Amanda's Story (25 page)

Abby stared up at Amanda, eyes wide with fear. She had had the wind knocked out of her and was gasping for air, but dared not move.

“Let's let everything calm down,” she told Abby and Mittens. “It is in your best interest not to lie to me or provoke me. Do you understand?” Abby nodded slowly. “You need to understand that no one is coming to rescue you until we resolve this issue. Are we clear?” Once again Abby nodded, but now tears began to roll down both her cheeks. “Okay …” Amanda began to nod her head as the adrenaline rush faded and Mittens stopped breathing down her neck. “We are going to discuss this calmly.” She dropped to her knees and met Abby eye to eye.

“Who are you?” Abby risked a question.

“You mean what am I?” Amanda corrected. “Right now, I don't know.” She stared into Abby's eyes and through them into her vacant soul. “Justice. Vengeance. A woman barely in control of herself. All three? But that's hardly the issue before us. How do we resolve this, Abby? I'm open to suggestions.”

“I don't know what you want,” she whimpered and started crying.

Amanda almost laughed. “I sure know what I want. I want you to meet my dog, Mittens. Only, I'm not quite certain I'm ready to take another life.” Abby screamed again and butt-scooted her way into the corner. “Don't do that, Abby. Control yourself, or I won't be able to control myself.”

“You don't understand. He was going to kill me,” Abby pleaded.

“I know you believe that, and maybe it's true, but why kill an innocent man? That's what this is all about. If you had to kill someone, why didn't you kill your husband? Simple, direct, and given the right circumstances, understandable.”

“You don't know what it was like.” She was blubbering now.

“Do I look like someone who can be fooled by your crying?” Amanda stabbed Abby's brain to punctuate the point. “Please, I must emphasize that to ensure your continued good health do not try and manipulate me.” Abby stopped crying and her entire countenance changed in an instant to one of pure hatred. “Now that's an emotion I can deal with. The real answer to my question was that you didn't want to kill your husband. You wanted to make him suffer. It's that simple. All the elaborate plans were for one reason only: to make John Eden suffer for the rest of his life. The only problem was that his lawyer knew something you didn't, and you unwittingly committed the near-perfect crime.”

“So now what do we do?” Abby's voice was raspy from the crying but had regained most of its haughtiness.

“You are going to call your husband and confess. And then you are going to call Detective Joseph Thomas and confess to him.”

“And if I don't?”

“There's always Mittens. It works for me.” Amanda smiled, and Mittens paced just inside the shadows of her mind.

“Then what?”

“Then we get off the elevator.” Amanda's smile lasted for only a second and then her face abruptly hardened. “You still don't get it do you?” The anger was rising again and Amanda began to pace. “I can hear what you are thinking.” The lights above her head began to flair brightly. “You will not tell your husband or Detective Thomas that some crazy bitch is forcing you to confess to something you didn't do. This crazy bitch is forcing you to confess to something you did do.” In her mind's eye Amanda saw Abby's body being squeezed. She stared down at the woman as her face and body began to contort into unnatural positions; she held the painful pose for almost a full minute before Amanda released her. “Have I made my point?”

Abby started to cry in earnest. It took her another minute to silently shake her head. “I need my phone,” she said with a broken voice.

Ten minutes and two phone calls later, Amanda released the elevator. Amanda could hear shouts from the rescue workers above as the car began to move, and seconds later the phone rang. She ignored them both and they rode quietly until the car slowed and came to a gentle stop. The doors opened and both women stared at the large gold lettering on the opposite wall that spelled “Level Three.” Abby tried to scramble to her feet, but Amanda knocked her back on her butt with a slight mental nudge. “You stay here until Detective Thomas comes to collect you. Feel free to tell them what happened here. It might make a good defense. One more thing …” The doors tried to close on her and then started buzzing. “I will be watching.” The doors finally closed and the elevator began to descend, only to once again jerk to a stop. Amanda walked to the stairs as Abby pounded on the sealed doors.

