Blind Spot (36 page)

“I guess.” Alexa dropped Suki’s hands and took her first sip of coffee. She picked up a piece of muffin and chewed it slowly. The food appeared to revive her, and she asked, “So did Lindsey kill that guy?”

“To be perfectly honest, I have no idea. I’m not sure anyone does—including Lindsey.”

“You think she was so crazy she didn’t know if she killed him or not?” Alexa asked.

“She thinks a ghost pushed her boyfriend down the stairs.”

“So does that mean she’s crazy?” Alexa argued. “What about what you said before about science?”

“Crazy is a complicated term,” Suki said. “And legally, the way I have to look at it, it’s even more complicated. Just because a person can carry on an intelligent conversation doesn’t mean that they aren’t suffering from a mental illness—and just because they don’t always make sense doesn’t mean they’re insane.”

“Lindsey told me that Jonah and Chief Gasperini weren’t my fault.”

“They weren’t.”

“And she said that what I see and what happens are independent of each other—that if I didn’t see it, it would still happen.”

“And I’ll bet she’s right about that, too,” Suki said smoothly, although she hoped Alexa wouldn’t question how she suddenly became an expert on precognition. “But, it’s like I said before, that doesn’t mean she’s not mentally ill.”

“Or me either?” Alexa kept her eyes on her coffee mug.

“There’s no comparison,” Suki said quickly. “Lindsey’s had a long history of both psychological and neurological problems. She’s got lesions on her brain, she’s been violent, hallucinatory, and now she’s convinced she can fly her spirit wherever she pleases. Does that sound at all like you?”

“Do you think she’s crazy because she believes in the paranormal?”

Suki chose her words carefully. “That’s a part of it, sure, but there are lots of people who believe in the paranormal. It alone doesn’t make a person crazy.”

“But you think Lindsey is?”

“I guess I do.”

“Is that what you’re going to say in court?”

“Yes,” Suki said slowly. “I am.” And as she spoke the words, relief flooded through her. At least she knew what she was going to do about something.

Alexa played with the crumbs on her plate, but didn’t eat any more of the muffin. “I’m sorry I went to Watkins when you told me not to,” she said to the table.

“I need to know when I tell you not to do something, that you won’t do it,” Suki said gently. “I need to be able to trust you.”

Suddenly, Alexa jerked her head up. Her eyes opened wide and her body stiffened. She cringed away from the poster board in the window, her face a mask of true terror.

Suki whirled toward the boarded window. Someone was on the other side—every one of Alexa’s nonverbal cues screamed it. Suki jumped up, her heart pounding. “Who’s there, Alexa?” Suki cried. “What do you see?”

Alexa thrust her arms forward. “No,” she moaned, pushing at something in front of her. “No.”

Suki’s heart beat even harder as she realized no one was on the other side of the window, that Alexa was seeing something completely different.

Suki knelt and pressed Alexa’s cheeks between her hands. “Alexa,” she said softly. “It’s me, Mom. Alexa, honey, talk to me.”

“Stop it!” Alexa screamed, pushing Suki with all her might.

Suki rocked backward on her heels and fell to the floor, her legs splayed out in front of her.

“I won’t see it!” Alexa covered her eyes with her hands. “I can’t.”

Suki pushed herself up and knelt in front of Alexa. “Lindsey said that seeing it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. That you have the power to change what you see.”

Alexa slowly pulled her hands from her face; her eyes were dilated with fright. “But what if she’s wrong?” she moaned. “You said she was crazy—that she was wrong about tons of things.”

Suki searched for the right words. “I also said that sometimes she made a lot of sense.”

Alexa slumped in her chair, as if all her bones had turned to cartilage. Her head dropped forward.

Suki reached up and pushed Alexa’s hair from her forehead. It fell back to where it had been. “Are you okay?”

Alexa nodded.

Suki stood and poured herself more coffee, which she neither wanted nor needed, then sat back down at the table. She waited.

“I tried to fight it,” Alexa whispered. “But it was too strong.”

“What was, honey? What was too strong?”

“What I see. The visions,” Alexa said dully. “Like in my dreams. Like Jonah.”

“This happens a lot with my posttraumatic stress patients,” Suki began. “And what you’ve gone through over the last few weeks certainly qualifies as traumatic. You haven’t been sleeping or eating, so it’s not surprising you’re having hallucinations.”

