He’s a very beautiful boy.
The moment my phone got into his hands, Donny Ray knew he was holding a psychopath’s pot of gold: information he could use. A perfect tool to intimidate and keep his secret safe.
His secret.
I’ve just greased the wheels on a psychopath’s insanity plea. If the jury believes Donny Ray disassociated while killing Jamey Winslow, he’ll go to another psychiatric facility, far less secure than a prison. I can’t even bank on the other cases to put him away because there may never be enough evidence to charge him.
I have to do something. I’ve got to make sure this dangerous felon is sent off to prison for the rest of his life—or better yet, is executed—and never has a chance to come anywhere close to my son.
But how?
I’ll let Jeremy know, then the court. That’s it. I’ll tell them I’ve got new evidence that changes my decision.
And what evidence would that be?
I rake a hand through my hair, feel the sweat pooling on my forehead and scalp. “I don’t know!”
You’ve got nothing. Donny Ray’s been leading you around by the nose. Face it. You’ve been hoodwinked.
“There has to be something. I’ll find it!”
Too late. Done deal. The deadline has passed. Retract your report and everyone will know you got blindsided by a psychopath.
“But I’ve got to stop him!”
How? By letting the court send him to work over another psychologist? You were his test monkey. He’ll have an even easier time convincing someone else.
“Holy . . . You’re right. I’m stuck. I’ve got no time to find more evidence, and without any, I’ll look like an even bigger idiot in trying to explain what happened.”
You’ve got a much more pressing issue to deal with.
“What’s that?”
Keeping him inside Loveland.
“He was bluffing. He can’t get out of here.”
I bet Gerald would disagree.
I take off running toward Gerald’s room.
And there I stand before yet another wide-open door; beyond it, a room stripped of Gerald—The Husker who degloves people—and all his belongings. With utter astonishment I look toward the counter where Mystery Nurse sits. Asking her what happened to the patient feels useless at this point. Her mind seems about as lost as he is now.
I swing back to Gerald’s door, and it’s like staring at a horrifying question mark.
If I can get to them, I can get to you, Christopher.
I think about Stanley and Nicholas and second-guess myself. Both spoke that sleep of death phrase to me, then both vanished. If Donny Ray was responsible, can he do the same thing for himself?
I shut myself inside my office and hunt for answers.
I begin with the first disappearing act: Nicholas’ mysterious transfer to some obscure hospital I’ve never heard of in Billings, Montana. After looking up Smithwell Institute’s number, I dial it and tell the receptionist what I need. She hands the call over to a nursing administrator named Trina Mullen.
“What’s the patient’s name again?” Mullen asks, computer keys clacking in the background.
I repeat it.
The clacking stops. “That’s what I thought. Nope, not showing a patient here by that name at all.”
“We sent him four days ago. He would have reached you by now.”
“If he were coming this way, we’d have documentation, and I’m not showing a thing.”
“But our documentation shows otherwise.”
“Maybe there’s a mistake.”
“Somebody’s made one, but it’s not us!” I slam the phone down, nerves raging beneath my skin like red-hot needles.
Nothing works here! This place is broken!
I’m starting to wonder if Stanley was right.
I move on to his disappearance and dial St. Mary’s, but after speaking to the nursing supervisor, all I get is a repeat performance. She’s got no idea what I’m talking about, no record of Stanley ever being brought there.
I hang up, stare into thin air, and wonder what the hell is going on. One record mishap, I could possibly understand, but two in a row? For two patients who subsequently dropped out of sight from the same floor and just a day apart? That’s no coincidence—that’s highly suspect.
My fingers break into a frenzied spider dance across the keyboard as I search for Nicholas’ hospital records, hoping perhaps there might be some kernel of information I can pull from them.
They’re not here. Gone.
And when I look for Stanley’s and Gerald’s, it’s the same damned thing.
Someone deleted their files.
There’s no way Donny Ray could have done that.
Unless someone on the inside is helping him.
I think about Melinda. She’s likely become one of the casualties as well, so I check the employee roster, and there I find solid confirmation: her information is also gone. Even the work schedules, both past and present, show no sign of the woman ever putting in time here.
She’s been erased.
Was her disappearance a strategic one? While searching for the information I’d requested, could she have stumbled across something that put her own life in grave danger? I have no proof, but there’s one thing I can absolutely be certain of: it’s not just the people who are being erased from Loveland—it’s also every trace of evidence to prove they existed at all.
Perspiration gathers at my neckline. I don’t yet know who’s pulling the strings around here, but something very nefarious is happening inside Loveland, far worse than even I’d imagined.
You’ve got to do something.
I’ve got to do something.
You’ve got to take matters into your own hands.
59
Do NOT tell Adam.
“Look, I get that he was an ass for doubting my professional integrity, but there’s nobody else around here I can trust.”
You cannot trust him.
“I have to talk to someone about this! I have to stop what’s happening here!”