Rory gives me his arm. "Take it easy, Jane. Ya get that Scotswoman angry and it's my arse later."
"You like her angry." I push off from the bed, falling forward and refusing his arm. I don't like it when he touches me. I have a hard time looking in his eyes and not seeing the way I think about him when I'm inside them. In their heads it's safe to look into his eyes and imagine what it must be like to be loved by something that harsh and rugged.
I land on the edge of her bed, staring at her pale lips. I can see them holding a cherry, just like her babysitter taught her to. I wish her eyes would open, and I wish her lips would speak to me. Instead, they will haunt me like the others. Too pale and too calm. No animation or life. She is alone inside that place now. She is still sitting on the floral couch in the house in France, the estate I visited once to make a place for my imaginary grandmother.
That's how it works. For as much as they let me inside their heads, I let them inside mine.
She is number seven for me. The seventh person I have entered and manipulated. The seventh person I have controlled and convinced to give me all their secrets, at the same time I let her see mine. There's always a moment when I glance at the glass and wish I could be the doctor behind the glass, observing. Maybe then my head wouldn't hurt quite as much as it does now, a leftover from the haze we make of each other's lives. But that moment is fleeting as the pain fades away and the reality of the insane act I have just committed settles in.
"She looks so young and sweet. I wouldn't have thought it possible for her to be like her father," Rory mutters, sounding like he finally sees her.
I shake my head. "She doesn't know she is. She doesn't know what she does when she sleeps. She remembers nothing. She believes herself to be a victim of him. When she thought she'd done something wrong it nearly killed her." I run my weak and trembling hand through her silky blonde hair. "She's not bad, not on purpose."
He lifts me back from the bed, helping me from the room. I don't look back. That was the last look I should take. I need to separate us now. I need to be me again.
When we are in the hallway Rory sighs again. "Are you sure you're all right? Ya look a bit pale." His thick Irish accent always makes me smile.
"I'm fine. Stop." But he's not the only one attacking me. As usual, Dr. Angie comes running from the viewing and monitoring room. "Och, lass. Ya shouldn't be outta that room just yet. Ya know I hate it when ya do that. Ror, ya need to be on top of this. You're supposed to be in the room until we clear her."
"She's meaner than she looks, Ang."
She glowers at him. "Ya wee chicken, letting a small girl boss ya around." She winks at me. We both know what kind of small girl I am.
Rory points at the chair. "I'll wait out here." I nod and let her take me in her arms. I don't need the help, but I have to humor her or she starts cussing and soon I'm no better than all the other bloody Yanks who annoy the piss outta her or the friggin' leprechaun she lives with. She's a bit racist, but she sounds funny when she does it, so everyone lets it slide.
She leads me to a chair, quickly checking my eyes and listening to my heart. I breathe several times as hard as I can, in and out. She sits next to me, shaking her head. "No more, Jane. Seven is more than anyone else."
I sigh, letting her put her fingers on my neck and arms. "I just wish I could fill the gap, you know?"
She shakes her head again. "No, I don't. But I'm not missing most of my life." She smiles, giving me that sweet face she always does.
It's then that he walks in, offering me a sweet smile. His lopsided lips make me cringe inwardly. I recall every caress and every moment of them brushing against me. I know I blush every time I see the man, but I can't help it. I know I shouldn't use people I know when I slide into the minds of the criminals or patients, but I can't help it. Something real brings me back easier, and more whole than a made-up story.
Dr. Dash nods at me. "How was it?" His gray-green eyes fix on me, more gray than normal. He must be upset about something.
I shrug, desperate to seem cool and casual. If only he knew about the things I imagined he has done. "I found it, the spot. It was a lake. He wrapped the little girls in blue tarps and sunk them to the bottom of a lake."
"Jesus." That's his version of swearing. He's akin to a saint, but when he gets really worked up, that's it, he says Jesus or what the hell. I try not to say motherfucker or twat or any of the others my Irish partner and I chant regularly.
