The post just below this is the result of the combined efforts of ten people. Each one of us contributed 500 words or more to create this story. So it is only fitting that the authors are acknowledged here:
In Alphabetical Order (because our agents demanded it):
David Berger
Rob Byrnes
Corby Daniel
Sarah Deen
Randall Ham
Cullan Hudson
Christopher Kuczewski
Anthony Lower
Brian Sheperd
Lori Sprague
Thanks to everyone who participated!!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
And here it is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn had never given much thought to her own mortality. It’s not like she thought she was immortal; she knew death would grace her doorway at some point. She had just never thought about it, until the day she witnessed a hit and run.
It was all over in seconds, but those frightening moments would be seared into Kathryn’s brain. Stepping out of Starbucks, she saw a man running across the street at the same time a red mustang was running a red light. The front of the mustang contacted the man’s knees and he flipped over and landed head first onto the windshield with a bone chilling thud. The car accelerated and the man rolled off onto the street as the car disappeared down the street. About a dozen people whipped out cell phones and all started dialing 911. Kathryn just stood there, frozen, unable or unwilling to help. All she could think about was the fact that she didn’t hear the squeal of brakes, like you would in a movie. Funny how something like that sticks in your mind.
The sirens snapped her out of her trance. She calmly sipped her latte and finished her walk to work.
The rest of the day was a blur of memos, meetings and late lunches as her mind kept coming back to that accident. Did the man survive? Is he permanently damaged? Why could she not run to him and offer help? What if it had been her? She mentally replayed the accident over and over, willing herself to see a clue. She came up with nothing new.
By the time she got home, it became a full blown obsession. She opened a bottle of wine and began to surf the ‘net, hoping for some news. It wasn’t like she had plans anyway. It had been months since her last real date and years since anything resembling a relationship. Was that what bothered her? Would she die before she landed a man? Was she that shallow?
By her second bottle of wine, Kathryn had convinced herself that the man in question was someone she knew, (possibly Gary) and that she had witnessed a murder. With Gary out of the way, she was sure she was next. She ran around her house, making sure every door was locked and every window bolted. She willed herself to stay awake, half-drunk, all night. She sat in the middle of the living room with a kitchen knife as her only defense. Every bump, every click, every dog howl was an intruder alert. At one point, a bark was so near; Kathryn screamed and stabbed a sofa cushion repeatedly. She began sobbing hysterically, certain that she was going to die and that it would be today.
The murderers (she was now sure there was more than one after her) wouldn’t have a tough time finding her. She was fairly well known and was not good at securing her personal information. But her public persona was not the one she feared for. It was the other Kathryn that she was fearful for. The one no one knew about, the skin she was more comfortable in.
On the radio, most people would recognize her voice as that of Dr. Kay Morrow, wizened guru to the lovelorn and grief-stricken. She dispensed sixty-second diagnoses with such tell-it-like-it-is style that few cared if she struck out here and there. She wasn’t a real psychologist, after all – not even a doctor. Kathryn told herself that the listeners knew this, they understood. It was a mutual and unspoken agreement between them.
And so it went for several years. Kathryn enjoyed sizeable ratings and a large fan base. She had even been looking into buying a new place when she renewed her contract and demanded more money. But then he called, and that’s when the fear – the paranoia – began.
The first time “Adam” called into the Dr. Morrow Show, Kathryn had already been set on edge by a series of events earlier in the day: the fridge went out as she was late for work, a fraudulent charge showed up on her credit card statement, and her mother phoned to say old Aunt Betty had finally passed. On top of all that, it had turned into a miserable, rainy night. She hadn’t been in the best of moods to take calls that evening, but like a trooper, she did.
“Hello, caller. You’re on the air with Dr. Kay Morrow.”
Only a wash of static greeted her ears.
“Good evening?”
Flicking the mute button on her control panel, Kathryn turned to her producer with uncharacteristic anger. “Tom, what the fuck?”
“S-sorry, Kathryn,” he stammered, taken aback by her gruff demeanor. “I don’t know what happened. He must have hung up.”
“Fine. Just get me the next caller.”
“Okay. Line 3”
Kathryn released the toggle on the mute, taking a moment to compose herself. It’s been a bad day, but there’s no need to take it out on everyone else, she told herself.
“Hello, caller. You’re on the air with Dr. Kay Morrow.”
Once again, static flared on the line. She threw her hands up to Tom.
“Well, listeners, I apologize. We seem to be experiencing some difficulties with our-”
“Hello?”
Kathryn stopped short. A dissonant voice pierced through the static that filled her ears.
“Caller, do I have you?”
“Yes, this is Adam” the voice responded from what seemed far away.
“Sorry for the problems with our phones tonight.” She looked at her monitor to see what Tom had typed in from pre-screening the call. Line three was a despondent mother of four who had been dumped by her husband for a stripper. There was no mention of a man named Adam in any of the logs. Just run with it, Kat, she told herself before giving Tom a dark, mirthless look.
“How can I help tonight, Adam?”
“Well,” the voice began. “I am calling because I think I can help you.”
His voice came across the line distant and unfocused. Kathryn braced herself for dealing with another nut. She had developed, over the years, ways both subtle and blunt for dealing with the occasional crazies that wasted her time.
“How’s that, Adam?”
“Well, I wanted to help you with your refrigerator.”
“What?” Kathryn became momentarily unnerved by this statement. She hadn’t mentioned to anyone that it had broken earlier that day. Not to Tom, not to the Super, and certainly not to any stranger named Adam.
“What did you say, Adam?”
“Well,” he continued. “If you just turn it around, and remove the small inset panel in the back…”
Adam droned on about regulator couplings and local stores that sell new ones at the best prices, but Kathryn only heard the steady pounding of her heart. Her eyes wide, brow furrowed, and face flush, she looked up to Tom in the booth beyond. She could see her own frightened face reflecting back at her from the glass partition. Tom simply stared at her quizzically, not understanding.
That simple fact that Tom could just stare glass eyed at her while Adam continued to spout off about coils and connectors, turned her fear to anger. For that alone she was thankful. Kay didn’t wear fear well.
Tom was a young, strong, carefree guy. Good at his job and easy to work with, but sweet in nature. There was no reason that she could think of why his radar would go up about this call. Now, ask any female in the office –hell, on the street- to listen to this call and Kay would bet that at least half of them would at least raise an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, Adam, but I believe that you’ve reached the wrong show. This is Dr. Kay not Car Talk.” With that Kay pressed the disconnect button.
“Sorry about that folks, apparently some calls still get by the screening process. Let’s go ahead and try another line. Cross your fingers folks and let’s hope Donna is on the line. Donna, are you there?”
And so another two hours had gone by.
“Tom! What the hell? Were you actually screening today?”
“I’m sorry, Kay. I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s okay,” Kay sighed and slid the headphones off her head. “Sorry I was short with you. But, um, can we talk about Adam? Was this the first time he’d called?”
“Man, Kay. I’m going to have to go back and listen to the screening tapes. We keep three months at a time.”
“Could you do that, Tom? Please put together a disc of all callers that sound like this Adam. Include today’s clip, okay?”
“Sure.”
