Mind Games (18 page)

“He’ll be just fine.”

Tony turned to look at Sly. “Don’t give the good doctor any more grief, okay? I heard what you and Angel did to him, and all things considered, he’s taken care of both of you now.”

Sly rolled his eyes. “We’re cool,” he said, and started to walk away, before pausing and looking back at Derrick. “Hey, doc, thanks. For me and Angel.”

The kid seemed like an okay guy, and Derrick couldn’t let go of the nagging question he’d wanted to ask Sly earlier. “Hey, Sly, seems like you care an awful lot for Angel. If she’s
your
girl, why pimp her out?”

Sly stopped short, his spine stiff as an arrow. An uncomfortable look shadowed his eyes.

“She’s not my girl. She’s my sister.”

“What?” Derrick dragged his hands through his hair, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.

“It’s not what you think. We’re not like those perverted kids who run away from home because they love each other. Gross, man, that’s incest. People would mess with us if they knew I was her brother, so to protect her I’ve got to say she’s my girl.”

“I understand,” Derrick said, thinking about Kat. “I have a sister, too.”

“That’s nice, doc. I’m sure you’ve got real nice parents, too.”

Sly rolled his eyes at Derrick. His face contorted, giving Derrick a look that said,
What would you know about having shitty parents?

“I’m guessing you don’t.”

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for me, our parents are totally messed up. We came out here thinking we could make it. You can see we’re doing a real good job. I jumped you for drugs to sell them so we’d have some cash. I hate selling my sister, but I’m not turning queer to make a dime.”

“How old are you, Sly?”

“Sixteen. Angel’s fifteen.”

“Let me help you get a job. They’re always looking for orderlies at the hospital.”

“Derrick, excuse me, I’ve got to go, but I have a question of my own for Sly,” Tony said. “What did this old guy say to you when he came by?”

Sly sat on the edge of RV bumper, holding his side and trying to get comfortable. “He said he has Angel and that he’d pay us to be part of some psychological evaluation. I told him to get lost. Because I knew Angel had left with a woman the other night whose face I remember. He was too far away for me to see,” he said, nodding in Derrick’s direction.

Shock split Derrick’s calm resolve. He didn’t want to believe Dr. Von Langley had come looking for Sly with directions innocently offered up by Angel. Derrick doubted Dr. Von Langley had told Angel he would find Sly and bring him to her.

“Did he tell you want kind of evaluation?” Derrick asked.

“No, remember, I told him to get lost.”

The way Sly had reiterated the sentence led Derrick to believe he’d looked at Dr. Von Langley with threatening eyes and enough animosity to scare him off.

“Weren’t you curious about how he knew Angel?” Tony asked.

“No, because he’s come around here before looking for kids, and the way I figured it, he heard me talking about Angel being missing and he was trying to lure me into something.”

“I knew he was up to something. I just knew it. The night we left…”

Tony snapped his head toward Derrick. “I’ll look into things, Derrick.
This doesn’t sound good, but leave the investigating to the police.”

“Doesn’t sound good? That’s an understatement,” Derrick said, worrying about how he’d break the news to Sparrow about her father.

“Cooler heads prevail, Derrick. Let the authorities handle things,” Tony said, flexing his authoritative muscle before directing his attention back to Sly.

Derrick didn’t appreciate Tony’s condescending super-cop-to-the-rescue attitude, but he raised his hands in frustrated defeat.

“Have any of the kids you know ever left with him?” Tony asked.

“Sure. I haven’t seen them since.”

Derrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What do you think happened to them? Where did they go if they didn’t come back to the streets?” It seemed obvious that Dr. Von Langley used innocent kids to further his psychological prowess. Derrick’s instinct about Dr. Von Langley’s strange treatments had been right.

Tony shot him an annoyed glare that said,
I’ll ask the questions.

“I don’t know. That doctor comes around promising a better life, but”—Sly paused and shook his head—“I don’t trust him. Something about the guy gives me the creeps.”

“Good instincts, Sly. Whatever you do, if he comes back again, do not leave with him,” Tony said. “Don’t leave with him no matter what he tells you.”

“All right, all right, on one condition,” Sly said, turning to Derrick. “Make sure Angel’s okay and bring her back to me. If this guy is some kind of freak, I’ve got a cop right here who knows you turned her over to him. Sorry, doc, but I’ll press some kind of charges.”

