One Last Scream (9 page)

“Tell me about this neighbor. He sounds nice.”

She nodded. “He was Native American. I liked him, but I don’t think I was supposed to be around him. He had beautiful, long black hair almost down to his shoulders. I couldn’t tell you how old he was. Everyone over twelve at that time seemed like an adult to me. He wore a denim jacket. I wish I could remember his name, but I can’t.” She sighed. “When that one therapist tried to hypnotize me, that’s what I was hoping for most of all—to remember the name of that nice neighbor man.”

“Have
any
names from that time stuck with you?” Karen asked.

Amelia frowned. “Unca-dween. I’m not sure if it was a person or a place. It could have been a nickname. I know it wasn’t my Native American friend, because when I think about Unca-dween, it doesn’t make me happy.”

Karen scribbled down the name, not quite sure of the spelling. “Any other fragments you might remember?”

Amelia took a swig from the water bottle. “Well, I have a feeling I might have been attacked or molested somewhere along the line. The other therapists all said I was repressing something. But I have this memory of being in my underpants and standing by a tub—I think it was in the bathroom at home. My mother was shaking me and asking me over and over again, ‘Did he touch you down there?’ I sort of knew what she meant. But she seemed so angry and upset that I pretended
not
to know. I just cried and said I was sorry. I don’t know why I was apologizing. I guess I was just scared.”

“But the incident she was questioning you about—”

“I don’t remember it at all,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “And I have only this vague impression of what my biological mother looked like. She had long, wavy black hair. I remember this one blouse of hers—white with a pattern of gold pocket watches and chains. I thought it was just gorgeous.”

“Do you have any memories of your father?” Karen asked.

“None,” Amelia answered quickly.

“You mentioned your mother talking to you in the bathroom. Do you remember any other room in the house?”

“I think there was a bomb shelter in the basement.” Amelia fiddled with her hair for a moment. “It could have been someone else’s house, maybe when I was older. But I remember standing in the basement just outside this big, thick door. I was talking to someone inside the little room. It could have been part of a dream for all I know. But the memory’s there.

“The only other thing that stands out about that time was I used to talk to myself in the mirror a lot. I don’t think I had many playmates my age, because all I remember is being alone and talking in the mirror.” She let out a little laugh. “So what do you make of that? Early signs of a split personality?”

Karen laughed. “Boy, you
have
been to a lot of therapists, haven’t you? But let me do the analysis, okay?”

Amelia had started them down memory lane, so Karen let her continue. She asked if she recalled spending time in any foster homes before the Faradays adopted her. In so many cases with adopted children, there were horror stories involving foster parents. But Amelia had no such memories. “I think they were all pretty nice. I didn’t stay with anyone for very long. I have a feeling I was on the market for only a short while before the Faradays picked me up. My poor parents, they probably thought they were getting this great deal, because I was a pretty little girl. What a letdown it must have been to find out I was damaged goods.”

“Why do you feel that way, Amelia?” Karen asked.

Amelia shrugged.

“Have your folks ever said or done anything to make you feel that way?”

Amelia smiled and shook her head. “No, from the very start, they made me feel loved….” She described going for a walk with her potential new mother on her first day with the Faradays; her first impressions of a playground and a Baskin-Robbins 31 Flavors ice cream parlor not far from their house. She remembered some time later, after the adoption was official, when she learned she would soon have a baby brother or sister to play with. She had her first sleep-over—at her Aunt Ina’s apartment—the night Collin was born.

“Is this—the brother who died recently?” Karen asked hesitantly.

Amelia nodded.

“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

“No,” she muttered. Then she cleared her throat. “It was just Collin and me.”

“I’m sorry,” Karen said. “Were you…very close to him?”

She nodded again. Amelia had tears brimming in her eyes, yet she was stone-faced. There was a box of Kleenex right beside her on the end table, but she didn’t reach for one.

“I was told he died in a drowning accident. Is that right?”

“No, that’s not right,” she whispered, staring at Karen.

She was almost expressionless, yet a single tear slid down her cheek. “My brother’s death wasn’t an accident. I know it wasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Amelia quickly wiped away that one tear. “Because I killed him.”

Karen remembered the silence in her study after Amelia had made that statement. It had lasted only a few seconds, but seemed longer, like the silence in the car now, as they reached the West Seattle side of the bridge.

