’re threatening to torture me, I can think of more fun ways to go about it,” I tell him, and he snorts. “Besides, the only reason I’d bother watching the game is to see you, and you might be disappointed to learn that the cameras don’t show you that often.”
“Yes, we won. Five to three.”
“Nice. Hey, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?” I ask. I didn’t get the chance to talk to him last night because I was on the road driving back from Walla Walla, and he was already asleep by the time I got home.
“I don’t have any, why?”
“I was thinking maybe we’d spend it together. And normally I go up to visit my dad sometime that weekend, so if you wanted to come…”
“Are you inviting me to meet your father?” Mark asks.
“Yes. You’d actually be the first person I’ve dated who’s met him.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure? It’s kind of a long drive and not the most fun way to spend the time,” I say to give him a chance to consider it and change his mind if he wants.
“I already told you I’m going to take any chance I can get to be a first for you, Alyssa,” he softly reminds me.
“Okay. Want to go on Black Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Normally Jeanette—Katie’s mom—hosts Thanksgiving, and we go over there. So if you want to meet her too…”
“Count me in.”
“Alright, good. What time are you getting back tomorrow?” I ask. Rhys Steichen will be on the same flight, so he’ll arrive home around the same time.
“We should land around one-thirty in the morning. I’d invite you over, but I’m sure you’ll be in bed by then.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I will. I can come over after work on Friday afternoon if you want. And since Katie’s in California for the next couple of weeks, I can stay until whenever you’re next out of town. Feel free to tell me no, though,” I add quickly. “I’m not trying to move in on the sly or anything.”
“Or I could stay with you. I don’t have glow-in-the-dark stars above my bed, after all.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
A smile spreads across his face. “No. But it’s cute. You can see them in the video.”
“Been getting a lot of use out of that, have you?” I tease.
“Yes. Thank you.”
I grin. “Yeah. Me too. I’m good whichever way, so let me know what you prefer.”
“Well, since I’m desperate to sleep in my own bed for a night or two, how about you come over?”
“Okay. Unless something on my schedule changes, I should be there a bit after five.”
Mark and I spend another twenty minutes talking before he starts yawning, and I tell him to go to sleep.
I still need to read the instruction manual for this tranquilizer gun and test it out.
The manual is helpful enough to let me know I don’t need a federal firearms license to shoot it.
I might go down for murder, but at least I won’t have illegal gun possession charges added to my rap sheet, I think with a snort as I load in a practice dart.