“Hey, wait a minute, I never said Angel is with this guy,” Tony said.

“You didn’t have to,” Sly said. “It’s obvious he left her with him.”

“Sly, I’m sorry, but we don’t know that Dr. Von Langley hasn’t helped the kids you know go on to a better life. The last time I checked on Angel, she was doing great,” Derrick said.

“So you say,” Sly replied, his face now inches from Derrick’s. “She better be.”

Tony stepped between Sly and Derrick. He gave Sly a hard stare. “Stay out of trouble.” He clapped Derrick on the shoulder and turned to walk back to his patrol car. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Sly and Derrick watched the patrol car’s rear lights disappear down the street.

“Sounds like that doctor has issues,” Sly said. “You better make sure nothing happens to Angel.”

“I’ll keep a close eye on Angel. Why don’t I drop you off at the shelter?”

“No thanks, I’ve got a tent on the beach,” Sly said, slipping off the back of the RV bumper. He walked away, waving the back of his hand at Derrick.

Derrick folded his arms across the front of his chest, shaking his head at Sly’s back. The lanky boy faded into the night. Derrick didn’t like the notion developing in his head. “
Primum non nocrere
,” he mumbled.
First do no harm
. He had to uphold that medical ethic. He only hoped that Sparrow would understand his position when he told her they were about to investigate her father for a crime they didn’t even know he’d committed.

That’s it, enter my world, lover. Allow the darkness to seduce you, succumb to your hidden desire, and explore your most intimate fantasy with me. This auburn beauty will be my first. She is scantily clad. But aren’t they all? The plunging neckline of her shirt reveals milky-white flesh with a smattering of freckles. I want to lick the sweet freckles dotting her cleavage, but I’ve promised myself I’ll take things slow with this eager slut. I softly caress the side of her cheek, barely skimming her collarbone with my knuckles. Her lusty eyes beg me for more, but she will have to wait. These whores always swoon over that subtle move. She dips her head back. The cords in her neck strain for my attention. With intention, she heaves air into her upper chest cavity. That’s it, baby, suck in that tummy and arch your back. She wants me to take notice of her inflated rack. I haven’t even kissed her fully on the mouth, yet I know she wouldn’t protest if I cupped both of her tits in my hands. Oh, no, she’d beg me to take her. I ignore the silent request and brush the hair from her shoulder. The thin strap of her camisole falls. Women are so easy. My finger trails the back of her arm and slips around her shoulder. She shudders under my caress. I draw tiny circles against her soft skin. Then encircle her neck with both hands. She doesn’t flinch. Ah, this strange beauty might enjoy bondage. Maybe she likes her sex rough. I tease circles up her bicep, coming oh so close to the side of her breast, and then I let my hand fall away. She still hasn’t lifted the fallen camisole strap over her shoulder. She wants me. And, oh, how she will want even more of me, more than she ever imagined. I wonder what line she’ll use on me. “I’ve never done this with anyone before.” Or, “I can’t believe you’re getting me to do this.” And my favorite: “You’re scaring me.” But they don’t struggle, or even try to leave, yet they can. Whores, all of them, sluts who will let me violate them however I can. I swear they’d let me drill another hole in their bodies to feel more titillation. This auburn beauty is no different. Her breast is nearly falling out of her camisole, and she doesn’t even care. She turns and lowers her eyelids to me. I want to laugh at her attempt at seduction. That’s it, baby, I’ve got you exactly where I want you. Beg me for my big cock, slut. She shakes her shoulders and thrusts her head back. “Don’t you want me?” I smile. I hardly ever talk to them once they are here. I don’t want to waste my precious breath. She follows me to the kitchen, where I make us each a stiff drink. Scotch on the rocks. The liquor tastes like turpentine. She drinks it anyway. They always do. Whores. Alcohol helps them get off. She walks toward me and touches my chest. That’s it, baby. Take off my clothes. I need you to. You will do things for me that you can’t even dream up in a fantasy. This one will probably take the big end of the bottle and my cock.

Stupid, stupid girl—didn’t your mommy ever tell you not to play with strangers?

Shock scorched her skin. Eerie pinpricks tattooed her nerve endings. She struggled to breathe against her rapidly beating heart. Her eyes blurred, instinctively protecting her. Sparrow couldn’t read any more of the passage, realizing truth was stranger than fiction.

Dana was not the man she had cared for, even loved.