“Stay on this road for a while,” Amelia said tonelessly. “The turnoff for my uncle’s house is after we pass California Avenue. I’ll tell you when it’s coming up.”

Karen took her eyes off the road for a moment, and looked at her.

Her head tipped against the window, Amelia stared straight ahead with the same stone-faced expression she’d had after telling Karen that she’d killed her brother. And once again, there were tears locked in her eyes.

Amelia’s Uncle George answered the door with his 5-year-old daughter in his arms.

Karen hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt that showed off his lean, athletic physique. He had a strong jaw with a slight five o’clock shadow, and wavy black hair that was ceding to gray. Though his green eyes were still red from crying, there was a certain quiet strength to him.

Karen watched him set down the little girl so he could hug Amelia. The child then wrapped herself around his leg, and pressed her face against his hip. George held on to Amelia for a few moments, whispering in her ear.

“Thanks, Uncle George,” she said, sniffling. She turned and nodded toward Karen and Jessie. “This is my therapist—and she’s also my friend—”

“Hi, I’m Karen,” she said, stepping in from the doorway to shake his hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” She introduced him to Jessie, who was carrying the bag full of food. “Jessie figured you and the children could use a home-cooked dinner tonight—”

“Just point us to the kitchen,” Jessie announced. “Oh, never mind, I see it—straight ahead.” And she started off in that direction.

Karen took off her coat, but held on to it. “If we’re at all in the way, please, just let us know,” she told George.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver, Karen.”

Amelia bent down and pried Stephanie off George’s leg. The child clung to her now. Amelia looked so forlorn as she rocked Stephanie. “I’m sorry,” she whispered tearfully. “I’m so sorry, Steffie….”

“Why are you sorry?” the child asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Amelia winced, and then she seemed to hug her young cousin even tighter.

Watching them, Karen felt so horrible for Amelia and everyone in this house.

George collected his daughter from her. “Amelia, sweetie, do you think you could talk to Jody?” he asked. “He won’t come out of his room. I’m really worried about him. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

Wiping her eyes, Amelia nodded, and then started through the living room toward a back hallway.

“Jody’s my son,” George whispered to Karen. He stroked his daughter’s hair. They trailed after Amelia. “Five minutes after I told him the news about his mom, Jody ducked into his room and shut the door.”

In the hallway, they stayed back and watched Amelia knock on the bedroom door.

“He did the exact same thing a few months ago when his cousin died,” George explained. “Jody just worshiped Collin. He was holed up in his room for two whole days. I thought he’d miss the funeral. My wife had to leave his meals outside the door and even then, he hardly ate a thing. He only came out to go to the bathroom.” George’s voice cracked a little. “God, I don’t know what to do. It’s such an awful helpless feeling to know your child’s hurting….”

Karen felt the same way watching Amelia. She wished there was something she could do to make the pain go away.

Amelia knocked on Jody’s door again and called to her cousin, but he didn’t answer. “Jody? Please let me in,” she called. “I know how you feel, believe me….”

“I’m sorry!” he replied in a strained, raspy voice. “I gotta be alone right now, Amelia. Could you go away, please?”

Her head down, Amelia slinked away from his door. She looked at her uncle, and shrugged hopelessly. “Sorry, Uncle George,” she murmured. “Guess I’m just useless. I—I’m so tired. Would it be okay if I went to lie down for a while?”

He nodded, and kissed her forehead. “Sure, sweetie, your bed’s all made down there.”

Amelia gently patted Stephanie on the back, then wandered through the living room and foyer to a set of stairs leading to a lower level. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at Karen, and then started down the steps.

“Do you think maybe you could talk to him?”

Karen turned at George and blinked. “You want
me
to talk to your son?”

He shrugged. “Well, you’re a therapist. Maybe you’d have a better idea about the right thing to say….”

“You know, I think we should just respect Jody’s need to be alone,” she whispered, touching his arm, “For a while, at least. If this is how he grieved for his cousin, then it’s what he knows. That’s how he got through it last time. Why don’t we give him until dinner’s ready, and try again? Okay?”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “I think you’re a very smart lady,” he said. “Thanks, Karen.”

She smiled at him. “Well, um, I’ll go down and check on Amelia.”

