Fear Nothing (29 page)

“Liar.”

She frowned, blinked her eyes.

“He did. I know he did. And I didn’t cry, did I? Or flinch or pull away. I just stared at him. I stared and that scared the shit out of him, didn’t it? That’s why I lived in the closet. Not to keep me safe. Not because our mother magically loved me more, and not because I was
just the baby.
I was stuck in that goddamn closet because he didn’t want me looking at him like that.”

“Seriously?” my sister drawled. “
That’s
what you’re angry about? Being stuck in a closet? Because take it from me, I got bigger things worth raging about.”

She started rolling up her sleeve to show me her collection of scars, ones my father, and even Shana herself, had inflicted over the years. Fat scars, thin scars, rolling pink lines, thin white streaks. All of which I’d seen before. All old news.

“I know your pain, Shana,” I said quietly. “I can’t feel it, but I
know
it. That’s my role. I’m our family’s conscience. I have been from the very beginning. That’s what scared Daddy so much forty years ago. He looked into my eyes, and instead of seeing the terror and anguish and misery he was accustomed to, he saw himself. Just himself. No wonder he kept me in a closet after that. It’s easy to be a monster. It’s much harder to see yourself as monstrous.”

“That doctor talk? Kind of thing you bill out by the hour? Because real people, we call that bullshit. Just so you know.”

“Good-bye, Shana.”

“You’re leaving already?” Then, as the silence dragged and the full meaning of my words sank in: “Seriously? You came down here . . . all the way down here . . . to, like, break up with me?”

“I loved you, Shana. Honestly, when I first got your letter, all those years ago . . . It was as if I’d spent twenty years locked in that closet, just waiting for you to open the door. My sister. My family.”

Shana thinned her lips, drumming her fingertips restlessly on the tabletop.

“I told myself I could handle these monthly conversations. I assured myself I had the training necessary to manage a relationship with a convicted killer. But mostly, I wanted to see you. I wanted one hour a month when I could have a sister. We’re the only ones left, you know. Just you and I.”

Shana’s fingertips, drumming faster.

“But we don’t really have a relationship, do we? The bottom line is, you suffer from severe antisocial personality disorder. Meaning I’m not real to you. Nor is Superintendent McKinnon, or any of the corrections officers or your fellow inmates. You will never love me or care about me. Such emotions are as impossible for you as feeling pain is for me. We both have our limitations; it’s time for me to accept that. Good-bye, Shana.”

I pushed back my chair, rose to standing.

And my sister finally spoke, her tone so low, her words sounded more like a growl than a sentence. “
You are a fucking idiot!
”

I moved toward the interview room door.

“He told me to take care of you! That’s what Daddy said that day. Sirens coming down the street. Daddy, stripping off his clothes, climbing into the bathtub, clutching his goddamn aspirin. And smiling. Fucking smiling as he handed over the razor blade.

“I was scared, Adeline. I was a four-year-old kid and Mom’s crying and people outside are shouting and Daddy’s just smiling, smiling, smiling, except even I knew that wasn’t the right kind of smile on his face.

“‘Take care of your sister,’ he tells me as he climbs into the tub. ‘No matter what happens, you’re her big sister and it’s your job to keep her safe. Take it from me, Shana girl, if you don’t have family in this world, then you got nothing.’ Then he stuck out his arm, and Mom brought down the razor. . . .

“The shouting men heaved a battering ram against our door. Because they’d knocked and rung the bell and screamed at us to open up, but Dad was too busy dying, and Mom was too busy killing him, and I didn’t know what to do, Adeline. I was a scared little kid, and all the grown-ups, the whole world, had gone crazy.

“Then I heard you crying. You, the baby who never cried, who simply watched us all the time with your big dark eyes. You were right, Adeline. You unnerved Mom and Dad. But not me. Never me. I went to you. I opened the closet door and I picked you up and held you close. And you stopped crying. You looked at me. You smiled. Then the door burst open, and shouting men poured into our house. And I whispered to you to close your eyes. Just close your eyes, I told you. I’ll keep you safe. ’Cause you’re my baby sister, and if you don’t got family, then you got nothing at all.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you that day in foster care. I did what I was taught and they took you away from me and I was alone. You have no idea, Adeline, just how alone. But I didn’t forget you. I remembered what I’d promised Daddy, and I found you so I could watch over you and keep you safe. I’m the big sister and I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. I promised, and regardless of what you think of me, I’ve always been a person of my word.”