Dr. Dash shakes his head, mystified. I can see it on his face. "How long has she taken up after her father?"
"Since she was nine or ten, I think, but it was animals then, and no one knew. Her aunt came and took her away during her father's trial, abducted her from the state house she was always running away from. She lived in North Carolina and then went to university, but she never finished, so she worked in a shop. She started killing people three years ago when her father was released from jail."
"He was released after such a short amount of time?"
I nod. "Molestation charges were all they had on him. The disappearing girls were never seen at his residence. Everyone believed he did it, but they never proved a thing. When he got out, she went crazy. She went, from what I can understand, and tortured him. Then she killed him and stayed at that horrid old house. She lived like he was still alive, afraid of him. She would bring him the little girls like she did when she was a kid. He used her to lure them. She would take them back to his house, and they would dress up in pretty dresses and play. Last week she burnt the house to the ground when she woke covered in blood again."
He holds a hand up. "I can't do any more, Jane. Sorry. I don't know how you live with that in your head."
I lift my gaze to his. "I take things in there with me, things that will create a better memory than the ones the patients try to give me."
"That's actually genius." He swallows, looking as if he might get sick. My skin is prickled from the sickness of it all, but I don't let it be bigger in my mind than the image of him kissing me and holding me.
The door opens. "They got something. Let's ride." Rory nods at the hallway. I hop off the bed, fighting the dizziness. Dr. Dash grabs my arm, steadying me. I linger, feigning just how dizzy I actually am so I might stay in his grip a second longer. He smiles. "Maybe you should stay."
I shake my head. "I've been living in her head for the equivalent of a solid week. I need to see this to the end."
Rory kisses Angie on the cheek, remaining for a second to whisper something that earns him a wicked grin and a swat. She shakes her head at me. "I don't know how you spend hours in a car alone with him."
"He talks about you the whole time. It's not so bad." I wink at her and turn away.
He nudges me, glaring down. "Ya might keep some of those things to yourself. What happens on stakeout, stays on stakeout. Ya got me looking weak like a nancy to her. She won't respect me for that."
I chuckle, completely aware of the way their relationship works. "You like it when she disrespects you."
He nods. "Aye, I do." He opens the door to the roof when we get up the last flight of stairs. I remember the fear of heights and flying that came from Samantha Barnes and grin, refusing to let it get to me. "I'll drive."
He looks like he's about to argue, but he doesn't. He knows the things I take with me sometimes mess with my abilities at work. No one else knows. Turning on the engines, I sigh and let it all wash away. I have to conquer her fears in order to be rid of them. My palms sweat and my heart races, but I force it, lifting the helicopter into the air.
"How bad was it?" he finally asks when we are halfway to Geneva, Alabama.
"Bad. He used her to lure the girls, treated her like garbage, and locked her away under the house with a notch hole to watch everything he did. He whipped her when he caught her touching herself. That's those marks on her back. He whipped her until she was unconscious."
He blows his breath in disgust. "No bloody wonder she tried to kill herself."
I nod, hating the fact she is a monster because he treated her like one her whole life. Had she been born to a family who loved her, all those little girls would still be alive.
"Where did you leave her?"
That's the part that makes me smile. "With a new family in a beautiful home with a new memory."
He sighs again. "At least that's how she'll die, with a mind full of good things."
I don't want to talk about it anymore, and I can tell he doesn't either. We like the success, the closure. We dislike the thrill of the chase in their heads. He's done three. He does the men, and I do the women. If we suspect who they might be, we watch them, stalk them, and get evidence on them as best as we can. But if we don't know them at all, it's a hard ride in their mind. Samantha Barnes never popped up on our radar until a week ago when she slit her wrists in the concrete back room of her work. She sat there, bleeding out on the cold floor. Knowing who she was in the system made the right people curious, but her bedside confession to a nurse started this process. She fell into a coma before we could get any information. But luckily I don't need someone to be awake to give me everything they have.