The Killer Trail (13 page)

Now tears were streaming down the girl's face and he realized that she hadn't figured it out. “Oh, damn, hate to be the one to break it to ya, babe. But, yeah, your old man is dead. Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “But don't worry, it won't be much longer, you'll be joining him. Now get some sleep. You look tired.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Tuesday, February 14, 2:07 a.m.
Ray lay wide awake on his bed, his mind churning. It was late, but he rarely slept through the night. He wasn't thrilled to be confined in this shithole.
I'm surrounded by retards and goofs.
And being grilled by the head shrink.
She's lucky she doesn't
see me alone; I'd rip the bitch apart
.

He reminded himself once again that being here was a necessary step in exacting revenge against Chris Ryder. He held Ryder partially responsible for his prison sentence three years ago. And it was Ryder who had found his cell phone, which threatened to place his freedom in jeopardy again. But he—little Ray Owens—had big plans for Ryder. News that would rock Ryder's world and make his life a living hell. And
that,
Ray had decided, was worth risking his freedom.

Besides, he was making the most of his situation. Pitting patients against staff and against each other was becoming an amusing way to pass the time. He'd already started other patients complaining about the poor quality of meals on the unit. And he'd managed to get others demanding more time off the unit to enjoy fresh air and exercise. He laughed aloud at how the suckers were falling for it—hook, line, and sinker
.

Ray smiled even more broadly as he replayed his latest encounter with Ryder a few days earlier.
The fucker froze like
a deer in the headlights.
Ray felt a rush as he thought of the plan he had in store for Chris Ryder in the coming days.
You
ain't seen nothing yet.
He snickered as he broke into the song of the same name. He was aware that his loud singing was disturbing the other patients from their sleep, so he sang even louder.

TWENTY-FIVE

Tuesday, February 14, 10:00 a.m.
Chris opened the door to his office, set his bag down, and logged onto his computer. At that day's early-morning meeting with an EAP counselor, he wasn't surprised that most of their session had revolved around a discussion of PTSD, and he had reluctantly consented to a series of follow-up appointments. He'd even agreed when the counselor had advised him to take his time with his return to work, and Chris had made a point of saying all the right things about pacing himself and taking it day by day. Less than five minutes after leaving the EAP office, he was on the phone with his manager, confirming his schedule for the next day. Nor, he decided, had he any intention of following through with subsequent appointments.
Some things I just have to deal with on my own. Always have,
always will.

He had hoped to spend the morning navigating through the pile of emails that were staring back at him. But word had spread that he was back, and his plans were interrupted by colleague after colleague stopping by to see him. Some gave a gentle pat on his shoulder, while others expressed sympathetic words of encouragement. There were even some, he figured, who had dropped by just to see what kind of state he was in. He made sure that he said all the right things—that he was happy to be back, that he was taking it day by day, that he was putting it all behind him.

In truth, he had a plan, and Ray Owens factored prominently in it. He knew Ray was playing a game with him, and it irked him that Ray had won the last round. Chris wanted to return to Alpha unit to show Ray that he was back. He had no intention of saying or doing anything to Ray, but figured his very presence on the unit would send a strong message. The problem was that his friends and colleagues were too solicitous. Every time one of them dropped by his office to wish him well, Chris cursed underneath his smile because he was being delayed in accomplishing his goal.

Finally by late morning, he was ready to venture down to Alpha unit, where he had arranged to meet Gerald to go over the Owens case. Gerald had strongly urged a different setting, but Chris insisted on meeting on Alpha, explaining that this was an important part of his ongoing rehabilitation— an argument that, he realized after he voiced it, was actually true. He was still feeling anxious about the prospect of seeing Ray, but knew he had to face his fears. Going to the remand unit would be an important step in that direction.

His mouth was dry and his heart raced as he approached Alpha unit, but he did his best to let the anxiety pass through him. Using his fob key to gain entry to the ward, he checked in at the nursing station. It was buzzing with activity.

Alex was the first to greet him: “Hey, look who's back.”

“Good to see you too.”

The nursing station was crowded with two psychiatrists, a family practitioner, and a throng of nurses, all of whom looked over at Chris. He suspected they were wondering if he would fare any better today than he had the last time he'd set foot on the ward. “Is Gerald around?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, “he's in the interview room right now. Should be done soon.”

Chris checked his watch. In less than two minutes, patients would be leaving their rooms and gathering in the main dining area for coffee. He was counting on seeing Ray, so he waited patiently. On cue, a health-care worker announced that it was coffee time, and the door to the dining area opened and patients started filing into the room.

Paul Butler timidly approached Chris and said in a mild voice, “Can I talk with you for a second?” “Sure, Paul. What's up?”

“My mother is visiting me this weekend. The staff told me I should talk with you about her visiting outside of regular visiting times. I think she's going to call you.”

“That's been taken care of. Your mother and I spoke about it earlier, and I've cleared it with the unit. I hear you have a birthday coming up. I hope it's a good one.”

“Thanks.” Paul smiled broadly.

The sight of Ray swaggering into the room interrupted Chris' conversation with Paul. They locked eyes, and Chris was reminded of how much he loathed Ray's smirk. He knew that the nurses were keeping a watchful eye on them both, but he wasn't planning on causing a scene. On the contrary, he didn't want to show any reaction to Ray at all, so instead he casually walked to the nursing station to wait for Gerald, who arrived a few minutes later.

As he left the dining area with Gerald, Chris glimpsed Ray out of the corner of his eye. “You're not out of the woods yet, Ryder!” Ray shouted, but Chris refused to engage him. Ray continued to rant as Chris walked away, wondering what the hell he was rambling about.