“It’s not hallucinations. You just said I wasn’t crazy—how could I be hallucinating?”

When you reject the possibility of the paranormal, you reject Alexa.

“Well, then,” Suki said gently, “maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s exactly what you and Lindsey think it is: a vision of the future.”

“You think so?” Alexa asked in a small, trembling voice. Suki wasn’t sure whether she was asking if Suki believed it, or if it was indeed true.

“For argument’s sake, let assume that it is,” Suki said, feeling on much firmer ground: playing out a patient’s worst fears was a common therapeutic tool. “And if, as Lindsey says, this vision of the future is a glimpse at what
might
happen, then let’s focus on how to stop it. Now take a deep breath and tell me exactly what you saw.”

“I’m … I’m not really sure.” Alexa took a shuddering breath. “But it’s a place where you’re searching for something about Jonah. And there was the ring with the Hebrew letter, and … and fire.”

“And you’re worried these things are going to hurt me?”

Alexa bit her lip. “Yes,” she whimpered. “I’m afraid.”

“I know you’re afraid, honey, but let’s look at this rationally. There’s no ring with a Hebrew letter on it that we know of, there’s no fire, and look, I’m just fine.”

“So were Jonah and Chief Gasperini.”

Suki had walked right into that one, and she couldn’t dispute it—not to Alexa and not to herself. “Lindsey told me that sometimes she sees things that never happen,” Suki said, trying to regain lost ground. “She said it’s likely this happens to you, too.”

Alexa shrugged. “Maybe Lindsey’s wrong.”

“Exactly,” Suki said triumphantly, although she wasn’t certain what she felt triumphant about. Alexa disparaging Lindsey’s opinion, she supposed. Except that in this particular instance, she wanted Alexa to accept Lindsey’s viewpoint. What was certain was that she was becoming as confused as Alexa.

“This isn’t a chess game, Mom,” Alexa cried. “This is my life. Your life. And I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry,” Suki said, and she was. “You’re right. Look, if you really believe I’m in danger, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll lay low and stop looking for the witness. It’s all come to pretty much nothing anyway.”

Alexa flew at Suki and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Mom, that would be great,” she said and burst into tears. “Just great.”

Suki held her daughter tight. Just great, she thought. Things were just great.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A
lexa went upstairs to shower and Suki went downstairs to work. Although relieved that she had come to a decision about Lindsey, Suki was drained from her conversation with Alexa. She sat in her chair, staring at the flying windows on her computer’s screen saver. When she fiddled with the mouse, the screen cleared, revealing her forensic definitions.

Alexa had seen something in the kitchen, of that Suki had no doubt. But what had she seen? A figment of her own imagination or a fragment of what was to come? Sane or insane. Guilty or innocent. Good or evil. Truth or lies. These concepts weren’t opposites, weren’t mutually exclusive. They were, as she had told Alexa, continuums of gray. But for both Lindsey and Alexa, it was ultimately all going to come down to black or white.

She called Mike’s office and left a message with Betty that the Kern evaluation would be coming in the way he wanted. Suki didn’t specify, and she didn’t need to. Betty chortled happily and told her she’d let Mike know as soon as his meeting was over. Black or white. She returned to her flying windows; the windows were blue and red and yellow and green. Each window started, dead center, as a tiny mass of wavy lines, growing larger and larger until it flew off the screen. Gone. Then it started all over again. A never-ending succession of multicolored flying windows.

Suki looked up and saw Alexa watching her watch the windows. She had no idea how long Alexa might have been standing there. The girl smelled of lavender soap, and wet curls hugged tight to her head. But Suki could tell something bad was coming. Another never-ending succession.

“We need to talk,” Alexa said.

Suki stood. Somehow, somewhere, she would find the strength for this. “Sure.” Suki waved toward the couches in the family room, and they sat down opposite each other.

“I have something to say.” Alexa twisted each ring on her left hand. “It’s not very good.”

Suki ran her fingers through her hair and tried to smile. “I’m getting to be an expert at ‘not very good.’”

“I, ah, I …” Alexa swallowed and tried again. “I heard you were at TeenScene the other day. Video Haven, too.”