Of course that had been about three months ago. Soon after that eventful show, Kay had begun a safety awareness segment. Thirty minutes, three times a week, dedicated to talking to callers about where “the line” was. How to identify when someone was over the line, even if that someone was yourself was hard work for everyone involved. Especially when you were the one toeing that line.
Sitting on her plush couch, slightly inebriated and exhausted, Kay was finally able to recognize a couple of other lines that she had crossed. One line being her once lovely and finally paid off couch. Fantastic. Now she could look at that damaged fabric and remember this wine fueled night of idiocy for months to come.
As stupid as the whole evening of paranoia had been, the moment that she regretted the most was that she had simply walked away from a man being plowed down in front of her. Fine she hadn’t spent years in school and there weren’t multiple letters behind her name on her business card, but she had always prided herself on her ability to behave in a manner befitting a resident of this city. Hell, the planet. She had every faith in the police, but she was a witness to a crime. Holy hell. The car hadn’t swerved. It hadn’t slowed down. It had slammed into that poor man so very brutally.
Kay shuddered as she closed her eyes and the horrid sound of cold, hard metal smacking into flesh echoed in her mind. As her eyes flashed open, she reached for the phone. She needed to call the cops. She needed to, no she had to, talk to the detective in charge of the investigation.
Did you call 911, this far after the fact?
Kay walked quickly towards the entrance to the police station. Two days had passed since she’d called 911 to ask what she needed to do to file an official account of what she saw. Now she was about 10 minutes late for her appointment with the detective working the case.
As she reached to open the station’s glass double doors, Kay caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her shoulder length blond hair was pulled up in a messy, loose up do. That, plus her square, black framed glasses resulted in a weird Paris-Hilton-as-a-librarian look. She gave herself a quick once over and ran her hand over her white blouse and red skirt to smooth out the wrinkle lines that had set in the car.
Kay entered the building with a deep breath and gave her name to the officer at the front desk. He invited her to have a seat and told her that Detective Odessa would be with her shortly. She exhaled as she lowered herself on the un-cushioned, dark brown, wooden chair.
Following the 911 call, Kay had been contacted by Detective Steven Odessa for a follow up interview. She learned that on the day of the accident, the dozen or so people who had pulled out cell phones had probably only taken pictures (or videos?) of the scene. Only 2 calls had been made to report the accident and fill out an eye witness report –as Kay was about to do.
A door at the far end of a long hallway swung open. Detective Odessa walked through and across the checkerboard tiled floor, down the hall to the front desk. The officer there said something to the detective and gestured over to Kay. Steven spun quickly on his heels, extended his hand and showed the slightest sign of a grin.
“Ms. Morrow, I’m Detective Steven Odessa.”
Kay stayed seated, looked up at his face. She couldn’t help but notice his bright eyes, and she met his hand with hers. “Nice to meet you – uh- Detective Odessa.”
Steven turned and walked back down the hallway towards the room he had just left. He hesitated when he realized Kay was still seated. “Ms. Morrow? If you could follow me to my office, I can file your account and have you out of here in a few moments.”
After he collected basic demographic data –this annoyed Kay, she’d already given all of this to someone over the phone –Steven asked Kay to review what she had seen. She gave her account of what she saw while Steve took what appeared to be sparse, efficient notes.
“Ms. Morrow” Steven started “There’s one odd thing here. You say the mustang was about 15 feet from you when it struck the victim?”
“Yes, that’s right”, Kay replied trying to block herself from visualizing the scene yet again.
“And the mustang was headed towards Raven Blvd, and was speeding up as it passed.”
Somewhat annoyed, Kay simply nodded.
“So if all that matches up, then why is it that you report the car was red, when the other two witnesses say it was grey? In fact, we have a cell phone image which is a little fuzzy, but shows the car is clearly a dark color. ”
Kay was stumped. There was not one speck of doubt in her mind that the car was red. But as she looked at the photo, the color was the least of her concerns. What she saw in that photo caused her to feel a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Before she realized it, she heard herself say aloud, “What the hell?”
Odessa cocked an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Ms. Morrow?”
She closed her eyes, and the grainy cell phone image disappeared. When she opened them again, the picture was back in the detective’s hands.
“Detective,” she said, with what appeared to be a genuine smile. “You know me as Kathryn Morrow, but maybe the name ‘Dr. Kay Morrow’ rings a bell.”
The eyebrow cocked again. “That’s you?”
“That’s me. And I think I owe you an apology. The red Mustang I remembered, well… This is embarrassing for me to admit.”
“Go on.”
She did. “Documented psychological studies have proven time and time again that eye-witnesses are sometimes the worst witnesses, if you know what I mean. In the frenzy of a traumatic event, the mind occasionally makes up its own facts...”
Odessa nodded. “I’ve seen that happen.”
“Right,” she agreed, perhaps too quickly. “The witness to a crime thinks the perpetrator was black, when he wasn’t. They remember a different hair color… eye color.” Again, Kathryn flashed a convincing smile and added, “Or car color. And I thought I was smarter than my subconscious. I should have known better.”
“So you’re saying your subconscious tricked you into thinking the car was red, when it was gray.”
“Exactly. And as a fairly well-known psychologist…”
“On the radio, at least.”
“Yes,” she said unhappily at his dismissive comment. “‘On the radio, at least…’”
Odessa stole another glance at the photo in his hands, then looked away and set it aside with a soft sigh.
“Is there anything else, detective?”
“No.” Odessa slid the image back into his file folder and finally made eye contact again. When he spoke, his voice was distant… and eerily familiar. “Thank you for your time, Ms. – I mean Doctor – Morrow.’
She was back in her car before she allowed herself to think about Detective Odessa’s voice. She was certain she had heard it before.
She was also still certain that car had been red.
She wasn’t due back to the studio until that evening, but she drove straight from them police station to the boxy white-brick building just outside the city limits, breaking the law in the process to call Tom from her cell phone. He agreed to meet her there; in fact, he made it to the studio a half-minute before her car pulled into the lot.
“What’s up?” he asked, when she walked into the lobby, but she kept walking, making a beeline for Tom’s production booth. He scrambled to keep pace until he finally caught up with her when she reached the locked production room door and again had a chance to breathlessly ask, “What’s up?”
She wasn’t sure what she was feeling – a strange combination of panic and rationality; fear and defiance – but she said quite calmly, “The show tapes. I want to hear the show tapes.”
A tinge of anger crept into his voice. “That’s what this is all about?”
She turned and gave him a smile, but it wasn’t the smile she had offered Detective Odessa. It was the smile of a woman who was going to get what she wanted, and no one would stand in her way. She didn’t care how nice a guy Tom was; now, she wasn’t Kathryn Morrow. She was Dr. Kay Morrow, and Dr. Kay Morrow knew how to take control.
“Tom, you are going to do what I say.”
He felt the steel in her voice on his spine and took his keys out his pocket. As he unlocked the door, he dared to ask, “Are we looking for anything in particular?”
“Yes. I want to hear Adam’s voice.”