“To broken elevators,” Joe Thomas yelled drunkenly, raising his bottle of beer. Most of the bar joined him, including Greg Flynn.

“Slow down there, big guy; tomorrow is a school day.” Greg pulled Joe back down to his chair just before he was about to give his fourth toast.

“I'm calling in sick.” He wrapped his arms around Greg. “Don't tell the boss.”

It was an unparalleled stroke of luck, or perhaps divine intervention. The murder of Larry Idle was fast becoming an albatross tied firmly around their collective necks, and suddenly Abby Eden confesses to everything.

Randi Garner slid into the seat next to Greg and tipped his mug with her glass. “Remember what I said about Greeks bearing gifts? Well, forget it.” She took a sip. “Thanks for the call. I didn't think I'd be welcomed after what happened.”

“Are you serious? You're the hero of the day. We were a search warrant away from convicting the wrong man.” Greg had to shout over the din. “He's still an asshole, and I think the Feds will get him for fraud; he's just not a murderer.” He tipped her glass in return. “Thanks for keeping us honest.”

“Have you ever seen that before? She was in the clear and then suddenly confesses. It doesn't seem right.”

Greg shook his head. When he first heard of her confession he immediately doubted it, but when he actually saw her, sitting in the interrogation room, eyes wide with panic, his doubts regarding her innocence vanished. She had killed Larry Idle, of that he was certain, but the doubts that they had the whole truth persisted. “No, it doesn't seem right. I think there's more to the story.”

“She has a psych history.”

“She didn't seem crazy; she seemed terrified. My only guess is the husband. She called him before she called Joe.” It was the only conclusion that could be drawn from known events, but it still didn't sit well with Greg.

“I guess she thought she was safer in jail than at home with her husband. I hope this doesn't come back to bite us in the ass again.”

“Do you have concerns?”

“None. There's not even going to be a trial. It's over, except for the sentencing.” She looked back at Greg and they shared an uneasy feeling. “I should go. Congratulations.” She stood and then weaved her way out of the bar, a half-dozen heads turning as she passed.

Even after three days, Amanda was still conflicted. It wasn't the outcome that bothered her; Abby Eden was going to pay for killing Larry Idle, and justice had been served. She had made an impromptu visit to Greg's office, and managed to exchange glimpses with Abby as she was being booked, just to ensure her continued cooperation. It was the fact that the entire affair seemed to throw in relief the issues she had been avoiding since arriving home.

For three weeks she had a diversion. Her days were filled with all things John and Abby Eden, and she had loved almost every minute of the hunt. But now all that was left was a void. What was she going to do with the rest of her life? She could hardly make a living stalking criminals. And despite what she had told Lisa, she couldn't see herself returning to school either. After all she had seen and done, the thought of sitting in a classroom taking notes and exams seemed almost ludicrous. She also didn't want to return to the world of nursing, in any of its varied forms. She needed something more active, dynamic, exciting—like stalking criminals.

“That's it, I'll be a superhero. I will keep the city safe from evil in all its guises. Jaywalkers beware,” she told the geese that surrounded her. She had driven back into the mountains and found a small lake and a rickety picnic table. The early spring sun was growing a little thin and the temperature had started to fall, but the geese didn't seem to mind so long as Amanda periodically tossed more feed corn. She had been to this lake years earlier, shortly after Michael proposed and she accepted. They made love somewhere on the far side of the lake one long, lazy, wonderful afternoon. It had been one of the most special days of her life. But that life was over. It had died in pieces: the first with a knock on her door and a sheriff's deputy wearing a pained expression; a larger piece a week later when a single coffin was lowered into the frozen dirt; and the last piece as she watched thirty people die around her while a virus rewired her brain. The final vestiges of the old Amanda Flynn—an occasional memory or a transient sense of loss—were slowly and inexorably fading away, leaving a new and very different version behind. She remembered sitting under a sweltering tent in Honduras, trying to understand the nascent changes that were being wrought in her brain, an act driven by a mixture of her old and new personality. The innocence of trying to capture on paper what she had become made her laugh. This new version of Amanda didn't care what she had become or where she had come from; she had no past. All that mattered was this moment and how she could use it to shape the future to fit her needs.

