The Killer Trail (7 page)

“Yet it was you who brought up your mother, not me.”

“Yeah, but sooner or later, I know that's where it's headed. It always is.”

“So why do you think it always goes back to your mother, Chris?”

Chris fell silent. He felt exhausted. His sleepless nights and restless days were catching up to him. He felt he had no energy to argue any longer. He hadn't expected this.

Stephanie seemed to sense Chris was shutting down and let him off the hook. “We've done a lot of talking here this morning,” she said, “so perhaps we should wind things down for today. I would like to end by sharing some information with you. What you do with this information is entirely up to you. You mentioned PTSD earlier, and I think it may be worthwhile to briefly review some of the common signs and symptoms.”

“So you think I have PTSD. What a shocker.” He paused, thinking about what he had said. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I don't mean to be a jerk, Stephanie. I'm interested. Go on.”

“Sorry if I sound like a textbook, but common signs to watch for in post-traumatic stress disorder include recurring and intrusive images, thoughts, or feelings about the trauma— in your case, about what you experienced on the trail. Some people experience distressing dreams or a sense that they are reliving the experience.” She let that sink in for a moment before going on. “Avoidance symptoms are also common, where efforts are taken to avoid the thoughts and feelings associated with the trauma. Or avoiding activities, places, or people who may be reminders of the trauma. Does any of this sound familiar?”

Chris felt his cheeks flush. “Not really,” he said.

“Other symptoms can include anxiety and difficulty falling or staying asleep, difficulty concentrating, irritability, or outbursts of anger. But I'm sure this wouldn't apply to you,” she said playfully. “Seriously, I think it's important for you to keep an open mind and a watchful eye for these symptoms. Okay?”

“Sure.” Chris quickly tried to change the topic. “So tell me, do you think I'm ready to go back to work?”

“Do you
feel
ready?”

“Well, I do need to get paid. So what do you think?”

Stephanie took a long pause, and Chris could tell from her slight frown that he was not going to like her response. “What I think is that you should see someone at the Employee Assistance Program, given the traumatic experience you had. EAP will be able to—”

“Oh come on, Stephanie, is that really necessary?”

“You asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you. Critical-incident debriefing is not designed for treatment, whereas someone at EAP could assist you in that area if warranted. I think it would be good for you to talk to someone there.”

Chris deliberated on her suggestion, massaging his fingers against his forehead in a feeble effort to ward off his looming headache. “Stephanie, I don't want to go to a bunch of counseling sessions at EAP, only to be told what I already know—that I experienced a traumatic event and that I have to look after myself. I know all this, I know that I'm going to be fine. Couldn't I just see you a few times? And I promise, if after that you still think I need counseling, I'll check out the EAP. What do you say?” Chris gave a nervous smile.

Stephanie paused. Their eyes briefly locked, and she shyly looked away. Finally, she said, “This is not how we normally practice, but I suppose we could schedule a follow-up meeting after your first day back to work, to see how it went.”

Chris sighed with relief. “Sure. What time?”

“Call me tomorrow once you know what your schedule looks like, and we can go from there. I understand you have a meeting with David?”

“Yeah. Actually, I have a meeting with him
and
Florence in about an hour. Hey, at least I can tell him the great news that I'm coming back,” he said, making an attempt at humour. “And Stephanie, I'm sorry about earlier.”

“Like I said, given the circumstances, this is to be expected. See you soon.” Stephanie opened her office door. He wanted to say more, but didn't know what to say, or how to say it. His exit felt as awkward as his entry.

SEVENTEEN

Friday, February 10, 10:04 a.m.
An hour to kill before his meeting with his manager and director, and Chris was anxious to get it over and done with. It wasn't his manager who concerned him. He had great respect for David Evans and knew him to be compassionate and fair. What worried Chris was meeting with Florence Threader, an effective and efficient director who had served as an administrator at IFP for as long as he could remember. Her dedication to the hospital was beyond question, and she demanded the same commitment from her staff.

Above all else, Florence Threader despised controversy. It seemed that every time IFP was in the news, it concerned some problem that Florence and a team of spin doctors had to resolve. Chris figured Florence wanted to ream him out over his recent “antics” that had placed IFP once again in the media spotlight. It wouldn't matter to her that he had hardly been a willing participant in his confrontation with Ray Owens.

To distract himself, he dropped in on his colleague, psychiatrist Marilyn Stevenson. She was behind her desk, reviewing one of her court reports. He grinned at the sight of her wearing her “lucky suit,” a well-tailored navy-blue business suit, which she reserved for days when she was in court. She appeared surprised to see him in her doorway.

“I didn't know you were coming in today, Chris. How are you?” she asked with a genuine tone of concern. “I've been so worried about you. I couldn't believe what happened.”

“I'll survive.” He smiled. “It's nice to see a pleasant face. I have a meeting with David and Florence in a little bit.”

“Florence? Ouch. That can't be good, my friend.”

“No kidding.”

“She already met with me, Chris.”

“Really?”

“She wanted me to go over my report on Owens from his last admission here three years ago. To make sure I didn't miss anything.”

“That's confidence-building, isn't it?”

“You know he's coming back here, don't you? Ray Owens.”

“Yeah, it's been hard to miss. He's all over the news—and loving every bit of the attention.”

