Page 28 of Twelve
Keep her talking,I thought.Give her what she wants.
“The signs of what?” I asked.
“Psychological trauma.” Her expression was neutral, but I could feel her stare crawling over my skin. “Working cases like Mackenzie’s when you were still a child yourself—that’s a lot to take on.”
Her tone was open, almost kind, and I remembered everything that Dean and I had concluded about our UNSUB from the files.
You see yourself as an angel of mercy. The first time you saw someone—or helped someone—commit suicide, they were probably in incredible pain, you probably loved them, and they might well have asked for your help.
You know trauma. You recognize it. Some part of you craves it.
Down below, I heard the door open and prayed that it was Lia—just like I prayed that up above, Celine and the crisis negotiator and Mackenzie’s mother had talked Mackenzie down.
“I really should be getting back to my patient.” The psychologist took a step up, positioning herself above me.
I said the only thing I could think of to stop her in her tracks. “I killed my mother.”You know trauma. You recognize it. You liberate the sufferer from it.“She made me do it, but it was my hand holding the knife.”
I only needed another minute, maybe two. I needed to distract her from the sound of footsteps running up the stairs toward us.
“I dream about it,” I said. “All of it, all the time.”
“I’m going back to Mackenzie.” Her voice was sharp, her movement up the stairs sudden.
I followed and grabbed for her arm. I’d offered her a taste of my pain. It wasn’t enough to keep her here—but I had to keep her away from Mackenzie.
“Let me go.”
“Did you treat the Summers boy?” I asked her, hoping to catch her off guard. “What about the girl who killed herself? Were youtreatingher, too?”
The response was chilling. “What are you trying to imply?”
In for a penny, in for a pound.“I’m implying that you wanted them to kill themselves,” I said, buying precious seconds. “But you overplayed your hand with Kelley.”
She jerked her arm out of my grasp, sending me flying backward into the wall. I steadied myself and prepared for another blow.
It didn’t come.
“It’s a mercy, isn’t it?” I pressed. “What you offer them? What you do? What youdidto Kelley.”
The footsteps were right upon us now, but I couldn’t afford to turn my back on the killer above me.
She leaned forward. “I hadnothingto do with what happened to Kelley Peterson.”
I saw a flash of motion out of the corner of my eye. Lia rounded the corner, Michael beside her, gun in hand. He raised it.
“You with the righteously indignant, yet distinctly guilty expression on your face! Hands in the air!”
The psychologist’s gaze darted from me to Michael to Lia.
“Batman said to put your hands in the air,” Lia told her. “And while you’re at it, repeat what you just said about the death of Kelley Peterson.”
“You’re feeling annoyed.” Michael Townsend offers the headmaster what passes for a twelve-year-old’s most charming smile. “But also: secretly impressed with my hijinks. And is that…anticipationI see?” Michael gestures toward the headmaster’s face. “Asymmetrical lip tilt, dilated pupils. Is someone secretly hoping for a new auditorium? Tennis courts? A donation to the development fund, perhaps?”
Michael’s father has a history of buying his son’s way out of trouble. Michael has a history of making that difficult.
It’s a point of pride, really.
“What is it that you want, Mr. Townsend?” The headmaster has that austere, you-will-respect-me tone down. “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?”