Which led her to her most difficult problem. How was she going to live? What rules would guide her behavior? God's? Society's? Her own? In her old life she had never been given a choice. The rules had been written into her soul as she grew up, and like a good, obedient girl she had followed them, only to have her life lurch from one tragedy to another. So much for God and society repaying her fealty. Her new soul was nearly a blank slate; she had no instructions, no constraining morality. The only things stamped into it were Aunt Emily, Greg Flynn, and Lisa Flynn. Somehow those bonds had survived her transformation, and a part of her resented that fact. Without them she would be truly free to explore any form of behavior that occurred to her. She would be free to let Mittens off her leash; in fact she would be free to become Mittens. A life ruled by her passions and desires, free of guilt or consequences; no need for delayed gratification or impulse control. No need for rules of any kind. With what she had become, she was beyond rules.

Except Emily, Greg, and Lisa kept pulling her back to earth. “Damn them,” she said to the geese, and then threw a handful of the corn as hard as she could at a nearby group. The kernels pelted the birds, and they scurried backed to the water, honking the whole way. The sadism made Mittens happy, and Amanda smiled. She had enjoyed hurting Abby Eden. No, she loved hurting Abby Eden, and had replayed the memory of the woman contorting in pain at least a dozen times. She had wanted to do more than just hurt her; she had wanted to squeeze the life out of her; she wanted to be inside the woman's mind as the pain and the certainty of her death drove her insane. And when it was over she would have torn the corpse to pieces, shredding any recognizable piece of Abby Eden, leaving only blood and tissue hanging from the walls and ceiling. The violent images and thoughts made Mittens growl and she began to pace through Amanda's mind; she had grown to love the feral feel of her energized id. Mittens made her strong, confident, and powerful—attributes that were almost completely lacking in her former life—and a desire to explore them fully was growing into an addiction. Abby Eden was a start, but Amanda knew that if she continued down this path, in time, more would be required. At some point, blood would be needed.

Amanda stared up into the mountains and contemplated the possibility of cold, calculated murder. Was she capable of it, or would her old tepid personality resurface at the critical moment as it had when Nathan Martin was suffocating inside an airlock? Did she have the courage to do what was necessary to feed Mittens and solidify her new life, or would she backslide into her old one?

“No,” she declared to herself. “That life is over.” She was a new being, free from anything that constrained her. Her only moral imperative was to do whatever she wanted, because no one could stop her. She lay back on the top of the picnic table and tried to remember what had stopped her from dismembering Abby Eden. She closed her eyes and reworked the memory.

Amanda awoke some time later to the sound of squabbling geese. Reflexively, she checked her watch and realized that she had to be going. Lisa would be worried if she came home late without calling. Once again, Amanda felt her soul pulled back to a life she no longer wanted. Moving out would help, and earlier today she had found a small furnished apartment on the west side of town. It came with all the creature comforts, few of which she would ever use. All she really needed was the freedom to explore what she had become.

She slid off the picnic table as the sun slipped beneath the tall trees covering this side of Pikes Peak, and for a minute she watched the shadows lengthen. The previous night she had watched her first episode of “Dexter,” and a small part of her responded to the main character's need to “take out the garbage.” Which involved a large knife, a great deal of plastic wrap, a fair amount of dismemberment, a few trash bags, and a midnight boat ride. Colorado Springs didn't have nearly the volume of human garbage that Miami apparently had to deal with, but perhaps it was a starting point. The geese crowded around her, the larger ones jockeying for the best positions. She poured the remaining kernels of corn into her hand and then tossed them into the air. As the birds tracked them Amanda aimed savage kicks at some of the more vocal birds. All but one managed to scurry out of range; the slowest of the lot was booted into the air. He landed on his side in a flurry of feathers and a loud squawk. She watched as he scrambled to right himself and then rejoin the fight for the few remaining kernels.