For a moment, Suki was confused. She had gone to Video Haven only yesterday afternoon, and hadn’t mentioned it to Alexa. Then she remembered that Kendra always carried a cell phone—and that Kendra was at school with all the kids she had seen at the arcade. Alexa had called Kendra after her shower. “No secrets in a small town, huh?”

Alexa twisted her thumb ring, looked up, then twisted the ring again. “I guess I haven’t been all that honest with you.”

Suki could have told Alexa she was well aware she was quite an accomplished liar—lying about where she was going, who she was with, what she was doing. Instead, Suki said, “That’s not all that uncommon between mothers and teenage daughters.”

Alexa flinched, then blurted, “I’ve been doing some drugs. A few, not a lot. Just once in a while …”

Suki stood and turned away from Alexa. She stared out the window into the carport. At her old Celica, the car from which children had fired a gun. An event, a short month earlier, which would have been impossible. Just like this conversation.

“I don’t have a problem—or anything serious like that,” Alexa added. “I mean, I’m not addicted or anything.”

Suki was suddenly very cold. She wrapped her arms around her chest, but could not stem the chill. Not addicted. How many times had she heard a patient make this same claim? How often was it a lie?

“I can stop any time I want.”

She had heard that one, too.

“And I will—as of right now.”

Suki kept her back to Alexa, engrossed in watching Esther Isenberg pull her station wagon into her driveway. Esther’s daughter was at Duke. Premed. Her own daughter was doing drugs. Suki repeated this grim reality to herself, but somehow, she couldn’t feel its horror. Instead, she noticed Esther had been to the mall. She had shopping bags from Filene’s and The Gap. Suki wondered what Esther had bought. Esther was a trim, tiny woman; everything looked great on her. Her daughter was doing drugs. It was as if it were happening to someone else’s child. Esther’s child, perhaps.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Alexa asked.

Suki turned. She felt as if she were moving under water, in slow motion, held back and supported, shielded from the glare—but not nearly enough. She nodded awkwardly, as if her chin were too heavy, too disconnected, to move on its own, and was reminded of a study she had read about teenage drug use. About parents and kids. It seemed so long ago. Maybe only a month, maybe years. Either way, it was another lifetime.

“I never meant to start doing it so much,” Alexa was saying.

Suki nodded again. The study’s most interesting finding was the difference between the parents’ perceptions of their children’s behavior and that behavior. Parents consistently underestimated their kid’s drug use—especially parents of top students. “Good grades are no guarantee of good judgment,” the authors had concluded. At the time, Suki had accepted the validity of the findings, but it had never occurred to her that they might apply to Alexa.

“The stuff just worked so great.”

“Methamphetamine?” Suki asked. Warren had been telling the truth. Marcus Bouchard was a living, breathing boy.

“Yeah, meth,” Alexa said. “It makes it easy to study—and fun. I started doing better in school, and you were so happy, and we started talking about Princeton and scholarships, and well, I just got afraid that if I didn’t keep doing it, my grades would drop and then, and then it would be all over.”

Suki gazed at Alexa in disbelief and, for a moment, it was as if Alexa
were
someone else’s child. Suki blinked. “What would be all over?”

“Well, you were so pleased and so proud,” Alexa tried to explain. “And even though you ragged on me about not eating, I knew that you really liked that I was so thin. That you thought I looked—”

“Now wait just a minute,” Suki snapped. “Are you trying to tell me that you were doing drugs to make
me
happy?”

“No, no,” Alexa amended quickly. “I was just trying to explain. To help you understand.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Mom. I know how bad this is. How upset you must be.”

Suki slammed her fist into the wall; it hurt and she was glad. Alexa had no idea how upset she was. Upset with Alexa’s lies, her deceit, everything she had done and then pretended she hadn’t.

“Mom—” Alexa began.

“Don’t,” Suki snarled in a barely controlled whisper. But she knew she was also to blame. She, with her self-congratulatory blindness. She, who had seen only what she wanted to see. The grades. The popularity. And yes, even the thinness. “Did you ever sell the drugs?”

“Of course not,” Alexa protested, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “Just because I told you I did meth a few times, now you think I’m some kind of big dealer?”

“You never sold any methamphetamine to anyone in the girls’ room at school?”