The Killer Trail (11 page)

Alex, the head nurse, appeared at Ray's door and advised him that Dr. Stevenson was ready for him in the interview room.
She's ready for me? What a joke. I'll go when I'm damn
well ready,
and he purposely stalled his arrival at the meeting, saying he had to make a bathroom stop. While there, he pissed all over the floor and plugged a toilet.
That'll teach them to
mess with me. S
atisfied that he'd kept the psychiatrist waiting long enough, he emerged from the bathroom and let Alex escort him to the interview room.

Ray entered the cramped room and took a seat. He recognized Dr. Stevenson. The shrink introduced him to another moron, some social worker named Gerald Reed.
I
guess Ryder's skipping this party. What a pity.
Ray smiled widely and extended his arm to shake their hands, starting with the shrink.
Showtime.

“Dr. Stevenson, it is a pleasure to see you again. I'm hopeful you can help me through this difficult period.”

Dr. Stevenson stole a glance at her colleagues as she shook Ray's hand. “Thank you, Mr. Owens.”

“Please, call me Ray. May I call you Marilyn?”

“I'd prefer you call me Dr. Stevenson.”

“Very well, Doctor, you're the boss.” Ray smiled. The shrink started rambling on about the non-confidential nature of their interview and the purpose of the assessment. Ray, bored out of his mind, managed not to yawn in her face, and interjected, “Marilyn... forgive my transgression...
Dr.
Stevenson
, I will cooperate with you to the fullest as I have complete faith in your abilities to help me overcome my affliction.”

“What affliction are you referring to, Ray?”

Bingo.
“Oh, Dr. Stevenson, I continue to be tortured by the most horrendous of voices. You will remember we talked about this when I was last here, and that I had come to believe I was possessed by the devil himself. I only wish I'd been able to receive the necessary help by medical professionals such as yourself in keeping the devil at bay. But he has returned.” He paused for effect. “The other voice, I fear, is that of the unfortunate crippled soul I... I had the misfortune of coming into contact with three years ago.”

“You're referring to Mr. Dobbin, the man who died as a result of the injuries sustained from your offence?”

“Yes, sadly. Not a day goes by that I don't grieve the loss of this poor man. They say there are no victimless crimes, and I must agree. For I have come to see that he, as well as I, became the tragic victims of my most horrific disease.”
Ha!
The fuckers are falling for my story—hook, line, and sinker.
But when Ray glanced at the social worker, he appeared to be glaring back at him.
What's this asshole's problem? You'd
think I'd pissed in his Corn Flakes.
Then he realized the moron was probably upset over what had happened to Ryder. He also wasn't sure what the shrink was thinking.

“Well, Ray, we'll discuss the voices you say you hear in a little while. But for now, I need to ensure that you are fully aware of why you are here. You have been charged with a number of criminal offences. Do you know what they are?”

Ray gave Dr. Stevenson a friendly smile, while inside he was enraged with her.
How dare that bitch try to control this
interview?

She'll learn. She'll definitely learn.
Ray dramatically clutched his forehead in mock discomfort. “Oh. The voices are unhappy with me for talking with you. I need to return to my room to rest my troubled mind. May I leave?” He looked at the shrink, knowing she had no choice but to let him leave.

“Yes, Ray. I'll come see you tomorrow.”

“That would be so good of you. What time were you thinking?”

“It doesn't matter what time. The staff will come and get you. And Ray, just a reminder that another outburst like the one you had on Friday with Mr. Ryder and you'll spend the rest of your admission in seclusion. Thank you. You can go now.”

She can't dismiss me like that,
he raged to himself
.
Ray felt his blood burning but fought to ensure he maintained a pleasant facade. “In that case, I will pray that I feel better tomorrow. Thank you so much for your time,
Marilyn
.”

Alex, Gerald, and Dr. Stevenson looked at each other before Alex rose to his feet to escort Ray to his room. On Alex's return, they debriefed their meeting at length. They were unanimous in their opinion that they had witnessed a desperate attempt by Ray to control the interview.

“I don't know what his game is yet, but it's clear that he's playing some type of game with us all,” Dr. Stevenson said.

Alex nodded in agreement. “We've observed no evidence of psychotic thinking or disorganized behavior from Ray while he's been on Alpha unit.”

“We'll need to remain vigilant,” Dr. Stevenson concluded. “Document each and every interaction and observation with Mr. Owens. We'll need this to support my position in court. Unfortunately, I believe he's just getting started.”

TWENTY-TWO

Monday, February 13, 8:03 a.m.
Bone-weary after yet another sleepless night, Chris groped for the television remote by his side. His new routine involved waking in the early hours of the morning and switching on the television. He would scan multiple useless channels until finally throwing down the remote in exhaustion. He would then close his eyes for another couple of hours as the cycle repeated itself.