“I should have kicked you harder.”

“Greg got home late.” Lisa answered Amanda's expression that questioned her uncharacteristic early-evening inactivity. “He's taking us out to dinner as a punishment.”

“Fancy or casual?” Amanda dropped her purse on a table by the kitchen door and hung up her coat. She noticed a goose feather stuck to the tip of her right shoe and quickly snatched it up.

“I think just casual; I'm not that mad at him. What do you have there?” Lisa asked.

Amanda swore to herself. She really needed to get out of this house and away from the Flynns, especially Lisa. She hadn't seen the feather, and couldn't possibly know that it was in her hand; she had unconsciously sensed Amanda's reaction to the offending and revealing object. “I seemed to have picked up a feather along the way.” She opened her hand to reveal the partially crushed feather.

“Wash your hands after you get rid of it. Geese are such filthy birds,” Lisa said with a shudder. “I'm going to check on Greg.”

Amanda tossed the feather into the garbage and dutifully washed her hands in the sink. This whole home situation was rapidly becoming untenable. She hadn't been inside Lisa's mind for weeks, and in fact had actively closed her mind to Lisa's, yet their reciprocal connection remained strong. It was only a matter of time before Lisa's empathic sense solidified into certainty that this was not the same Amanda who had left for Central America months earlier. She dried her hands and decided to change out of her jeans and sweater, imagining that they had been impregnated with her thoughts and dark desires.

“We are leaving in exactly nine minutes,” Greg said to Amanda as they passed in the hall. The return of his cheerful demeanor correlated exactly with the closure of the Larry Idle case. The heat was off Greg and his unit; in fact, somehow even their mistake had been turned to their advantage. Randi Garner, in her public statement following Abby's confession, had been asked about John Eden's arrest and sudden release. She answered simply that the system worked, and despite being lied to and misled, the police never developed tunnel-vision and ultimately uncovered the truth. An editorial in this morning's Denver Post lauded the Colorado Springs detectives for not throwing in the towel and whining about a nonsensical legal distinction that led to the release of a “killer,” and encouraged the Denver police to adopt the professional attitude of Colorado's second city.

“I will be ready in three.”

“Three Female-Minutes,” he said from the kitchen.

A half hour later they were sitting across from each other at Luigi's Italian Restaurant, waiting for someone to take their drink orders. Lisa pulled a copy of the Denver Post from her purse and casually began to fan herself with it. “Sometimes it gets a little warm in Colorado's second city, don't you think so honey?”

Greg beamed, with a bread stick in his mouth. “It's like I always say: it's better to be lucky than good.” The waiter arrived, took their order, and disappeared. “Did you ever go see the therapist, Amanda?”

Lisa stopped fanning herself and gaped at her husband. “Where did that come from?”

Amanda already knew. “Abby Eden confessed after seeing her therapist. It was the same one you mentioned, Amanda. Christi Bates.” Greg turned to his wife, trying to be casual, but his light tone had a shiny edge of accusation.

“I haven't called yet, but if she's good enough to convince a murderer to confess, maybe I should call now,” Amanda said. Instead of being uncomfortable with the tacit lie, her mind viewed it as a challenge. Greg liked to portray himself as just one of the boys, promoted more out of longevity than competence, but Amanda knew the real Greg Flynn. He was obsessed with details and had the tenacity of a bulldog. Decades ago he learned to trust instincts that time and experience had since honed to a razor's edge. He was in fact Colorado Springs' version of Lieutenant Columbo, and Amanda simply smiled back at him, waiting for him to ask “just one more thing.”

“She said that someone else was in the elevator with her, but when the doors were opened she was alone.” He leaned back as the waiter placed his iced tea in front of him. Once their order had been taken, Greg continued as if there had been no interruption. “She said that some Amazon woman rode down with her and tortured the truth out of her.”

“Insanity defense,” Lisa sang.