Kathryn was such a fool. The voice on the tape, Adam's voice, wasn't Odessa. Or, more accurately, the voice could be anyone. It was such a bland, generic voice. It's only character came from its broken rhythm and breathy tone. The call was still creepy to her, no doubt, but hearing it again, it was plain that the caller's intention was to scare her, and every syllable he uttered made that plain.
She felt humiliated by the fact that she'd been taken in by such an obvious effort to unnerve her. On any other day, she thought, she'd have just shrugged off that call. But on the day of the hit and run, it got inside her, and now she was haunted by that cold, disembodied voice.
And, of course, Tom was annoyed with her now. When she had her conviction that something was terribly wrong behind her she didn't care what he thought. Now, it was one more embarrassment on her list to fret over. She wouldn't be sending any more late night calls his way in the foreseeable future, that's for sure.
And yet, there was one creepy thing she discovered tonight. There were no screening tapes. Tom had spent hours looking through the old tapes, but the only recording they had of Adam came from that one appearance on the show. Somehow, when he called, he'd skipped over the screening process entirely.
"How is that even possible?" she demanded when Tom couldn't produce anything.
"I don't know." Tom shrugged, a boyish look of dismay on his face. "It's not possible, I guess. But it's true."
"Are you fucking with me?"
She knew he wasn't, but could think of nothing else to say.
"The only thing I can think is that someone erased them, but there's no one with access that would take the time. And then why not erase the show tape too? It's just not reasonable."
She roamed her apartment that night like a caged animal, jumping from one useless task to another. She searched YouTube hoping to find a video of the hit and run, but came up empty. She tried to watch television, annoyed by its noise until she turned it off. She tried in vain to find someone to call to vent her frustrations to, laying down her cell again and again, in impotent defeat.
"This isn't healthy," she muttered under her breath.
Finally, she decided to expel her frustrations through activity. She walked into the kitchen and began cleaning. She had just run dishwater when she was interrupted by a faint rhythm pumping softly from the next room. Her cell.
She walked into the living room, spooked for some reason. Her cell lay on the arm of her couch, its screen lit, vibrating and pumping out a tinny version of "Where It's At." She was annoyed that her hand trembled as she reached for it.
She caught herself and laughed. The ring tone was such a ridiculous thing to be listening to while afraid. She really needed to get a grip on herself.
"Hello?"
The voice that responded made her go cold with fear.
"Hi there, Kat. Is your refrigerator running?" It was that same breathy cadence, unmistakable. Adam spoke in a demented sing-song to her. "Better run and catch it. Better run, better run."
Her blood ran cold. How did he know her cell phone number? It certainly wasn’t listed. More importantly, how did he know her? Who was he? Had he been someone from her past?
Her mind raced as her trembling hand held the cell phone close to her ear, the strange Adam still on the line. Something inside her told her not to hang up. She finally took a deep breath and decided to speak.
“Hello? Are you still there? Adam…?”
“Yes,” replied the voice on the other line. “You really should fix that refrigerator.” He let out a very light chuckle.
“You’re right.” She wanted to change the subject, to use her power as a therapist to figure out who he was and what he wanted. She tried her best to keep calm and speak casually. “So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”
“Now, you know that isn’t important, Kat.” His voice was steady and focused. He knew how to play her game, whatever game that happened to be.
“Oh? But I really want to know.”
“Well, I know what you did. Do you want to focus on that instead?”
Now she wanted to play his game. Or at least pretend to do so. Anything to find out who this guy was.
“Sure, let’s focus on my day,” she said rather confidently. “What did I do today?”
“You spent some time trying to find some tapes, didn’t you?”
She froze.
“I guess you can’t get enough of hearing my voice, huh?” He spoke so clearly, with very little emotion. He could be a therapist himself. Maybe he was. Is that how she knew him? Was he a colleague? If so, why was her pestering her? And how did he know she and Tom searched for those tapes earlier?
“Of course,” she said with an air of sarcasm. “I simply can’t live without listening to your voice.” She was surprised how calm she was. Perhaps her adrenaline had kicked in so much that her nerves had somehow been steadied.
“If you wanted to hear my voice, all you had to do was ask.”
“Oh,” she began. “But how could I contact you? You called me, remember?”
“I know, my friend. But you can just as easily call me. You have my number, remember?”
She just realized she hadn’t looked at the caller I.D. when she had first answered the phone. She quickly checked. “Unavailable.” Damn! She should have known. Maybe it was someone she knew. Maybe not. But he claimed she had his number.
“I don’t think I have your number handy.” She took another deep breath. “Could you remind me?”
“Oh, I think you have it. It’s probably not in your cell phone contact list. But check your little black book. It should be there.”
What? Little black book? She hadn’t used an actual phone book in years. Was this Adam someone from years ago? That name—Adam. Adam, Adam, Adam. It didn’t ring a bell. But she had to know him somehow. After all, if he knew so much about her and was able to find out what she was doing and what was going on in her life, their paths must have crossed at least once.
Or was he just some psycho stalker who was watching her every move?
Kathryn quietly cleared her throat. "Adam," she said coolly, trying to prevent her voice from betraying her nervousness. "I really must apologize, but I'm having trouble placing you."
"I'm hurt," Adam replied, mockingly. "I always thought everyone remembered their first."
Adam's words took Kathryn by surprise. What did he mean by her "first?" Her first, what? Her mind raced as she thought back to the men who had been important in her life.
Whoever this Adam was, Kathryn was sure he wasn't the first guy with whom she had ever had sex. That had been Quinn McCafferty, the summer she turned 15. Quinn was now married with three children, and lived in Connecticut. Besides, he and Kathryn stayed in regular contact after reconnecting on Facebook, so she'd certainly recognize his voice.
Adam also couldn't possibly be her first love -- Andy Miller.
Kathryn still choked up every time she thought of Andy, and even after all of these years, she couldn't help feeling responsible for his death.
Kathryn and Andy began dating in their sophomore year of high school and had been practically inseparable. Their friends envied their relationship, and everyone was certain they'd marry after high school and live "happily ever after."
However, in the months leading up to graduation, they were frequently arguing and the relationship was beginning to crumble.
Kathryn had been accepted to UCLA - nearly two thousand miles from their hometown in Nebraska - and she was excited to move to California. However, Andy was content to stay in Greenwood, and had planned to take over his father's appliance store after high school.
Andy had also looked forward to marrying Kathryn and raising a family together, but Kathryn wanted something different and had hoped Andy would move to Los Angeles with her. She wanted to meet new people and broaden her horizons. She wasn't ready to be married and have children at that age, and she certainly didn't want to be stuck in Greenwood for the rest of her life.
Kathryn had begun to feel that if Andy couldn't understand that, then perhaps they weren't meant for each other after all.
Only a few weeks after graduation, they had their worst fight ever. Kathryn, frustrated by what she felt was Andy's lack of ambition, had lashed out at him with pure vitriol.
"You'll never amount to anything if you stay here," she had said, scornfully. "You'll live a dull, wasted existence like your father and everyone else in this rotten town!"
Andy's face had reddened with anger and he had parted his lips, as if to speak, but stopped himself. Instead, he stormed out of Kathryn's parents' house and jumped into his car.
"Let him sulk," Kathryn remembered thinking. "Maybe he'll finally grow some fucking balls."
