See No Evil

“Faye?” Faye shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t been counseling her for months, and she’d always unnerved him just a bit. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“Cami let me in,” she said, her voice oddly flat.

“Camilla?” Why? He stepped back. A tickle of fear crept up his spine. Call the police. “Where’s Camilla?”

“She left with her mother, of course,” Faye said. “You saw her leave.”

Faye’s monotone troubled him, but it was her eyes-flat, emotionless, old-that increased Garrett’s trepidation.

He tried to smile as he walked along the upper balcony overlooking the foyer below. Except for dim lighting in wall sconces perfectly placed twelve feet apart along the rounded hall, no lights were on in the house. Hadn’t he left the foyer lights on? He generally did. Now everything was cast in odd shadows, and the foyer looked like a bottomless pit. “How have you been?”

She touched his sleeve. “Look.”

He reluctantly stopped walking. He couldn’t let her sense his fear. He was a trained psychiatrist, he told himself, if she planned on doing something, he could talk her out of it.

As he watched, she turned around and pulled up her shirt. Her back was covered with scars, old and new. Her back. Someone was cutting her. She was allowing it. He had thought she stopped. For the last year, he’d believed she was clean.

How could he have been so wrong?

She turned around and he caught a glimpse of her braless breasts, also defiled. Who had done it to her? Why had she allowed it?

“Who hurt you?”

Her laugh was borderline insane. “You never understood. You pretended to, and I let you think you got it, but you never realized the power.” She pulled down her shirt, took a step toward him. Unconsciously, he took a step back and found himself backed against the balcony railing.

A door opened to his left, at the top of the staircase he was trying to reach. Skip Richardson emerged.

Panic hit Garrett Bowen head-on. Why were these two former patients in his house?

Now he didn’t care whether they saw he was scared. He needed to get to his bedroom and lock the door. There he could hit the panic button that would bring the police and alert his private security company.

He ran down the hall, away from Faye and Skip. Ahead, his bedroom door opened.

Robert Haxton held a gun, its muzzle aimed at Garrett’s chest.

“What’s up, Doc?” Robert grinned at his poor joke.

“What do you want? Money for your drugs? You’re still on drugs, aren’t you?”

“You should know. You got me hooked on them.”

“I did no such thing,” Garrett said, a newfound fury breaking through his fear.

“Oh, yeah. You’re a fuckin’ pusher. Ritalin. Then Wellburtin when I turned thirteen. And the downers and the uppers and everything in between.”

“You were depressed and ADHD,” Garrett said. “You attacked your father.”

“You never believed me!” Robert screamed, his voice echoing in the dark foyer below. “You believed that bastard when he said I’d thrown the first punch. Bull-fucking- shit.”

“You were delusional when first brought to me, and-” but a tickle of doubt niggled in Garrett’s mind. Robert’s anger had been attributed to ADHD coupled by losing his mother at the age of eight. And George Haxton was a pillar of the community. He was mild-mannered and had defended himself when his son attacked him.

Hadn’t he?

“Robert, we can talk about this.”

“No talking. You didn’t believe me then, you’ll only lie to me now because I have the gun.” He raised it and put his finger on the trigger.

“Stop!” He didn’t want to die. “What do you want? Money?” That was ridiculous. Skip, Faye, Robert-they were all from wealthy families. “Drugs? I don’t keep drugs here, but we can go to my office-” Anything to buy time until he could alert someone he was in danger. There were panic buttons in key parts of the house. His garage. The front door. His den…

“Drugs? Money?” Robert laughed. “And I used to be afraid that you could read my mind. The only thing that will make us happy is to jump up and down on your grave.”

Garrett turned to run, away from the gun, heading for the stairs.

Skip was right behind him, his hand outstretched. He had a gun, too.

Not a gun. A Taser. Garrett ran right into it.

Deep electric pain radiated throughout his body as a powerful energy pulsed through his clothing, into his body, causing him to lose control of his limbs. Five seconds might as well have been five hours. Skip pulled the device away and Garrett collapsed against Faye. She was surprisingly strong and held him up. No. Not just Faye. Robert was there, too.

His body frozen, the pain made Garrett’s teeth clench, his muscles tighten. He couldn’t move. Move, Garrett, move! But he was paralyzed.

Faye whispered in his ear, her voice low and warm. “Cami cut me. And she sucked my blood.”

“No,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t make his voice work.

The boys pulled something rough over his neck. The lights came on, too bright, and Garrett squeezed his eyes closed. Something scraped his neck, but the pain was minimal compared to the throbbing that radiated through his body. He was beginning to feel again.

He opened his eyes. The chandelier swayed in front of him. A rope was attached to the base.

He reached for his neck. Noose.

“No, please, no!” His voice was weak.

“Get his legs, Robbie,” Skip said. “We need to do this fast, the shock is wearing off.”

Garrett felt himself lifted up onto the railing. He flailed, kicked at the teenagers trying to kill him. He got Faye in the chest as he tried to grab on to the railing to steady himself.

“Bastard!” Robbie gave him a shove.

Then Garrett was falling, down, down, down. Flashes of light. He barely made out the three silhouetted figures at the railing above him. He tried to reach the noose around his neck, take it off, but everything happened too fast.

He couldn’t scream.

He heard the snap of his neck breaking as his body jerked the noose tight. His vision faded, and his body swung back and forth, back and forth as his lungs fought for air that did not come.

“An eye for an eye, Garrett.”

That voice! He was dying, he couldn’t have heard her voice.

“Good-bye.”

He’d wanted to be there when Garrett Bowen swung from the chandelier, but he needed an alibi, just in case, so he’d asked Faye to bring him back a visual.

She brought him four Polaroids.

“Excellent.” Glee flooded through him as he stared at each subsequent picture. Garrett falling. Swinging like a pendulum. Dying.

He stared at the last picture. “You took a picture of her? She wasn’t even supposed to be there. What happened?”

Faye became defensive. “She showed up just as we were throwing him over the railing. Turned on the lights and we saw her. I didn’t mean to take her picture.”

He didn’t believe Faye. She wasn’t stupid. “These are the only pictures you took?”

Faye nodded. He didn’t know if she was lying.

“Are you sure?”

Her face reddened. “You don’t believe me?”

“Yes, of course, but-”

“You don’t believe me.” She turned away from him, hurt.