After his meeting with Gerald about the Owens case, Chris dropped by his manager's office to discuss his work schedule, then spent the remainder of his day following up on casework that had accumulated while he was away. In the late afternoon, he checked in briefly with Dr. Stevenson to catch up on their patients, including Paul Butler.

“Paul's doing very well with the change in his medications,” Dr. Stevenson said, “and he's fully cooperating with the court assessment. The nursing staff report that he's been a model patient on the unit.”

“I spoke with him earlier about his mother's visit. You should have seen his face light up when he started talking about his birthday. It made my day.” As they talked, Chris realized he was once again working with Dr. Stevenson as part of a team and was finally settling back into a routine.

Driving away from the building later that afternoon, Chris was tired but content with how his day had progressed. Turning on the car radio, he caught the end of a news item about the lack of leads in the investigation into the disappearance of Elizabeth Carrier. His mood turned somber as he thought of the pain that the family would be enduring, grieving the loss of one member while frantically searching for another. He turned off the radio to distract him from these gloomy thoughts and instead focused on Stephanie and the plans they had made for that night.

Stephanie, her resistance finally worn down, had agreed to get together with Chris that evening. However, she asked that they take things slow and suggested somewhere neutral, like a restaurant. Chris made reservations at Marcello's and insisted on picking her up at her condominium.

He had every intention of taking things slow that evening— until he saw Stephanie at her door in a red dress that perfectly accentuated her body. She smiled at Chris. His breathing became laboured and he lost his ability to concentrate on anything other than wanting her. And he knew that Stephanie knew. She muttered an unconvincing “We shouldn't, Chris” and, for an instant, they remained frozen, looking at each other in anticipation of the next move. Then Chris closed the door behind them and pulled Stephanie's body against his. He whispered, “You're so beautiful,” as he kissed her lips, caressed her neck, and ran his fingers through her flowing hair. Stephanie's eyes remained closed, and her breathing became heavier as Chris ran his fingers along her back, searching for the opening to her dress. Locating the zipper, he pulled the dress from her body. As it fell to the ground, he lowered Stephanie to the floor and continued kissing her lips and neck, making his way to her breast. Wanting her so badly that he fumbled at unbuckling his belt, he kicked off his jeans, bracing his body atop Stephanie's.

“No, Chris. We can't... I can't...”

“Come on, Stephanie. You can't be serious?”

“Oh God, I'm sorry. It's just too soon. I want to... just not yet. Not tonight.”

“Then when? Jesus.” He looked away in frustration as he lay on his back next to her, his breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Sorry, Chris.”

“Well, put some clothes on, for God's sake. You're torturing me here.”

“I can see that,” Stephanie said sheepishly, sneaking a last look at Chris' naked body as he put on his jeans. He watched her as she slipped her dress over her head. Now dressed, they lay together on her floor, silently looking up at the ceiling.

“Well, I guess we could order in,” he said with disappointment in his voice.

“I'm sorry, Chris. It's just that I told myself I wasn't going to let this happen. Not tonight.”

He tried to lighten the mood. “You shouldn't have worn that damn dress—on Valentine's Day, of all days.”

“I didn't mean to lead you on.”

“I know. I didn't intend for this to happen either. But I'd be lying if I said I regretted trying.”

“It's just that... well... this complicates things.”

“Life is complicated, Stephanie. After the past few days, I also appreciate that it's fleeting. We've got to make the most of these moments.”

“My, aren't you the philosopher?” She playfully poked his arm. “Well, we have to eat something. You're right, maybe we should order in. Then you're going home.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I feel so used.” He sighed dramatically. He stood up, aware that Stephanie was checking him out. He felt flattered until he realized she was looking at the latest scar on his shoulder. Tears were forming in her eyes, and Chris enveloped her with a warm embrace. “That's over now.”

Stephanie wiped her eyes. “I hope so, Chris.”

TWENTY-SIX

Tuesday, February 14, 10:10 p.m.
Ray had stalked Alpha unit, looking for his latest prey. It hadn't taken long to choose his victim—Paul Butler. That fucker Ryder had had the audacity today to ignore him, choosing instead to talk with the boy. Never mind, he told himself. Paul would do just fine. He had all the qualities he looked for in a victim: he was innocent, naive, and most important of all, unaware.

Ray pretended to befriend Paul. He'd even come to the younger man's defence this afternoon when another patient, Steven, had accused Paul of going into his room and taking his money. Naturally, it been Ray who had stolen the money— and it was also Ray who had told Steven he'd seen Paul enter his room. All Paul knew, however, was that Ray had stepped in when big bad Steven was about to pulverize him, so in Paul's mind, Ray had become his protector, a person he could trust.

Ray laughed. He had plans in mind for poor innocent little Paulie. Big plans.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Tuesday, February 14, 10:10 p.m.
As he drove back to his apartment, Chris tried to make sense of what had happened that evening with Stephanie. A week ago, he could never have imagined her back in his life. But then again, he could never have imagined the return of Ray Owens either. Between Stephanie, Ray, Deanna, Ann Marie, Elizabeth, and work, Chris could feel his life becoming increasingly complicated
.
He turned on his radio in time to hear U2's “Beautiful Day.” Hearing it now brought Chris renewed hope about making Stephanie part of his life, and he sang along to the song.

He thought of his daughter. He had agreed with Deanna's request to switch his usual day with Ann Marie, but now realized he missed her. He would call her when he got home. His watch told him she would be asleep, and he wasn't sure that he was prepared for a conversation with her mother right now. There was just too much going on, and he wouldn't know where to start or what to say.