Hours later, Kathryn's mother had awakened her from a fitful sleep.
"Kathy, sweetheart," her mother had said, with tears filling her eyes. "There's been an accident. Andy's gone."
Andy's body had been burned beyond recognition, so Kathryn wasn't allowed to see him, but she still remembered watching as his demolished car was towed from the crash scene the next morning.
His beautiful, red Mustang, crumpled like a discarded piece of paper.
That last memory snapped her back to the present, as the realization sent a shiver down her spine.
"Oh my God," she thought. "Andy drove a red Mustang, exactly like the one I saw on the morning of the accident!"
“Kay, dear, I can hear the wheels turning. Do you remember me now?” Adam’s voice brought her back to reality.
Almost choking on her fear and sadness, Kay tried to keep her voice level. “The only first that you could possibly be to me is my first stalker. If you won’t leave me alone, be man enough to show your face.”
“I’m a man without a face, sweetheart.” And, with that, Adam hung up.
Kay stared at the phone in her hand for a long time. Burn victims can have damaged vocal cords, leading to soft, raspy voices. If you’re burned bad enough, she thought, you’re face might be just a map of scars and grafts.
She knew it was crazy; but she couldn’t stop the thoughts in her head. What if Andy lived? She had gone to the funeral, been at his parents house as well-meaning friends and family offered their condolences and food. She had helped his mother tearfully go through his room and put away his belongings.
Determined to put her irrational fear to rest, she booted up her laptop. She found the obituary, the newspaper articles, the horrific photos of the accident. His Mustang was so twisted and burned that it was barely recognizable. She relived that night and the agonizing months that followed. It had taken her three months to face the fact that she needed therapy. Three long months of hiding from the world, blanketing herself in grief and guilt.
After six months, she had convinced her therapist that she was past the “guilt stage”. She gave convincing speeches on how she had not been the one behind the wheel. On how she could not hold herself responsible for his reckless actions. She was so convincing that she almost convinced herself.
“Maybe that’s why I chose a career in therapy.” She almost laughed at the thought. What she did was a far cry from the therapy that she endured all those years ago.
After hours of scouring the net, revisiting her pain, and a few more bottles of wine; she fell into a fitful sleep on her mangled couch. Her dreams were vivid and troublesome. She saw Andy’s accident as if she had been standing on the side of the road. She tried to run and save him; but she couldn’t move. She tried to scream for help; but no sound came out. The ambulance never came. She stood helplessly as the car burned. When the flames finally subsided and the smoke was almost cleared; a figure came walking out of the wreckage. Black and mangled as the car.
Her own scream awoke her. Gasping for air, she tried to calm herself. The beating on the door startled her so much; she almost screamed again. She cautiously got up from the couch and silently made her way to the door. The pounding came again.
“Are you okay?” Her neighbor’s nervous voice calmed her.
“Yes, I’m sorry for the noise. I just had a really bad nightmare.” She answered, not opening the door.
“Are you sure? Would you like me to come in and sit with you? Have some tea?”
“No, really, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern and sorry to have bothered you.” She answered, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. She certainly didn’t feel steady. She was clammy and nauseous.
* * *
After a few Tylenol PM, she finally managed to fall asleep, but her dreams wouldn’t let her sleep peacefully because guilt can be powerful, especially unresolved, unexamined guilt. Could Adam be Andy? Could her last words to him have cursed his final hours? Is it possible he could have survived that horrific accident? Kathryn had no answers to the many questions which flooded her mind, but she knew she had to find a way beyond this anxiety or it would do irreparable damage to her job, her friends, and her life.
The next morning, she decided she needed answers, so she told Tom she would be taking the next two days to take care of some family business, and she drove to Greenwood to see Andy’s mother.
As her car rolled to a stop in front of the house, she didn’t quite know what she was going to say to the woman who thought of her like a daughter while she was dating Andy. The house was just as she remembered: a white split-level ranch with burgundy trim, the close-cropped lawn which Andy’s father kept meticulously green through assorted chemicals and religious watering, and the wildflowers which grew along the driveway, botanical fringe to offset the red brick driveway. Walking toward the door, Kathryn’s heart pounded as if it would burst through her chest, but she had to do this. She not only needed answers, but she also needed closure. Tentatively, she knocked on the burgundy door, recalling all those times when she and Andy came by to see his parents for dinner every few weeks. A face peered through the sidelight for a moment, and then Kathryn heard the jingling of the lock. As the door opened, a face she had not seen for a long time looked back at her, and she felt more at ease.
“Kathryn, is that really you?” asked Andy’s mother, holding the door as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.
“Yes, Gladys, it’s me,” she smiled.
“Well, don’t just stand there, honey. Come in. It’s so good to see you.”
The burgundy door closed behind her, and for the first time in a very long time, Kathryn felt calm. Gladys gestured for her to go into the kitchen and sit at the table while she put out some iced tea.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Kathryn,” Gladys began. “I really hope you don’t still feel guilty about Andy’s death. You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
Sipping some tea, Kathryn paused to look at Gladys’ face. The woman hadn’t really aged all that much since the last time she saw her. The last she saw her was at Andy’s funeral.
“Yes,” Kathryn said, softly. “I know. I still struggle with it a little, but I know deep down I had nothing to do with…” She couldn’t say it.
“With Andy’s death,” Gladys said, finishing the sentence. “It’s okay to say it.” The gentle woman placed her hand over Kathryn’s on the table. “So, what brings you to Greenwood? I thought you told Andy you didn’t want to come back. Something about starting a career…”
Kathryn, who always had something to say, couldn’t find the words to express herself. Taking another sip of tea, she padded her lips with the paper napkin Gladys had put next to the glass. This trip couldn’t be for nothing, she told herself, so she explained to her former boyfriend’s mother the entire story, from the accident she had witnessed to the unnerving phone calls from ‘Adam’.
“Hm,” Gladys said at the name.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Gladys replied, trying to be casual.
“Gladys, you can’t play poker, and you can’t hide things from me,” Kathryn said, smiling. “Remember those times when you used to sneak cigarettes, and all I had to do was look at you a certain way, and you’d spill that you’d been down the street at the park smoking? What is it?”
“Before Andy met you, we lived in Tampa, FL. In fact, my family is originally from Florida. Harry—you remember Harry—well, he died a few months ago.”
“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? You know I would have come out to help.”
“I know, that’s why I didn’t call you. I needed time to myself after the man I had been married to for 35 years just up and died. Anyway, Harry and I had tried to have children when we first got married, but he… he had a low sperm count,” she said, rushing that part. “Anyway, we tried and tried to have children, and we had some false alarms—those damn pregnancy tests—but we eventually got pregnant, and we had Andy. We really didn’t think that it would happen again, since Harry had that problem, you know. Well, when Andy was just three, I got pregnant again. We had another son.”
“I didn’t know Andy had a brother? He never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t have. He was always jealous of Andy, no matter what we tried to do to treat them equally. Andy tried to be the best brother he could, but it just wasn’t enough. Eventually, when both the boys were in their teens, we moved here to Greenwood. I thought the change would help, and it did for a little while.”