She hadn’t known him at all.

The sickness turning over in her stomach churned a heat wave that scalded her insides and boiled over her skin. She jumped up from the sofa and raced into the bathroom. She touched the back of her hand to her forehead, pushing hair away from her face. She burned up with a fever induced by the vile passage. The rising volcanic heat erupted. Automatically her body bent forward, and she hurled into the pristine sink. The stink of hot vomit filled the bathroom. Her hands fumbled for the faucet. She gagged, washing it down the drain. The violent sickness left her feeling dizzy.

She ran cold water over her wrists and patted a cool washcloth over her face. Strands of damp hair stuck to her cheeks, and her mouth tasted like battery acid. She waited for the nauseating turning in her stomach to settle. She set the washcloth on the countertop, turned off the running faucet, and lifted her head from the sink.

She pulled open the vanity drawer, grabbing her hairbrush and a ponytail holder. She swept her shoulder-length hair up and away from her neck and face and twisted the elastic band around it. Cool air chilled her steaming neck.

Oh, God, she was going to be sick again.

She flipped open the closed toilet seat. Sickness overcame her. She rinsed her mouth and ran a toothbrush over her teeth. She had to get out of the bathroom.

The hermetic living room worsened the nausea threatening to boil over again. She pulled open her front door and let the cool, salty ocean breeze wash her clean. The rollicking waves soothed her battered nerves. She leaned against the turquoise door, careful not to knock down the seashell-encrusted wreath, and took several deep breaths, clearing her mind.

Why would Tony have left this information with her? So what if she had been Dana’s last girlfriend? That didn’t mean she knew what kind of poisoned man she had gotten herself involved with.

She stared out into the night, trying to comprehend Dana’s disgusting written ramblings. Her stomach rolled. How could she have loved him? How did she miss the warning signs? She exhaled. Thoughts of Dana touching her, kissing her, making love to her caused her skin to crawl. Suddenly, she missed Derrick and the safety of his presence.

The evening with him had not turned out how she had hoped. Perhaps it was in her best interests. Considering what she’d learned about Dana, she didn’t trust her judgment in men. She thought about the gun in Derrick’s glove box. She thought about the friendship he’d had with Dana. What if he was hiding some dark secret from her too?

She rushed inside, slamming the door behind her. Her heart caught in her throat. She rubbed the sweat from her forehead. Derrick was a good man. He helped kids in dire straits. The gun was for protection. He would never hurt her or anyone else. He wasn’t a deviant monster like Dana.

Finally she forced her feet to move toward the living room and the open boxes she had been going through earlier. The ominous box filled with Dana’s ramblings called to her. She pushed back her shoulders and faced his demons. She had to know about the hellion she had loved. No matter how many times it sent her to the bathroom spewing vomit.

The bracelet and charm stared up at her from the coffee table. She slouched down on the sofa.
Separate yourself from the situation, Sparrow.
The charm hidden with Dana’s things must have been a souvenir from one of his victims. She didn’t like the idea forming in her mind.

Dana must have killed the girl who owned the charm bracelet, and her father had protected him. How else would the charm bracelet have ended up in her jewelry box? Gaining access to the private living quarters on the second floor of her parents’ estate was nearly impossible, and she doubted that Dana would have had such an opportunity. Her father had to have hidden the charm bracelet. But why?

The closer she thought she was getting to the truth, the farther away she felt from it.

She recalled the vision she’d had of herself and the dead girl running on the beach. The image of the girl dripping wet from the ocean popped in her mind’s eye. Did she have something to do with the girl’s death? Were Dana and her father protecting her? Her stomach turned violent. She clasped her hands around her mouth and ran into the bathroom.

The pains emitting from her stomach had her doubled over as she walked from the bathroom to the living room. Nothing made sense. The girl in her vision and Dana had both given her the same warning.
Stop him.
Once again she was back to thinking her father might be the culprit.

She picked up Dana’s journal and opened it to the last entry. The upper-right corner of the page had the date of his death. Her blood ran cold, and uncomfortable chills shimmied up her spine. Could this be a suicide note or a cry for help?

