I knew the moment I walked in that something was wrong. More wrong than the obvious facts that my husband was dead, my career was destroyed, my city loathed me, and I was awaiting my murder trial that was months away. Out on bail, I had nothing to do but wait. Roman was doing his job, preparing to prove my innocence. My only job was to carry on as best I could. I sat down, unsure what was going to happen next.
Alisha said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about you. Reviewing our years together. And I need to know, when we discussed your salt nightmares, why is it you never mentioned being in the ocean as a child with a young boy who drowned?”
Alisha lived in the same city as me, so of course she had seen the newspapers and the television coverage. Of course she had heard the gossip. Of course, as my longtime therapist, she was contacted by Detective Jackson. And of course she told him that she could not reveal any information about me. Not that she had any to reveal that would have helped his case anyway. And of course she had learned about the other three dead bodies in my wake. I knew she was smart enough to know that I was too smart to not have made the possible salt connection in my own mind. Salty ocean water, boy dying, nightmares about salt. So I couldn’t feign surprise and say, “Oh! I never thought about it that way!” Especially since she was well aware that I loved thinking about everything in many different ways. She knew delving into the human psyche to uncover all sorts of hidden subconscious hints into what makes a person tick was both my profession and my favorite hobby.
“I didn’t want to talk about it,” was my response.
“Why?”
I couldn’t tell her that I had grabbed Duncan’s ankle and held him under the salty ocean water until he stopped flopping. I couldn’t tell her way back when I was a freshman in college, and I still couldn’t tell her now. If I admitted it, it could be her duty to report me. Murder is one of the few things doctor-patient confidentiality does not cover, especially if the doctor believes the patient might murder again. Even though I was only five years old. Even though it was over twenty-five years ago. Murder, like death, had no time limit.
I reviewed my options. I could lie and say it was all too painful to talk about, so when I uncovered the slug connection and my nightmares went away, I felt there was no reason to revisit the horror of that sunny day. Or I could say I was ashamed that I was so happy when Duncan died, since he had bullied my sister. But the problem with having been in therapy for so many years with the same therapist and having been honest about so many other things was that Alisha would know these were lies. I certainly hadn’t felt ashamed about being happy when Evelyn W. had died. So it wouldn’t track that I was ashamed about Duncan. And the idea that I wouldn’t talk about something painful also didn’t fit. Since I did openly discuss so many other painful topics.
Alisha watched me as I sifted through all this. And she wasn’t going to back down. She asked, “Why did you never tell me your friend’s father died when you were sleeping over?” Her question reminded me of how shocked Ameena was to learn of this fact.
Again, I couldn’t brush it off by saying I didn’t think to discuss it since it held no importance, when I had spent plenty of hours telling Alisha everything else about my childhood and my childhood friends. She knew about when I found a rhinestone in a sandbox and was certain it was a magical gem. It was then that I learned the word talisman and looked it up in the giant dictionary. She knew about when I lent Erika my favorite jeans and then she got her period for the first time and started crying and I told her it was okay and we washed the blood out together in her kitchen sink. I even told Alisha about Hannah’s store and how cool it was that gothy Gabrielle was one of her biggest clients. So it absolutely would make no sense that I would never think to mention to Alisha that Hannah’s father died a horrible death twelve carpeted steps below where I was sleeping.
Alisha knew that by omitting these giant events in my life, I was clearly hiding something. And the only something it could be was my guilt. Not emotional guilt necessarily, but criminal guilt. And for Alisha, these other two deaths coming to light put a new sheen on Evelyn W. walking out into the street in front of a truck. As Roman promised, the video had not leaked, so the impact of people actually seeing me lead Evelyn to her death was not an issue. But the detail that I had been there on that curb when she got struck did get out. I was so shortsighted to not have seen this problem heading my way. To not realize that once my life compartments were destroyed, Alisha would want to know what the fuck I had been hiding.
I looked at her and all I could say was, “I didn’t kill Jason.”
She said, “I believe you.”
This was a huge relief. I believed that she did believe me. She had heard me talk about my intense bond with him for years. How his influence had morphed me into the type of person who would buy a silly souvenir at a tourist gift shop so I would have a tangible item to connect with a memory. Yeah, maybe then I would put that token in a labeled box stored neatly in a closet, but I would own it and that counted for personal growth. She knew that sex between me and Jason seemed to matter every single time. That our intimacy and passion kept growing. She knew I loved him deeply. Yet there was still tension in the air. I wished it would go away.
She then said, “But, Ruby, I think you had a hand in the other three deaths. I don’t know exactly how or why, but I no longer trust you. And because I don’t trust you, I can no longer in good faith advise you. And because I can no longer advise you, it would be unethical of me to continue to be your therapist.” She did not follow that up with, “And how does that make you feel?” She let it hang in the air, like a single shelf bound by indestructible wall brackets. Had she asked, I would have said it made me feel abandoned. It made me feel alone. After thirteen years of sitting on her couch, she was breaking up with me.
Until that moment I had thought Alisha was the best therapist I would ever know. But I would not give up on someone the way she had given up on me. I vowed to be a better therapist than her. I vowed to reach Gabrielle and tell her what I needed to tell her, even if she didn’t want to listen. She had now blocked my number. Making it abundantly clear that she no longer wanted to see me or hear from me ever again. She thought I was dangerous. So, I had no choice but to track her down and meet her in person.
CHAPTER 47
ABSOLUTION
The human brain tries to find connections. Always and constantly. We strive to create order in chaos by linking together cause and effect in our search for meaning. This is called fate by some. Science, religion, superstition, or karma by others. I understood this about the human condition from a clinical standpoint, yet couldn’t untangle my own need to piece together the events of my life in search of a master plan. I knew logically that one event had nothing to do with another, yet when I laid it out linearly, I was sure my entire journey up until this point was designed for the purpose of giving Gabrielle closure. When I thought in those terms, I could calm the gnawing uncertainty in my mind and body. I could worry less about my unknown future because my present mission was so clear.