“Take a right at the bottom of the stairs. The guest room’s the first door on your left.”

Downstairs, Karen paused in the large recreation room. It had a linoleum floor and high windows that didn’t let in much sunlight. There was a big-screen TV, a sectional sofa, and someone’s treadmill. Stashed in one corner were a bunch of toys, including a dollhouse. Karen draped her coat over a chair. She gazed at the collection of framed family photos on the wall. She figured the stylish, attractive redhead in the pictures was George’s murdered wife. There were also a few photos of Amelia with her family. Karen had been hearing about the Faradays for months, but this was her first actual look at them. She could see a resemblance between the sisters, Jenna and Ina. Studying the pictures of Mark Faraday, she wondered how that pleasant-looking, slightly dumpy man could have shot those two women and then himself. It was hard to comprehend that they were all dead now. In one night, Amelia had lost nearly all of her family—and in such a violent, heinous way.

There were photos of Collin Faraday, too. From the way Amelia talked about her dead brother, Karen had expected him to have been this stunningly handsome, golden-haired teenager. Instead, he just seemed like a normal, nice-looking kid with a goofy smile.

“My brother’s death wasn’t an accident. I know it wasn’t,” Amelia had told her during their first session. “Because I killed him.”

Karen remembered staring at her, and wondering exactly what she’d meant.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t mention anything about it,” Amelia had said, squirming on Karen’s sofa. “It’s too soon to drop a bombshell like that on you. And now the session’s almost over. Jesus. Please, tell me you’ll see me again, Karen. I trust you, and I can’t keep this to myself any longer. Please, don’t send me away—”

“It’s okay, I’m listening,” Karen had said calmly. “We’ve got time.” She wasn’t one of those clock-watching therapists. If a patient was in the middle of something important, she never cut them off because of time. In this instance, she luckily hadn’t scheduled any other sessions that afternoon, so Karen could go on for another hour or so if it meant understanding Amelia Faraday better. Already, she wanted to help and protect this girl.

“What do you mean,
you killed him
?” Karen asked as gently as possible. “Can you talk about it?”

Amelia nodded. “I was at a Booze Busters retreat in Port Townsend,” she replied, sniffling. “Six of us took an RV there for the weekend and camped out. But I had this
premonition
about Collin the whole weekend, all these feelings of hatred for him that I can’t explain. I kept thinking about how I would kill him, and it was crazy. I didn’t want that to happen. I couldn’t have meant it. I didn’t even want to think about it. I loved my brother. He was the sweetest guy….” She started sobbing again. “I’m sorry.”

“Take your time.”

Amelia wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. “I must have blacked out, because all I have are fragments of what happened.”

Fragments again
, Karen thought. She scribbled the word down in her notes.

“I was standing on the dock in our backyard with Collin,” Amelia explained. “Our house is up in Bellingham—on Lake Whatcom. I hit him with a board or something—a piece of plank, I think. He just—just looked at me, stunned, and—and an awful gash started to open up on his forehead. He let out this garbled, frail cry….” Wincing, she shook her head. “God, it was this weird, warble-type of sound, almost inhuman. And then he toppled off the dock into the water.

“I don’t remember anything else. It’s like I lost nearly everything from that afternoon, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up from a nap in the RV in Port Townsend—and it was dinnertime. But I had those images in my head. It’s how come I knew about Collin before anyone else. I tried to call my folks and tell them something had happened, but they were spending the weekend at their cabin, and the cell phone service is lousy out there—”

“There was no one else staying with Collin?” Karen asked.

Amelia shook her head. “He was alone in the house for the weekend. Before my folks left, I teased him about how he’d be raiding the booze cabinet, watching porn, and having a big party while they were gone. He had a friend coming over that afternoon. He’s the one who found him. When Collin didn’t answer the door, his buddy went around to the back and saw him floating by the dock. His sleeve had gotten caught on something. They figured he’d had too much to drink, then fallen off the dock, and hit his head on some pilings. Turned out he had alcohol in his system. And maybe that’s true, but he didn’t die the way they think.”

Karen squinted at her. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

Amelia sighed. “Just my Aunt Ina. She said I was crazy with grief, and that I shouldn’t repeat it to anyone. It would just upset people even more.”