Kathryn felt a twinge in her chest.
“Gladys,” she began, “what was Andy’s brother’s name?”
“Michael…”
Kathryn instantly felt the twinge go away.
“…but, he preferred to go by his middle name, Adam.”
Taking a sip of iced tea, Kathryn felt the uncomfortable feeling return. Slowly, her heart started to beat more noticeably.
“What ever happened to Michael…er…Adam?”
Andy’s mother’s face fell a little, and she nervously wiped the condensation off her glass, folding the napkin afterward.
“He and Andy couldn’t get along, and Harry and I couldn’t figure out why. Whatever Andy got, Michael wanted. If Andy got new clothes, Michael took them and tried to wear them, even though they didn’t fit him. When Andy dated someone, Michael always hung around, making the poor girl uncomfortable, so she’d eventually break up with Andy. Eventually, Harry and I decided to send Michael to his aunt, my sister, in Oakstead, about fifty miles from here. He didn’t want to leave. I suppose, even with the jealousy, he loved his brother very much, but Andy was fed up with him.”
“What happened? I mean, neither you nor Harry, or even Andy, ever mentioned him. In fact, I don’t ever remember seeing any pictures of him.”
Kathryn’s initial curiosity made her now quite uncomfortable.
Gladys pursed her lips a little, trying to put something into words. She spoke softly, carefully, almost as if she were trying to be respectful of the dead.
“Michael didn’t do very well with my sister. In fact… he tried to hurt her. She had him committed to a psychiatric facility in Oakstead, but she still insisted on visiting him every week. Dear Angela… she always thought she could save people, no matter how lost they were.”
“Is she okay?”
“Oh, yes. She moved to New York after a few months when she realized Michael wanted nothing to do with her. She would just sit with him for hours, supervised, of course. He said nothing. She would try to tell him things about the people she saw, the places she went. When she moved, we decided it was best to leave Michael there. I tried to speak to him once, but he told me he wanted nothing to do with us ever again, and I should never contact him. It hurt me so much, but I knew it was for the best. Harry and I promised not to talk about him. We threw away everything we had of his, including all his pictures, even the baby pictures. That almost killed me inside. He was my baby, after all.”
Kathryn wanted to know if Michael was still in the Oakstead facility, but she wouldn’t ask Gladys. Something told her she didn’t want to go down that path, but another something told her that that path was also leading right to her. She began to think that maybe Michael had been released.
“Gladys, is it likely that Michael will ever be released from Oakstead?”
“I suppose it’s possible. Angela told me that, if Michael had shown improvement in his violent tendencies over a certain period of time, he might be able to get some unsupervised time away from the facility. I would think that Oakstead would call us before they let him do that, though. Wouldn’t you think?”
“Do you happen to have the number, by any chance?”
“I do. It’s next to the phone. Why?”
Without answering Gladys, Kathryn moved to the phone, found the number on a business card, and dialed.
“Oakstead Psychiatric Hospital. May I help you?”
Kathryn steadied her voice. “Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me if a patient is still in residence?”
“I’m sorry. We can only give that information to members of a patient’s family, or a patient’s doctor.”
“Oh, well, I am Dr. Kay Morrow.”
“The doctor from the radio show?”
“Yes, that would be me. I’m wondering about a patient of mine who became a resident of your facility. I wanted to visit to see how he was doing.”
“That request takes 24 hours to process, but may I ask which patient you would like to see?”
“Michael Preston.”
“Hmm. We don’t have a Michael Preston in residence.”
“Oh. He might be going by Adam. Adam Preston.”
“Yes, we had an Adam Preston.”
“Had?”
“He was released a few months ago, after the Review Board examined his progress.”
A chill brushed the back of Kathryn’s neck.
“Do you know where he would have gone? I would really like to follow up with him.”
The receptionist told Kathryn that Michael’s former doctor would have that information, since he would have arranged outpatient therapy for Michael. She would patch Kathryn through to him, assuming he was in his office.
Dr. Albert, once he heard who was on the phone, immediately began telling Kathryn how much of a fan he was of her radio show. Flattered, she tried to redirect him to the whereabouts of Michael, or rather, Adam.
“The last known address I have for him is Los Angeles. That was about two months ago, I believe.”
The blood drained from Kathryn’s face, and she mechanically hung up the phone without saying goodbye to Dr. Albert.
“What is it, dear?” Gladys asked.
Kathryn sat down again and finished her iced tea, staring blankly into the kitchen.
“Los Angeles,” she uttered, incredulously. “He’s in L.A.”
The words had barely left her lips when her cell phone rang, making both women jump. As she looked down at the phone, she saw, “Unavailable.”
“Damn. It’s him.”
“Who, dear?”
“Adam.”
Note to self, she thought, change the damn ring tone. She suddenly had a thought, and a smile slowly crept across her face. The little black book Adam mentioned before.
“Hello, Adam.”
“Well, you seem almost glad to hear from me, Kat. Enjoying your chat with Mom?”
She realized that he would have followed her, so she wasn’t thrown by his question.
“As a matter of fact, I am… Michael.”
Silence.
“What’s wrong, Michael? Did I say something to upset you?”
“Not at all. How is dear old Mom doing?”
She could hear it in his voice. He was thrown off his game. Now, he would be her plaything for a while.
“Just fine. She was telling me all about you, and your penchant for hurting others. I actually pity you.”
Her confidence angered him.
“Shut up. It’s all lies!”
“What, Michael? What lies?” Her composure grew with each passing moment.
“Dammit…my name is Adam!”
“Okay, Michael, whatever you say.”
His heavy breathing made her smile. She knew she was getting to him. Putting her hand over her cellphone, she—very calmly—told Gladys to call the police. Unsure of what to do exactly, Gladys moved toward the phone, but turned, as if to ask why.
“Because this is the endgame. Michael, Adam, or whoever he is… he’s not going to hurt me, or anyone else, anymore. Now, please, Gladys, call the police.”
In her heart, she wanted to scream to her son and tell him what Kathryn wanted to do, but then she thought of Andy, and her sister, and she dialed 911.
“You still there, Kat?” His voice had regained its composure.
“Yes, I’m still here. So, tell me, how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill your brother, Andy.”
Silence.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I think I know. Cut his break lines? Tamper with his transmission? You see, I’ve had a revelation, Michael… sorry, Adam. The accident I witnessed made me think about Andy’s death, but it doesn’t matter what color the car was that I saw. It was Andy’s red Mustang that matters now. You wanted his car, didn’t you?”
“He didn’t deserve any of it.”
“Deserve what?”
“I’m not going to play your game.”
“Why not? I’ve been playing yours. What else did you want of his?” And then, it hit her. “You wanted me. You knew he was dating me. Your mother probably told your aunt Angela, who told you, since she wanted to keep you in the loop of the family.”
“He didn’t deserve anything!”
She continued as if he weren’t saying anything. “You killed him, thinking you could have me. You probably came to Greenwood, arranged his death, but decided to go back to Angela’s to lie low afterward.”
She enjoyed when he went silent. Instinctually, she carefully looked out the window and saw a black Chevy about a block away, with a man sitting in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t make out his face, but he seemed to be on a phone.