If you’re reading this, Sparrow, you know I’m dead. It’s all part of the plan. If you can find my therapist you’ll understand. My penchant for sex started at puberty, and he exploited my lust. I knew it was wrong. But he exacerbated the cravings I had, subjecting me to porn, strip clubs, and hookers. Then the bastard cut me off, leaving me out of control to find women on my own. The scan. The fucking scan. Find my brain scan. He said because I had a normal brain and normal parents who hadn’t sexually abused me, I could regulate my impulsive sexual cravings. Bullshit. All of it. He destroyed my brain. I made a mistake that night with Jessica, but he convinced them I needed his help. I don’t need him. I hate the man I’ve become. His Frankenstein. He takes us and makes us human monsters, Frankensteins that need sex, drugs, and destruction. Now that I’m dead, someone will listen. Are you listening to me, Sparrow?

Stop him.

She sat motionless on the floor feeling like the heroine in a frightening Dean Koontz novel. The chills running up and down her spine multiplied and rippled down her arms and legs. Could she deny his cry for help? Could she ignore his final words?
Stop him.
The same words had dripped from the dead girl’s lips. She ran her hands up and down her arms.

Maybe she should confide in Derrick about her visions. Who else could she turn to? He was a doctor. He would have compassion for her.

She got up from the sofa and went into her studio. Her laptop seemed out of place in the room she tried to keep void of distractions. She fired up the machine and typed in a string of words:
certified hypnotist southern Los Angeles
. The small clock arms started to spin and she waited for the links to display. She agreed with Derrick that she might suffer from some sort of a repressed memory. If she wasn’t hallucinating and the visions she had been having were real, it made sense her mind would block the painful recollection.

The screen displayed multiple results. She pushed the keyboard’s down arrow and scrolled through the links. An entry for a national guide and registry on hypnotherapists filled the screen, along with hypnotists who would help patients lose weight, stop smoking, fight depression, or could be hired for your next party. Hypnosis CDs were available for order.

Leaning against her elbows on top of the desk, she pressed her forehead into the palms of her hands, massaging her brow bones with her heels. How did one choose a hypnotist? She needed to narrow her search, but she didn’t want someone too close to home. After much head kneading, she put her fingers back on the keyboard, and in the search box typed:
hypnotherapy Laguna Beach
.

The magic machine produced another string of entries. Sparrow dragged her finger over to the down arrow and started her search again. Near the middle of the page an entry caught her eye:
Mind and body, healing for the soul
. She dragged her mouse pointer to the left side of the entry for a deeper glimpse into Violet Crosby, a board-certified hypnotherapist with credentials in regression research and therapy. She specialized in past-life regressions and how to forgive yourself and others. This woman sounded just like the person Sparrow needed to uncover her past.

After further investigation of Violet’s website, Sparrow found a link to schedule an appointment. She fired off a short email and was instructed to wait for a response. The magic machine at her fingertips opened a window that gave her this message:

Your appointment with Violet is confirmed for tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. Tranquility & Peace awaits you.

Oh, boy, Sparrow wasn’t so sure about all of this tranquility and peace, but maybe this hippie mama had the answers. She stared at Violet’s full-length photo. She had long, flowing light brown hair streaked from the sun, kind-looking green eyes, and was dressed in gypsy clothes, wearing a ruffled white shirt and long black broom skirt that went down to her ankles. Her feet were bare, except for several toe rings.

The woman reminded Sparrow of Stevie Nicks and Janis Joplin rolled into one. She remembered the singers’ album covers. Her parents had vintage vinyl records and played them on the expensive player her father had purchased. They considered it nostalgic, listening to the original and often scratchy-sounding plastic discs.

She stared at Violet Crosby for another minute, thinking tomorrow she would have the answers to her visions and learn how the dead girl from the ocean was connected to Dana and her father. She logged off and shut down her laptop.

Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. She walked back to her living room and eyeballed the mess. The box containing Dana’s stuff loomed. She ignored it and started to reorganize the box she’d dragged out earlier when she was looking for the mysterious charm bracelet before finding it at her parents’ house. She promised herself that she would dig back into Dana’s wicked past after she straightened the place and made a hot cup of tea. Her stomach growled.

She flipped on the nightlight below the microwave in the kitchen and filled a teapot with water. A car pulled up, shining bright light through the slatted blinds of the kitchen window. She glanced out and noticed Derrick cautiously approaching her place.

It was late, and the scrutinizing expression on his face questioned if she was awake. His jeans molded to his body in all the right places. She liked the button-up shirt he was wearing, open at the collar, with the tails hanging out. Her heart skipped inside her chest. An erratic beat thrummed a mix of anxiety and happiness.