I know my schizophrenia is inevitable, but I can’t let it drive me into complete madness, not until I make sure Donny Ray no longer poses a threat to my son.
I’ve got several things to do. I can’t change my diagnosis with the court, but I can make sure the psychopathic demon never sets foot in public. That means figuring out whether he’s actually responsible for the disappearances at Loveland and whether he can get out as well.
My options are limited to one. I need to confront Donny Ray, determine whether he’s walking the walk or just talking the talk.
I scramble toward the door, but a shifting beam of sunlight off to my side stops me. I look toward the window, and the air catches in my throat. Outside, a tiny blue dress flitters in the wind.
Blue lace. Big white bow.
One word scrawled across the chest.
MUD.
Written in mud.
70
MUD.
The same word, written the same way I imagined I saw it on Devon’s covers that night.
How Donny Ray knows about that would be an easy guess. I probably told him during one of our sessions while he was taking over my mind. His message served two purposes. To mock my stupidity, rub it in my face, while at the same time, to accelerate my mental deterioration. By hanging that dress outside my window, Donny Ray raised the stakes on his threat against Devon. He wants me to know that nothing can keep him inside Loveland.
Not that his guerilla tactic is going to work. He could have accomplished this latest feat in any number of ways. The most obvious, bribing another patient with better roaming privileges into doing the dirty work while I stepped away from my office for a few minutes. Regardless of how he executed this latest ploy, Donny Ray has indeed raised the stakes. He’s thrown me his challenge, and I’m accepting it.
Game on, asshole.
But the stakes ratchet up another notch when I walk onto Alpha Twelve and see six open doors. More empty rooms, fewer patients. Loveland Hospital is quickly deconstructing, which tells me time is gaining on my heels. But not for long, not if I have anything to say about it. I’m going to put a stop to this chaos, right after I put a stop to Donny Ray.
“Keep your eyes on me the entire time I’m inside this room,” I tell Evan before entering. “Do not leave your post for a second. If you see anything that looks even a little off, get in here, immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” He checks his weapon, then reaches for the key to allow me access.
I enter, and the door closes behind me. I look back at Evan. He steps a few inches away from the window, gives me a solemn nod.
Donny Ray sits at his desk, but he’s not facing it. The chair is spun around and aimed out, so his body is situated the same way mine was the last time. This doesn’t look like a coincidence. This looks like he’s been waiting for me and is ready to play. I raise him one and take his prior spot on the bed.
I won’t mention the dress—there’s no point to it. Showing my annoyance would only strengthen his advantage. We both know the score, and Donny Ray has made it perfectly clear he’ll use anything—even my son—to make sure I keep my mouth shut about his sociopathic manipulation. Now this game of fox and goose has begun.
But it seems Donny Ray’s plan is much the same as mine. He’s looking into my eyes, and I’m looking into his, both of us watching, waiting each other out. That’s fine. He may have a sharp and cunning mind, but I’ve got the upper hand when it comes to knowing how those operate. All I can do now is observe his every action, every statement, and hope to get an inkling of what his next move will be.
Donny Ray eases his chair backward and forward so it emits a series of slow, high-pitched creaks. Then he abruptly stops.
“Is something the matter?” he asks, making the first move.
“Maybe I should ask you that question.”
“Maybe I should ask you that question,” he repeats.
“You know damned well I didn’t come here to talk about me.”
Still holding those stony eyes on me, he goes through three additional rounds of chair squeaking, slower now, the sound appreciably louder and more drawn-out. I feel my lips twitch. It’s grating on my nerves.
Don’t mess with this guy.
Shut up. I know what I’m doing.
You’ve walked into dangerous territory. You still don’t know who he really is.
My calf muscles jerk and pull tight.
He resumes with his rocking for a few more seconds, then stops again. “You seem unsteady, Christopher.”
“Let’s keep this professional from now on, okay? It’s Dr. Kellan.”
He nods toward my feet.
I glance down and see my pen lying on the floor. I look up at Donny Ray.
With a playful grin, he raises his hands in surrender. “Wasn’t me this time.”
I reach for the pen, put it back in my pocket.
“Those things are trouble for you,” he says.
Watching me, Donny Ray calmly places a hand on each side of the chair and pulls his body upward, cut muscles flexing beneath a thin, black T-shirt. With a look that could pass as pure innocence, he pushes the bangs away from his face and tops the performance off with a schoolboyish grin. But I know these are the false flags of a psychopath, mirroring societal norms rather than actually having them.
A chameleon.
A child killer, and, on some level, I can’t help but feel his actions are intended to flaunt that contradiction at me.
It’s making my blood boil.
He resumes the movements, still studying me, rocking faster now. Back and forth . . . back and forth. The chair is chirping at me, and the sound is getting deeper under my skin. I try to maintain my composure but he’s chipping away at it. I can’t take this any longer.
“Knock it off!” I shout.