“When you were released from Oakstead, you went to L.A. to find me. You knew with Andy out of the way, you’d have no obstacle to get me.”
Damn, she was good.
“You probably saw a billboard with my face on it, tuned into the radio show, and then called that night. Am I even close? Don’t bother to answer.”
Gladys sat mesmerized by the one-sided conversation, wondering if her son was saying anything at all. She prayed to G-d that whatever was going to happen would happen quickly, and without more grief. In the distance, she heard sirens, so she knew it wouldn’t be long.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I did what I had to do, Adam.”
“You know you won’t win.”
“I already have.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. And now, I’ll have to deal with my mother and you. Look at what you’re making me do.”
“Everything we do is a choice, Adam. Choices have consequences, so choose wisely.”
“Very witty, Kat. Is that from psychology textbook? I’m smarter than that.”
“Oh, I know, Adam. I’m counting on it. If you want me, you know where I am. Now’s your chance.”
Glancing through the curtain, she could see Adam. He got out of the car and moved slowly toward the house. Sirens blared even more loudly, and the car’s lights could be seen sparking about two blocks away. Even with the police car advancing, Adam still moved slowly. He seemed unarmed, but she had no idea what he would do. With a sudden thought, she ran over to the front door and latched it.
“Gladys, go upstairs. Now.”
Without hesitation, the older woman did as she was told, more out of fear than anything else.
By the time that Adam got to the kitchen window, he was shouting for Kathryn.
“What’s wrong, Kat? Afraid to let me in? Afraid I’m too much man for you? I’d be so much better for you than Andy. He was weak, and he never knew how to please a woman.”
He pounded on the glass, shaking the panes. With every fistfall, Kathryn thought the window would shatter. It seemed as if he were just trying to get her attention. A voice from outside, not Adam’s could be heard over his shouting.
“Put your hands over your head and kneel on the ground. Now!”
Adam continued to taunt Kathryn, pounding more on the glass.
“Get on the ground! Now!” the policeman shouted, his gun pointed right at the back of Adam’s head.
Adam complied, kneeling before the window, his hands laced behind his head. And he was laughing.
“You think you’ve won, Kat. You think you’ve won. Andy couldn’t have you. And if I can’t, no one can!”
With that, he reached around, lunging for the policeman’s handgun. A shot rang out, shattering the window, and Adam was pinned to the ground by two other policemen. All Adam could do was laugh. When they took him away, handcuffed, he laughed, singing,
“Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans just clap your hands just clap your hands,
Where it’s at…”
Gladys came down the stairs slowly and stood by the window, watching the policemen take her little baby away. She stood next to Kathryn, who was crying, but these tears were of closure. She wasn’t thinking about Adam. She was thinking about Andy. After all this time, she was finally at peace.
It was all over in seconds, but those frightening moments would be seared into Kathryn’s brain. Stepping out of Starbucks, she saw a man running across the street at the same time a red mustang was running a red light. The front of the mustang contacted the man’s knees and he flipped over and landed head first onto the windshield with a bone chilling thud. The car accelerated and the man rolled off onto the street as the car disappeared down the street. About a dozen people whipped out cell phones and all started dialing 911. Kathryn just stood there, frozen, unable or unwilling to help. All she could think about was the fact that she didn’t hear the squeal of brakes, like you would in a movie. Funny how something like that sticks in your mind.
The sirens snapped her out of her trance. She calmly sipped her latte and finished her walk to work.
The rest of the day was a blur of memos, meetings and late lunches as her mind kept coming back to that accident. Did the man survive? Is he permanently damaged? Why could she not run to him and offer help? What if it had been her? She mentally replayed the accident over and over, willing herself to see a clue. She came up with nothing new.
By the time she got home, it became a full blown obsession. She opened a bottle of wine and began to surf the ‘net, hoping for some news. It wasn’t like she had plans anyway. It had been months since her last real date and years since anything resembling a relationship. Was that what bothered her? Would she die before she landed a man? Was she that shallow?
By her second bottle of wine, Kathryn had convinced herself that the man in question was someone she knew, (possibly Gary) and that she had witnessed a murder. With Gary out of the way, she was sure she was next. She ran around her house, making sure every door was locked and every window bolted. She willed herself to stay awake, half-drunk, all night. She sat in the middle of the living room with a kitchen knife as her only defense. Every bump, every click, every dog howl was an intruder alert. At one point, a bark was so near; Kathryn screamed and stabbed a sofa cushion repeatedly. She began sobbing hysterically, certain that she was going to die and that it would be today.
The murderers (she was now sure there was more than one after her) wouldn’t have a tough time finding her. She was fairly well known and was not good at securing her personal information. But her public persona was not the one she feared for. It was the other Kathryn that she was fearful for. The one no one knew about, the skin she was more comfortable in.
On the radio, most people would recognize her voice as that of Dr. Kay Morrow, wizened guru to the lovelorn and grief-stricken. She dispensed sixty-second diagnoses with such tell-it-like-it-is style that few cared if she struck out here and there. She wasn’t a real psychologist, after all – not even a doctor. Kathryn told herself that the listeners knew this, they understood. It was a mutual and unspoken agreement between them.
And so it went for several years. Kathryn enjoyed sizeable ratings and a large fan base. She had even been looking into buying a new place when she renewed her contract and demanded more money. But then he called, and that’s when the fear – the paranoia – began.
The first time “Adam” called into the Dr. Morrow Show, Kathryn had already been set on edge by a series of events earlier in the day: the fridge went out as she was late for work, a fraudulent charge showed up on her credit card statement, and her mother phoned to say old Aunt Betty had finally passed. On top of all that, it had turned into a miserable, rainy night. She hadn’t been in the best of moods to take calls that evening, but like a trooper, she did.
“Hello, caller. You’re on the air with Dr. Kay Morrow.”
Only a wash of static greeted her ears.
“Good evening?”
Flicking the mute button on her control panel, Kathryn turned to her producer with uncharacteristic anger. “Tom, what the fuck?”
“S-sorry, Kathryn,” he stammered, taken aback by her gruff demeanor. “I don’t know what happened. He must have hung up.”
“Fine. Just get me the next caller.”
“Okay. Line 3”
Kathryn released the toggle on the mute, taking a moment to compose herself. It’s been a bad day, but there’s no need to take it out on everyone else, she told herself.
“Hello, caller. You’re on the air with Dr. Kay Morrow.”
Once again, static flared on the line. She threw her hands up to Tom.
“Well, listeners, I apologize. We seem to be experiencing some difficulties with our-”
“Hello?”
Kathryn stopped short. A dissonant voice pierced through the static that filled her ears.
“Caller, do I have you?”
“Yes, this is Adam” the voice responded from what seemed far away.
“Sorry for the problems with our phones tonight.” She looked at her monitor to see what Tom had typed in from pre-screening the call. Line three was a despondent mother of four who had been dumped by her husband for a stripper. There was no mention of a man named Adam in any of the logs. Just run with it, Kat, she told herself before giving Tom a dark, mirthless look.
“How can I help tonight, Adam?”
“Well,” the voice began. “I am calling because I think I can help you.”