My sister’s voice trailed off. I’d stopped moving toward the waiting door. I stared at Shana instead. Her face held the strangest expression I’d ever seen. Not just earnestness but sincerity.

“You’re in league with a killer,” I whispered.

“How? I can’t communicate with the outside world. Someone inside here would have to like me enough to help. No one likes me, Adeline. We both know that.”

“You know things. My fuchsia sweater.”

“I see things. That’s what thirty years of solitude does to you. That day, you had a fuchsia-colored thread stuck to your top. It stood out against that stupid gray shirt. It made sense that you had been wearing a brighter color but changed so you wouldn’t stand out while visiting prison. And that . . . angered me. That this place makes even you depressing.”

“One hundred and fifty-three,” I said.

My sister sighed, her face falling. “I remember everything,” she whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe that’s my problem. If I could just forget . . . I looked up Daddy when I was old enough. I dreamed of blood. All the time. Things I could see, always clear as day, as well as smell and taste. The things I already fantasized about doing . . . Except they weren’t really fantasies. They’d be . . . reenactments. Daddy ruined me, Adeline. And not just with his DNA but with his appetites. I am him. He died in that goddamn tub, just to regrow under my skin. So, yeah, I looked him up. Went to the library, read every article I could find on microfiche. His collection reached one hundred and fifty-three strips of human skin, labeled and preserved in jam-size mason jars. You gotta admit, not bad for a life’s work.”

“But the Rose Killer—”

“Clearly looks up to Daddy. Meaning he’s done his own homework. As long as you are studying a master, wouldn’t you pay homage?”

“You’re saying you have no personal connection with the Rose Killer. You merely . . . think like him? Or like her.”

Shana smiled. “Is that really so hard to imagine?”

“Did you know the killer would strike again last night?”

“I wouldn’t have picked last night. But sooner versus later. Once you know what you can do . . . it’s harder to fight the cravings.”

“Male or female, Shana? If you’re such a great expert, which is our killer?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, haven’t really thought about it. Most killers are boys, so I default to that. Not every woman, you know, can be as good as me.”

I stared at her. “Maybe it’s still you. Maybe it’s all about you.”

But my sister shook her head. “Nah. It’s you, Adeline. I’m locked up, tucked away, moldering after all these years. No one even remembers me—”

“Charlie Sgarzi—”

“Arrogant little shit. Always was, even back then. No one cares about me, Adeline. But you . . . The killer knows you. You’re the daughter of his idol, all grown up, pretty, successful. Interesting, too, with that whole can’t-feel-pain thing. Of course the Rose Killer’s looked you up, learned your name. Probably also visited your office and found where you live. I bet he’s walked through your bedroom, placing his hand upon the pillow where you sleep. He’d pose as a maintenance person or pest control to get inside, something so ordinary that all these weeks, months later you’ve still never suspected a thing. But he
knows
you, Adeline. He or she. The Rose Killer has researched you, watched you, obsessed over you. He has to. You’re Harry Day’s magical daughter who can’t feel pain. You’re like catnip for serial killers. Of course he can’t walk away.”

I couldn’t help myself; I shivered.

“But I know you, too,” my sister continued now, her voice matter-of-fact. “I understand not feeling pain actually works against you. It means you’ve never been able to take self-defense or engage in any kind of physical training because of course you can’t risk hurting yourself. You don’t know how to handle a blade, fire a gun, even throw a punch. You’re vulnerable, Adeline. I know it; bet the killer knows it, too.”

“Stop.” I meant the word to sound forceful. It didn’t.

“Rose Killer’s gonna come for you. You call to him. And your call will only be silenced when you’re dead and he’s proved his superiority by murdering his idol’s daughter. He’ll kill you, Adeline. Slowly. Because he or she will have to test out this whole theory of you not feeling pain. My best guess: He’ll skin you alive. Because he’ll want to see how you react. He’ll want to look into your eyes as he flays every inch.”

I couldn’t face my sister anymore. I glanced sharply away, staring at the floor, because her words spooked me, no doubt just as she intended. She manipulates, I reminded myself. This whole conversation, I had to keep asking myself, what is in it for her?