Marilyn nodded. “Florence also wanted to make sure that he gets assigned to me again for this admission. Despite my request for reassignment.”

“Sorry to hear that, Marilyn.”

“Well, the rationale is that I know him. And for the sake of continuity, I'm in the best position to complete the assessment as quickly as possible and ship him back to pre-trial where he'll wait for court.”

“Lucky you.”

“And Chris, just a heads-up. He won't be in a seclusion room. Despite my misgivings, he'll be on the unit with the other patients. He made several baseless complaints to the ombudsman during his last admission. So Florence has ordered that we start Ray out on the open unit until he gives us sufficient reason to seclude him from the other guys. Oh, and Florence also made it clear that she wants Gerald assigned as his social worker.”

“Figures.” Again Chris was feeling sick to his stomach, thinking how administration was coming down hard about this case. He felt particularly bad for Marilyn. Normally they worked together on court-ordered remand assignments. But he had already suspected he would not be working the Owens case, and that suited him just fine.

“Well, I'd better get going. If you hear that I've taken a special project in Timbuktu, you'll know I pissed them off.”

Marilyn stopped him. “Look, Chris, I'm so sorry about all of this. If you ever want to talk, you know I'm here.”

“I know, Marilyn. Thanks.”

“There's talk, by the way, of having Ray declared a dangerous offender. If there's any silver lining to all you went through, it may be that you helped get that psychopath off the street for a very long time.”

“We'll see.” The news was cold comfort to him, given that the chaos Ray Owens had created in Chris' personal life was now spilling into his professional life.

Chris walked to the administration building and informed Gayle, the receptionist, that he had arrived for his appointment. He was fifteen minutes early, but this was the kind of meeting where he dared not be even one minute late: Florence was infamous for publicly castigating people about their disregard for punctuality. He slipped into the washroom to relieve his dry mouth and try to calm his nerves before returning to the reception area.

Gayle told him Florence was ready to see him. Once inside her office, Chris saw his manager, David, sitting ramrod-straight and looking nervous.
I know the feeling
. He felt his collar tightening, like a noose, around his neck
.

Seated behind a massive desk, Florence did not bother with niceties. “Chris, sit down, please.”

“Thank you, Florence. Hello, David.”
Be respectful and
don't react to anything they throw at you, Ryder.

Florence wasted no time in getting to her point. “I wanted to talk to you about the situation we're in. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.”

“I believe so.” Chris loosened his collar.

“The Ray Owens
debacle
.” Florence let the last word hang in the air, as her glare skewered Chris. Sweat trickled down from his armpits and he wondered whether it was visible to his director. “I'm sure you've been following the news. It's a damn media circus.”

“I—”

“I do
not
want to hear your excuses.” Florence stood and slammed her hands down on her desk. Chris had never shared such a small space with her before, and she was even more imposing and terrifying up close and personal. She was taller than he, as thin as a broomstick, and her words lashed out at him. “We were on the front page of the
Vancouver Sun
yesterday and again today. Not the kind of attention we need.”

Impatience edged into her voice. “I read Dr. Stevenson's report from Ray Owens' last admission at IFP. Her opinion back then was that he was not acutely mentally ill, but had strong anti-social personality traits.” She shook her head in utter frustration. “Someone like Owens is toxic to this entire system. We work so hard to demystify mental illness and fight negative stereotypes about the forensic psychiatric system. We try to educate the general public that our patients have an illness, and that contrary to what the media spit out, they're not all murderers. Then along comes Ray Owens, and the media glom on to him. He's going to set us back ten years.”

Chris reflected on the media fascination with Ray.
If it
bleeds, it leads
.

“Then there's the impact he's having on our patients and how they see themselves in the mirror. They're afraid to step outside with the frenzy that's brewing out there. On top of that, I've had the Minister of Health and the Attorney General on my back about Owens, and our communications department is working overtime in damage control. “So I want you to understand something, Chris—and understand it well. No one is happy right now.”

“Florence, I—” Chris started, only to be cut off again by his director. He glanced over at David fidgeting uncomfortably in his chair.

“The
Sun
managed to get your picture, Chris. How did that happen?” She gave him a scorching look.

“I... I don't know,” he stammered in surprise. He hadn't seen the morning paper, which for some reason hadn't been delivered to his door. And he certainly hadn't been aware of his picture being taken.

“Listen to me very carefully.” Florence spoke very slowly and precisely. “You are not, under any circumstances, to give any interviews. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Our communications department will handle that.”

“I understand.”

“Now, Ray Owens is being admitted to our hospital this afternoon, as I'm sure you know. The whole damn province seems to know.”

“Yes, I was aware of that.”

“I've made it clear that I want him assigned to Dr. Stevenson. She did the assessment during his last admission, and I want her doing this one.”

Chris nodded. “Yes.”

“I understand you usually work with Dr. Stevenson, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Not this time. I do not want you anywhere near Owens. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” Chris was wondering if he would get a chance to say anything in his defence.

“You cannot be seen to be in any way involved in his assessment, or there'll be accusations that we've got a conflict of interest. In fact, you are not to have any communication with him—whatsoever.”

“I understand.”

“I take it that you're feeling ready to return to work?”

Chris nodded. “I had a debriefing meeting earlier this morning.”

“And your injuries are healing? I won't be hearing from WorkSafeBC, right?”