His voice came across the line distant and unfocused. Kathryn braced herself for dealing with another nut. She had developed, over the years, ways both subtle and blunt for dealing with the occasional crazies that wasted her time.
“How’s that, Adam?”
“Well, I wanted to help you with your refrigerator.”
“What?” Kathryn became momentarily unnerved by this statement. She hadn’t mentioned to anyone that it had broken earlier that day. Not to Tom, not to the Super, and certainly not to any stranger named Adam.
“What did you say, Adam?”
“Well,” he continued. “If you just turn it around, and remove the small inset panel in the back…”
Adam droned on about regulator couplings and local stores that sell new ones at the best prices, but Kathryn only heard the steady pounding of her heart. Her eyes wide, brow furrowed, and face flush, she looked up to Tom in the booth beyond. She could see her own frightened face reflecting back at her from the glass partition. Tom simply stared at her quizzically, not understanding.
That simple fact that Tom could just stare glass eyed at her while Adam continued to spout off about coils and connectors, turned her fear to anger. For that alone she was thankful. Kay didn’t wear fear well.
Tom was a young, strong, carefree guy. Good at his job and easy to work with, but sweet in nature. There was no reason that she could think of why his radar would go up about this call. Now, ask any female in the office –hell, on the street- to listen to this call and Kay would bet that at least half of them would at least raise an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry, Adam, but I believe that you’ve reached the wrong show. This is Dr. Kay not Car Talk.” With that Kay pressed the disconnect button.
“Sorry about that folks, apparently some calls still get by the screening process. Let’s go ahead and try another line. Cross your fingers folks and let’s hope Donna is on the line. Donna, are you there?”
And so another two hours had gone by.
“Tom! What the hell? Were you actually screening today?”
“I’m sorry, Kay. I don’t know what happened.”
“It’s okay,” Kay sighed and slid the headphones off her head. “Sorry I was short with you. But, um, can we talk about Adam? Was this the first time he’d called?”
“Man, Kay. I’m going to have to go back and listen to the screening tapes. We keep three months at a time.”
“Could you do that, Tom? Please put together a disc of all callers that sound like this Adam. Include today’s clip, okay?”
“Sure.”
Of course that had been about three months ago. Soon after that eventful show, Kay had begun a safety awareness segment. Thirty minutes, three times a week, dedicated to talking to callers about where “the line” was. How to identify when someone was over the line, even if that someone was yourself was hard work for everyone involved. Especially when you were the one toeing that line.
Sitting on her plush couch, slightly inebriated and exhausted, Kay was finally able to recognize a couple of other lines that she had crossed. One line being her once lovely and finally paid off couch. Fantastic. Now she could look at that damaged fabric and remember this wine fueled night of idiocy for months to come.
As stupid as the whole evening of paranoia had been, the moment that she regretted the most was that she had simply walked away from a man being plowed down in front of her. Fine she hadn’t spent years in school and there weren’t multiple letters behind her name on her business card, but she had always prided herself on her ability to behave in a manner befitting a resident of this city. Hell, the planet. She had every faith in the police, but she was a witness to a crime. Holy hell. The car hadn’t swerved. It hadn’t slowed down. It had slammed into that poor man so very brutally.
Kay shuddered as she closed her eyes and the horrid sound of cold, hard metal smacking into flesh echoed in her mind. As her eyes flashed open, she reached for the phone. She needed to call the cops. She needed to, no she had to, talk to the detective in charge of the investigation.
Did you call 911, this far after the fact?
Kay walked quickly towards the entrance to the police station. Two days had passed since she’d called 911 to ask what she needed to do to file an official account of what she saw. Now she was about 10 minutes late for her appointment with the detective working the case.
As she reached to open the station’s glass double doors, Kay caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her shoulder length blond hair was pulled up in a messy, loose up do. That, plus her square, black framed glasses resulted in a weird Paris-Hilton-as-a-librarian look. She gave herself a quick once over and ran her hand over her white blouse and red skirt to smooth out the wrinkle lines that had set in the car.
Kay entered the building with a deep breath and gave her name to the officer at the front desk. He invited her to have a seat and told her that Detective Odessa would be with her shortly. She exhaled as she lowered herself on the un-cushioned, dark brown, wooden chair.
Following the 911 call, Kay had been contacted by Detective Steven Odessa for a follow up interview. She learned that on the day of the accident, the dozen or so people who had pulled out cell phones had probably only taken pictures (or videos?) of the scene. Only 2 calls had been made to report the accident and fill out an eye witness report –as Kay was about to do.
A door at the far end of a long hallway swung open. Detective Odessa walked through and across the checkerboard tiled floor, down the hall to the front desk. The officer there said something to the detective and gestured over to Kay. Steven spun quickly on his heels, extended his hand and showed the slightest sign of a grin.
“Ms. Morrow, I’m Detective Steven Odessa.”
Kay stayed seated, looked up at his face. She couldn’t help but notice his bright eyes, and she met his hand with hers. “Nice to meet you – uh- Detective Odessa.”
Steven turned and walked back down the hallway towards the room he had just left. He hesitated when he realized Kay was still seated. “Ms. Morrow? If you could follow me to my office, I can file your account and have you out of here in a few moments.”
After he collected basic demographic data –this annoyed Kay, she’d already given all of this to someone over the phone –Steven asked Kay to review what she had seen. She gave her account of what she saw while Steve took what appeared to be sparse, efficient notes.
“Ms. Morrow” Steven started “There’s one odd thing here. You say the mustang was about 15 feet from you when it struck the victim?”
“Yes, that’s right”, Kay replied trying to block herself from visualizing the scene yet again.
“And the mustang was headed towards Raven Blvd, and was speeding up as it passed.”
Somewhat annoyed, Kay simply nodded.
“So if all that matches up, then why is it that you report the car was red, when the other two witnesses say it was grey? In fact, we have a cell phone image which is a little fuzzy, but shows the car is clearly a dark color. ”
Kay was stumped. There was not one speck of doubt in her mind that the car was red. But as she looked at the photo, the color was the least of her concerns. What she saw in that photo caused her to feel a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. Before she realized it, she heard herself say aloud, “What the hell?”
Odessa cocked an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Ms. Morrow?”
She closed her eyes, and the grainy cell phone image disappeared. When she opened them again, the picture was back in the detective’s hands.
“Detective,” she said, with what appeared to be a genuine smile. “You know me as Kathryn Morrow, but maybe the name ‘Dr. Kay Morrow’ rings a bell.”
The eyebrow cocked again. “That’s you?”
“That’s me. And I think I owe you an apology. The red Mustang I remembered, well… This is embarrassing for me to admit.”
“Go on.”
She did. “Documented psychological studies have proven time and time again that eye-witnesses are sometimes the worst witnesses, if you know what I mean. In the frenzy of a traumatic event, the mind occasionally makes up its own facts...”
Odessa nodded. “I’ve seen that happen.”
“Right,” she agreed, perhaps too quickly. “The witness to a crime thinks the perpetrator was black, when he wasn’t. They remember a different hair color… eye color.” Again, Kathryn flashed a convincing smile and added, “Or car color. And I thought I was smarter than my subconscious. I should have known better.”