My sister continued. “I sit in my cell, Adeline. Day after day. I hear things. I read things. And this is what I see. Some Daddy wannabe picking off my baby sister. Boy, girl, who the fuck cares. The Rose Killer is gonna come for you. The Rose Killer is gonna kill you. And then I’ll be all alone.

“Course, you don’t care about all this right now, do you? You came today to tell me good-bye. To prove to yourself you’re stronger and wiser than me. But I didn’t leave you, Adeline. All those years ago, I got you out of that closet. I honored my vow to Daddy. I held you close. I kept you safe. And I’d do it again—”

Shana’s voice broke.

I glanced up, just in time to catch a spasm of sorrow cross her face. Unexpected emotion? Particularly powerful acting?

“If . . . somehow, someway, I got a twenty-four-hour furlough from this joint, I could get this killer for you, Adeline. I’ll agree to any terms, follow any rules you want. What matters is that you let me at him, give me a chance to keep my little sister safe.” My sister smiled. A cold baring of her teeth that sent shivers down my spine. “As Daddy said, if you don’t got family, then you got nothing at all. You’re my family, Adeline. Get me out of here, and I’ll kill for you. You know I’ll get the job done right.”

Chapter 25

D
.D
. WAS SURPRISED
by the midmorning knock on her front door. Her gaze went automatically to Phil and Neil, who sat across from her in the living room. Both had notepads on their laps, not to mention the enormous flipchart, propped up in the center of the space and now covered in black marker.

“Want me to get it?” Phil offered.

“No, I can handle it.” She got to her feet slowly, removing the bag of ice from her left shoulder. Alex had left her bright and early to teach his morning classes at the academy. Afterward, he planned on swinging by his parents’ and picking up Jack. This was the longest they’d been away from their son, and both missed him terribly.

Now D.D. approached her front door with growing trepidation. She’d made Alex leave behind his Glock 10, fully loaded. She could fire it one-handed. Maybe not with her best aim, but as long as she went for center mass, she ought to be able to hit enough to slow her opponent. Then it was simply a matter of continuing to squeeze the trigger. Her friend and former sniper, Bobby Dodge, might believe in one shot, one kill. D.D. didn’t really care, as long as she was the person left standing.

She arrived at the door. No gun in hand, because she had two trained police officers at her back, but still, flexing the fingers of her right hand nervously as she brought her eye to the peephole and carefully peered out.

Dr. Adeline Glen stood on her front porch.

Surprise, surprise, D.D. thought, and went to work on the bolt lock.

“Sorry to bother you,” Adeline said without preamble. “But I just came from visiting my sister, and I was hoping to speak with you.”

“You talked to your sister without us?”

Adeline’s gaze went past D.D. to the family room, where D.D.’s squad mates sat in plain sight. D.D. tried not to flush guiltily.

“We’re trained investigators,” she said defensively, because for her and her fellow detectives to continue investigating without Adeline was clearly different than Adeline continuing to investigate without them.

“Oh? Your shoulder’s better? You’ve been cleared for duty?”

“Ah hell.” D.D. gave up. “Come on in. Yes, we’re comparing notes on last night’s murder, and no, I’m not on the job, though I swear that’s not why Phil and Neil decided to pay me a visit. Has nothing to do with my lack of official capacity. Coffee’s simply better here, right, guys?”

Phil and Neil both nodded. Phil rose to standing, shaking Adeline’s hand, then introducing her to Neil. D.D. wasn’t surprised by the uncertain look on the doctor’s face as she regarded their youngest squad mate. With his lanky build and mop of red hair, Neil appeared perpetually sixteen. Came in handy when interviewing suspects, however. They rarely took the veteran detective seriously until it was too late.

Then the doctor’s gaze took in the easel-size flipchart, divided into three columns, one for each victim. She didn’t pale, as much as her expression set. Clinical. Already distancing herself from the graphic details listed there.

“So.” D.D. couldn’t help herself. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Is that coffee? I would love a cup of coffee.”

Phil did the honors of pouring. When D.D. had tried it earlier, she’d missed the mug. Shooting a firearm one-handed, okay. Pouring coffee one-handed, not so great.