He knew work was not an option until he had the go-ahead from his manager, who would consult with Stephanie. Yes, he could ask his union to bring a grievance against the process, but he wasn't interested in bringing any more attention to himself with his employer. And he was trying hard to block Stephanie from his mind, but she kept creeping back.

He turned his thoughts to Sergeant Ryan and realized he was avoiding him as well. The very notion of returning to Woodland Park to retrieve the missing cell phone made him tense up. His shoulder twitched, reminding him of the wounds he'd suffered on the trail. Then he remembered the words Ray had uttered with his contemptuous smirk—
You're not out of
the woods yet—
and he was filled with a renewed motivation to return to the park, to prove that he would not live in fear of Ray Owens.
I will survive this.

Chris pulled his truck into the Woodland parking lot and stepped out into the grey, overcast day. As he walked toward the trail, he tried to ignore his pounding heart and clammy skin.
Stephanie would say I'm engaging in exposure therapy—
returning to the trail, the source of my trauma, to face my
fears. S
miling grimly, he realized that Stephanie was once again occupying his thoughts, but he was too tired to block her out.

Their last meeting had left him debating a number of issues in his head. He knew Stephanie was right to be concerned about his symptoms of PTSD. He wondered if she was also right with her comments about his mother's death, a painful chapter in his life he had always desperately attempted to ignore. Above all, he was still trying to make sense of the bombshell she had dropped about her feelings for him. He had always felt there was a part of Stephanie that remained a mystery to him, and now he was once again intrigued with her.

From the first time he'd laid eyes on her close to ten years earlier, Chris had been strongly attracted to Stephanie. She was blessed with a natural beauty, and he'd spent many an aching moment contemplating what it would be like to explore every inch of her body. Even during his last two meetings with Stephanie, he found himself captivated by less obvious features of her body—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way she twirled her luxuriant hair around her finger. Seeing her again, talking with her again, reminded him how much he missed the sound of her voice.

But the attraction was not solely physical. Chris felt at ease around Stephanie in a way he did not with anyone else. They shared a natural compatibility.
Maybe the timing
is finally right for us
, he thought, and just like that, he was walking with a spring in his step.

His thoughts about Stephanie were a welcome distraction as he walked along the trail. He was even beginning to feel good about his decision to return to the park—until he realized he was approaching the path he had taken when Ray attacked him. His stomach knotted, his chest tightened, and he felt like he was going to pass out.
Oh, Jesus, is this what a heart attack
feels like?
Rationally, Chris knew it was nothing more than an anxiety attack, but he could do nothing about it as he relived his fight with Ray over the rifle and felt the icy barrel of the rifle pressed into his forehead. Too dizzy to walk, he slumped to the ground and closed his eyes, waiting for the moment to pass. He finally summoned enough energy to ignore his shaking body and lifted himself unsteadily onto his feet. Forging further into the park for the cell phone was no longer an option; he could not bear the thought of stepping another foot on the trail. The only thing he could do was retreat back to his truck in defeat.
Stephanie is right. This isn't over.

Back at his apartment, Chris called Stephanie to book an appointment. She sounded unusually restrained, but had an opening later that afternoon. He was quick to grab it.

That gave him several hours to kill. He was feeling antsy and not sure what to do to fill the time. He took his iPod from its dock and chose a selection of Pearl Jam songs, and “In Hiding” rang through his apartment. After a hot shower, he paid extra attention to picking out his clothes. He grinned as it dawned on him that he wanted to look his best for Stephanie.

On his way to her office, Chris thought over what he would say to her. He would have to tell her about his agonizing experience at Woodland Park and acknowledge that she was right. He would start the meeting on a positive note and see where things led them from there. Aware of his nervousness
and
excitement, he knocked on Stephanie's door.

“Come in, Chris.”

Stephanie looked tired, and from her tone, Chris sensed that something was on her mind. “Is everything okay?”

“I don't think so.”

“What's wrong?”

Stephanie paused. “I thought a lot about what you said during our last meeting. You were right about a few things.”

“I said a bunch of stuff, and some of it was because... because I was pissed off. But I'm over that now.”

Stephanie took a deep breath. “I blurred the line between our professional and personal relationship. You made a comment about feeling betrayed. And.. .and I think you're right. I shouldn't have done that.” She looked visibly uncomfortable and avoided making eye contact.

“Well, I said some things too. I mean, that's what I wanted to say to you today. You made some good points last time that really made me think.”

“But I let my personal feelings get in the way of my work with you.”

“I don't know, Stephanie. Part of me thinks that it's because of our past that you were able to help me see things... more clearly.”