classification for Wuornos, as the evidence suggests she had motivations for the murders other than sexual gratification. It really depends on how strict one interprets the typology.”
I nodded. “Actually, I’ve heard this before from one of your own. Right about the time Annalise’s second Saint Louis victim was discovered, in fact.”
“So exactly what is it you’re wanting from me then?” Felicity asked, interrupting before we could diverge any further.
Hanley replied, “Well, Miz O’Brien, as I was telling you earlier, it’s standard procedure to interview most anyone the offender has ever had contact with in order that we form a comprehensive model of the psychopathology relating to the crimes.”
“That sounds reasonable, but my contact was extremely limited and very recent,” my wife objected. “I didn’t even know she existed until a few months ago, much less that we were related. I don’t really see how I can help.”
“Well, that’s what we are hoping to find out today,” Doctor Jante replied. “For some reason Devereaux is extremely fixated on you.”
“No offense, but that isn’t exactly a news flash,” Felicity said with a shrug and an animated shake of her head. “She wanted me dead. One of your agents saved my life and almost lost hers in the process.”
“Special Agent Mandalay, yes, of course,” Jante replied. “We’ve seen the report. However, the issue at hand isn’t merely her fixation, which, to be honest, is actually somewhat of a mystery. And that is why we wanted to speak to you about it. You see, on the surface Devereaux appears to be suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. In lay terminology, you’ve probably heard it referred to as multiple personalities.
“In her case she seems to have two very similar but, at the same time, very distinct personalities. However, neither of these identities is childlike, which is disturbing because one of the hallmarks of a true dissociative disorder is the child persona. Still, both of her apparent personalities are unnaturally preoccupied with you, Miz O’Brien. The interesting thing about them, however, is that their obsessions run to diametrically opposed extremes.”
“Miz O’Brien,” Hanley spoke up. “As I said, we’ve reviewed the case reports and are familiar with the various, shall we say, incidents, which in part led to your implications in the crimes.”
“You mean my trip to the bondage club and motel,” my wife said in a flat voice.
He glanced at me then back to her. “I was trying to be tactful, but yes.”
She shook her head. “I prefer a straightforward approach. But either way, if you’ve seen the case reports, then obviously you also know I was cleared, so where exactly are you going with this?”
“Please don’t misunderstand, Miz O’Brien,” Doctor Jante rushed to clear up the perceived implication. “You aren’t being accused of anything. However, there are some pressing questions that do raise a few concerns in that regard. Specifically the fact that Devereaux’s secondary personality appears to have an extensive and very intimate familiarity with you and your husband, even though she herself has only a cursory knowledge. Such disparities certainly aren’t uncommon with identity disorders, but under the circumstances we feel it bears investigation.”
“Why is that?”
“The apparent connection,” Hanley answered. “According to the case files, the name used by her alternate personality is mentioned prominently in conjunction with you as well, Miz O’Brien. So given that she seems to know so much about you, we were hoping you could help shed some light on Miranda?”
CHAPTER 15:
Miranda.
Hanley spoke the three syllables with clinical sterility, as if they formed nothing more than a mere appellation. I suppose to him, and most everyone else for that matter, that is exactly what it was. But for Felicity and me, the name held a very different meaning. Because of the memories it conjured, I had been making a point of not saying it aloud whenever my wife was around. I seriously doubt my personal moratorium on the noun kept her from thinking about all that had happened to tear our lives apart in recent months, but I liked to believe that it helped, even if only a little.
Hearing it spoken by the federal agent now, however, the rolling syllables that would most likely sound pleasant to anyone else’s ear were no less than a dull knife twisting in my gut. Unfortunately, for us Miranda wasn’t a pretty name at all. Instead of “someone to be admired” as its Latin root suggested, it was just the opposite. Even worse, it had become a garish pseudonym for evil incarnate.
I took a deep breath and heard Felicity do the same. If nothing else, the direction this interview was taking served as a confirmation of the reason behind the persistent chill running the length of my spine. Not that such verification was needed, or even wanted. It simply was what it was.
“Miz O’Brien?” Doctor Jante prodded.
Felicity sighed then looked away and fixed her distant gaze on the opposite wall. After a moment she finally muttered an answer to the question. “ Grodag… Uathbheist… Fekking Ban-aibhistear. ”
The doctor wrinkled her forehead. “Gaelic again, I assume?”
My wife pursed her lips and looked over at her. Then with a frigid voice, she translated the string of foreign words into a simple summation, “You wanted to know about Miranda… There it is. She’s a monster… If Satan exists, she’s the fekking manifestation.”
“I take it you mean Devereaux’s secondary personality? Agent Hanley asked. “Or are you saying there is an actual Miranda?”
“Her personality if that’s what you want to call it then,” she spat. “You’ve been talking to her. She seems real enough, don’t you think?”
“Can you tell us about her?”
“I don’t know what I can possibly tell you that you don’t already know. Like I just said, you’ve been talking to her, not me.”
“Obviously you know something about Miranda, or you wouldn’t be having this type of reaction.”
Felicity’s voice turned hard. “Of course I do. I know what she did. I know I was accused of it. And, I know she made my life a living hell. Isn’t that enough to warrant my reaction?”
“In this case, I don’t think so,” he replied.
“Maybe you should think a bit harder then.”
“Allow me to explain my reasoning, Miz O’Brien,” he continued calmly. “I think you know more than you are saying because according to the early police reports, you actually identified yourself as Miranda on at least one occasion.”
I straightened in my chair at the comment but remained closed-mouthed for the moment. However, I couldn’t say how long that would last. The earlier mistrust I had apparently been too quick to rule out was rearing its head once again. I felt the prickle of gooseflesh as the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. In concert with the sensation, my brain sorted through the various directions this could go. Unfortunately, none of them seemed particularly appealing.
“That’s a different story,” Felicity told him.
“Different how?”
She shrugged. “Just…different.”
“Well, even you have to admit that it seems a bit coincidental,” he pressed.
“You said it yourself,” she replied. “Coincidence.”
“As I said, Miz O’Brien, we’ve read the case files.”
To my knowledge, with the exception of the handful of detectives and federal officers with whom I had closely worked, the name Miranda had been nothing more than an alias used by Annalise. Now, however, the harsh light of the BAU appeared as if it was being trained on a ghost, even if they didn’t realize it, and my wife was being caught in that beam as well.
In response to my wife’s silence, Agent Hanley made a capitulatory gesture with his hands as he raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, I think you’re hiding something. Why can’t you at least tell us why you chose to refer to yourself by that particular name?”
