Never Knowing

She might’ve started talking about her niece.”

“That’s a stretch — she’s more apt to be talking up Kyle’s band.”

“Oh, crap.” I sighed. “I said we’d listen to his CD, for the wedding.”

“We’ll do it soon.”

“We better, or she’s going to be pissed.”

“Melanie’s the least of your problems right now.”

We were quiet again, then he said, “No, I have a feeling he’s been to the island and he’s been watching you.” His arm tightened around me. “Keep an eye out. Look for any vehicles that may be following and pay attention to your surroundings.” “I always do.”

“No, you don’t. You get distracted. Promise you’ll be careful.”

I spoke slowly, exaggerating each word. “I promise to be more aware of my surroundings.”

He kissed my temple and gave me a squeeze. Tucked into Evan’s arm, with the warmth of his body against my side and the steady sound of his heart beating in my ear against his chest, I started to drift off.

He murmured in the dark, “I don’t want you to talk to him again, Sara.”

I whispered into his shoulder, “I won’t. I’m done.”

But I haven’t heard from John since. Evan stuck around the last couple of days. So did Billy and Sandy, which is why I didn’t come for my session yesterday. It wasn’t so bad having them there, I guess. Usually one of them went to the station during the day, and it was nice having someone escort Ally to school with me, but I missed my alone time with Evan — I missed my alone time.

Billy was the one who usually hung out at the house during the day, which was not helping my relationship. A couple of times Evan walked by when I was grilling Billy about the case or his theories on John, and Evan got this look. One night after he went to bed, Billy and I stayed up talking about different cases he’d worked on. When I finally crawled into bed Evan rolled over and put his back to me. I asked what was wrong — twice — and he said, “I don’t like how friendly you’re getting with Billy.” “Um, he’s staying in our house. What am I supposed to do, ignore him?”

“He’s a cop. He’s supposed to be professional, not chatting up my fiancee.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. We were talking about old cases.”

“I don’t like the guy.”

“That’s obvious — you were rude to him at dinner.”

“Good. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go sit in the fucking squad car.”

“I can’t believe you’re being such a jerk. He’s like a brother to me, Evan.”

“Just go to sleep, Sara.”

This time I turned my back on him.

Part of me sees Evan’s point — can’t say I’d like it if he started hanging out with Sandy all the time — but I meant what I said: Billy’s become like an older brother to me, a really protective older brother who carries a gun. One time when I had to meet him at the station I saw him walking a woman to her car. As she got in I caught a glimpse of her bruised face. When I asked Billy about her, he shook his head and said, “Another abusive husband on a bender.” “Was she getting a restraining order?”

He snorted. “Yeah, but they’re a waste of paper. Half of the abusers go after the women anyway. And they usually get away with it.” He stared at the woman’s car as it drove off. “She’ll end up in the hospital next time. Her husband needs a taste of his own medicine.” Something in his voice prompted me to ask, “Have you ever done that? Taken things into your own hands?”

He turned to me, his face serious. “Are you asking if I’ve broken the law?”

I tried to laugh off my impulsive question, then said, “I don’t know, I can see you as the masked crusader type.”

He looked down the road again. “‘The skillful strategist cultivates the way and preserves the law, thus he is master of victory and defeat.’” He turned to me. “Come on, let’s get a coffee.”

Even though Billy blew off the question with yet another quote, I had a feeling he might have done a little street justice in his time. It doesn’t bother me if he did. In fact, I like it. That’s the kind of person I want on my side. He told me once he’s still close to a few victims he worked with, that for him “the case doesn’t stop until someone’s behind bars or dead.” I hope he adds John to that list — in either category.

There was a call on my cell this morning, but it only rang twice, then stopped. Not that I was going to pick it up anyway — I’d already told Sandy I’m not answering if John calls again. I thought they’d give me a hard time, but they both kept their opinions to themselves. They probably think I’ll change my mind. Not a chance. The number was from a pay phone near Williams Lake, so it looks like he’s off-island. Maybe I well and truly pissed him off this time and I won’t ever hear from him again.

I wonder what that would be like after so long. Will I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder? Waiting for the phone to ring? Can something like this ever really be over?

SESSION FIFTEEN

When I got home from our last appointment Evan told me he’d decided to stay for the weekend. I wondered if his decision was motivated more by concern about Billy than about John, but it was nice having him home for a change. Not that it helped me get anything done. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve picked up a tool and just set it back down. Most of the day I just sit at my computer.

Now I’m resorting to Googling things like “how to know if you’re being followed” or “self-defense moves that could save your life.” One article had suggestions for what to do if you’re attacked by a serial killer or rapist, like fighting back or screaming. It even listed what might trigger each one. But it seems like the only way of knowing for sure which kind you’ve got on your hands, or rather has his hands on you, is when you’ve messed up and he’s killing you.

I still printed everything out — just in case. Then I added the pages to the enormous file I’ve already got going for all my other John stuff. I’ve been keeping a logbook, back from when he first started calling. I make note of the time of day he calls, his moods, tone of voice, speech patterns, anything.

When I’m not Googling, I’m e-mailing Billy little How’s it going out there? messages. He always answers back. Sometimes just, Don’t worry. Or Hang in there, I’ll call later and touch base. Evan would freak if he knew how much we’re in contact. I don’t like doing it behind his back but I can’t explain why I need the reassurance, at least not in a way Evan would understand. He’s great at shaking me out of my funks and balancing the roller coaster of emotions I’m generally on. But that’s when I’m operating at a level five. Once I’ve hit ten, all his just-don’t-think-about-it advice pisses me off. Billy’s we’ve-got-it-under-control attitude is what I need.

Last Friday night was brutal. Even though Evan was home and I hadn’t heard from John since Monday, I didn’t feel any more relaxed. My cell phone was quiet, but my mind was loud. All the books say that serial killers can be super impulsive. If John gets an urge to talk he just might pick up the phone regardless of how angry he is, just to tell me how angry he is. Or he might decide to do it in person. But the thing is, people of John’s type—my type — are just as obsessive as they are impulsive. What kept me up all night was wondering what was keeping him up. Then on Saturday morning the calls started again.

My cell rang while we were making breakfast — well, Evan was making it, I was talking and getting in the