“You said you were with people from Booze Busters that weekend,” Karen pointed out. “How did you manage to break away from the camp, then drive to Bellingham and back without them noticing? It’s at least a hundred miles and a ferry ride each way. You’d have been gone the entire afternoon.”

Amelia seemed to shrink into the corner of Karen’s sofa. She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know how I got there. But I remember what happened. And a neighbor saw me there, too. The police determined Collin must have died around two or three o’clock that Saturday afternoon. Our neighbor, Mrs. Ormsby, said she saw me hosing down our dock around that time. But because I was supposed to be gone the whole weekend, no one really believed her. She’s an old woman. They figured she was senile or just wanted some attention. Mrs. Ormsby later said she might have been mistaken. But I don’t think she was.”

Karen leaned forward in her seat. “But she must have been wrong, Amelia. Don’t you see? Your friends would have noticed if you’d left the campsite—”

“I know, I know,” she cried. Her whole body was shaking. “But I have these—these
pieces of memory
that tell me I killed him. When I’m alone in bed at night, I can still hear him making that strange, horrible sound after I hit him with the plank. I still hear Collin dying.”

Karen let her cry it out. “There are a lot of explanations for what you were feeling—for these sensory
fragments,
” she said finally. “It doesn’t mean you killed your brother, Amelia. Your sudden rage toward him, that’s not entirely uncommon. I’ve heard many stories from people who suddenly, for no good reason, became irritable or distant with a loved one—only to lose them within a few days of this inexplicable anger. Even when the death is unexpected, our extrasensory perception can sometimes kick in and start to protect us from the impending loss.”

Curled up in the corner of the sofa, Amelia gave her a slightly skeptical look. But at least she’d stopped crying.

“You said that you and Collin were close,” Karen went on. “Often with family members and loved ones, we can sense when something is wrong—even if that loved one is over a hundred miles away. We can still pick up a frequency that there’s trouble. Maybe you just tapped into Collin’s frequency. Maybe you have a bit of ESP.”

“Do you really believe that?” Amelia murmured, still eyeing her dubiously.

“Well, it makes a lot more sense than the notion that you traveled over two hundred miles without ever really leaving your campsite in Port Townsend. Doesn’t it?”

Amelia sighed and then reached for her bottle of water.

“I’ve just met you, Amelia,” she continued. “But you don’t seem like a murderer to me. And what would your motive be, anyway? You loved your brother. As for that neighbor woman who saw you, why do you still believe her even after she recanted what she said? No one else believed her, but
you
did. Why do you want to take the blame?”

Karen remembered going on like that for a few more minutes, until Amelia had started to calm down. She’d made her promise to go back to Booze Busters, and they’d agreed to meet twice a week.

That had been four months ago. Karen didn’t need to hear bits of a flashback in which Amelia’s biological mother asked if someone had touched her “down there” to presume she’d been abused in some way as a young child. All the classic attributions of child abuse were there in the 19-year-old: her low self-esteem, nightmares, flashbacks, lost time, and her assuming guilt for just about everything.

A perfect example of this was Amelia’s episode with her boyfriend, Shane, and how quickly Amelia had assumed she’d done something wrong when he said he’d seen her in that car with another man. Amelia had gone and gotten herself tested, because she’d automatically figured herself guilty of infidelity. It never seemed to have occurred to her that Shane might have been mistaken.

There were a lot of problems they worked on over the next four months. And in that time, Karen felt a special bond forming with this young woman who depended on her so much. She was more like Amelia’s big sister than her therapist.

Amelia had kept her promise and went back to Booze Busters. And though things still got a little rocky with Shane from time to time, they continued to see each other. Her grades were improving at school. Mark and Jenna Faraday had both e-mailed Karen to tell her what a wonderful job she’d been doing with Amelia.
Her whole outlook has improved 100 percent since she started seeing you,
Jenna Faraday had written.

Karen e-mailed back and thanked them. She’d been tempted to ask the Faradays to reconsider hiring a private detective to look into what had happened to Amelia’s biological parents. But she’d left that up to Amelia instead. Amelia was nineteen, and old enough to discuss it with her parents herself. Unfortunately, for the last two months, Amelia had been procrastinating. She admitted she was afraid. “It’s not so much I’m worried about having been abused or anything like that,” she’d said. “I’m just scared that I might have done something really, really horrible.”