“So you’re saying your subconscious tricked you into thinking the car was red, when it was gray.”
“Exactly. And as a fairly well-known psychologist…”
“On the radio, at least.”
“Yes,” she said unhappily at his dismissive comment. “‘On the radio, at least…’”
Odessa stole another glance at the photo in his hands, then looked away and set it aside with a soft sigh.
“Is there anything else, detective?”
“No.” Odessa slid the image back into his file folder and finally made eye contact again. When he spoke, his voice was distant… and eerily familiar. “Thank you for your time, Ms. – I mean Doctor – Morrow.’
She was back in her car before she allowed herself to think about Detective Odessa’s voice. She was certain she had heard it before.
She was also still certain that car had been red.
She wasn’t due back to the studio until that evening, but she drove straight from them police station to the boxy white-brick building just outside the city limits, breaking the law in the process to call Tom from her cell phone. He agreed to meet her there; in fact, he made it to the studio a half-minute before her car pulled into the lot.
“What’s up?” he asked, when she walked into the lobby, but she kept walking, making a beeline for Tom’s production booth. He scrambled to keep pace until he finally caught up with her when she reached the locked production room door and again had a chance to breathlessly ask, “What’s up?”
She wasn’t sure what she was feeling – a strange combination of panic and rationality; fear and defiance – but she said quite calmly, “The show tapes. I want to hear the show tapes.”
A tinge of anger crept into his voice. “That’s what this is all about?”
She turned and gave him a smile, but it wasn’t the smile she had offered Detective Odessa. It was the smile of a woman who was going to get what she wanted, and no one would stand in her way. She didn’t care how nice a guy Tom was; now, she wasn’t Kathryn Morrow. She was Dr. Kay Morrow, and Dr. Kay Morrow knew how to take control.
“Tom, you are going to do what I say.”
He felt the steel in her voice on his spine and took his keys out his pocket. As he unlocked the door, he dared to ask, “Are we looking for anything in particular?”
“Yes. I want to hear Adam’s voice.”
Kathryn was such a fool. The voice on the tape, Adam's voice, wasn't Odessa. Or, more accurately, the voice could be anyone. It was such a bland, generic voice. It's only character came from its broken rhythm and breathy tone. The call was still creepy to her, no doubt, but hearing it again, it was plain that the caller's intention was to scare her, and every syllable he uttered made that plain.
She felt humiliated by the fact that she'd been taken in by such an obvious effort to unnerve her. On any other day, she thought, she'd have just shrugged off that call. But on the day of the hit and run, it got inside her, and now she was haunted by that cold, disembodied voice.
And, of course, Tom was annoyed with her now. When she had her conviction that something was terribly wrong behind her she didn't care what he thought. Now, it was one more embarrassment on her list to fret over. She wouldn't be sending any more late night calls his way in the foreseeable future, that's for sure.
And yet, there was one creepy thing she discovered tonight. There were no screening tapes. Tom had spent hours looking through the old tapes, but the only recording they had of Adam came from that one appearance on the show. Somehow, when he called, he'd skipped over the screening process entirely.
"How is that even possible?" she demanded when Tom couldn't produce anything.
"I don't know." Tom shrugged, a boyish look of dismay on his face. "It's not possible, I guess. But it's true."
"Are you fucking with me?"
She knew he wasn't, but could think of nothing else to say.
"The only thing I can think is that someone erased them, but there's no one with access that would take the time. And then why not erase the show tape too? It's just not reasonable."
She roamed her apartment that night like a caged animal, jumping from one useless task to another. She searched YouTube hoping to find a video of the hit and run, but came up empty. She tried to watch television, annoyed by its noise until she turned it off. She tried in vain to find someone to call to vent her frustrations to, laying down her cell again and again, in impotent defeat.
"This isn't healthy," she muttered under her breath.
Finally, she decided to expel her frustrations through activity. She walked into the kitchen and began cleaning. She had just run dishwater when she was interrupted by a faint rhythm pumping softly from the next room. Her cell.
She walked into the living room, spooked for some reason. Her cell lay on the arm of her couch, its screen lit, vibrating and pumping out a tinny version of "Where It's At." She was annoyed that her hand trembled as she reached for it.
She caught herself and laughed. The ring tone was such a ridiculous thing to be listening to while afraid. She really needed to get a grip on herself.
"Hello?"
The voice that responded made her go cold with fear.
"Hi there, Kat. Is your refrigerator running?" It was that same breathy cadence, unmistakable. Adam spoke in a demented sing-song to her. "Better run and catch it. Better run, better run."
Her blood ran cold. How did he know her cell phone number? It certainly wasn’t listed. More importantly, how did he know her? Who was he? Had he been someone from her past?
Her mind raced as her trembling hand held the cell phone close to her ear, the strange Adam still on the line. Something inside her told her not to hang up. She finally took a deep breath and decided to speak.
“Hello? Are you still there? Adam…?”
“Yes,” replied the voice on the other line. “You really should fix that refrigerator.” He let out a very light chuckle.
“You’re right.” She wanted to change the subject, to use her power as a therapist to figure out who he was and what he wanted. She tried her best to keep calm and speak casually. “So, how have you been? What have you been up to?”
“Now, you know that isn’t important, Kat.” His voice was steady and focused. He knew how to play her game, whatever game that happened to be.
“Oh? But I really want to know.”
“Well, I know what you did. Do you want to focus on that instead?”
Now she wanted to play his game. Or at least pretend to do so. Anything to find out who this guy was.
“Sure, let’s focus on my day,” she said rather confidently. “What did I do today?”
“You spent some time trying to find some tapes, didn’t you?”
She froze.
“I guess you can’t get enough of hearing my voice, huh?” He spoke so clearly, with very little emotion. He could be a therapist himself. Maybe he was. Is that how she knew him? Was he a colleague? If so, why was her pestering her? And how did he know she and Tom searched for those tapes earlier?
“Of course,” she said with an air of sarcasm. “I simply can’t live without listening to your voice.” She was surprised how calm she was. Perhaps her adrenaline had kicked in so much that her nerves had somehow been steadied.
“If you wanted to hear my voice, all you had to do was ask.”
“Oh,” she began. “But how could I contact you? You called me, remember?”
“I know, my friend. But you can just as easily call me. You have my number, remember?”
She just realized she hadn’t looked at the caller I.D. when she had first answered the phone. She quickly checked. “Unavailable.” Damn! She should have known. Maybe it was someone she knew. Maybe not. But he claimed she had his number.
“I don’t think I have your number handy.” She took another deep breath. “Could you remind me?”
“Oh, I think you have it. It’s probably not in your cell phone contact list. But check your little black book. It should be there.”
What? Little black book? She hadn’t used an actual phone book in years. Was this Adam someone from years ago? That name—Adam. Adam, Adam, Adam. It didn’t ring a bell. But she had to know him somehow. After all, if he knew so much about her and was able to find out what she was doing and what was going on in her life, their paths must have crossed at least once.
Or was he just some psycho stalker who was watching her every move?
Kathryn quietly cleared her throat. "Adam," she said coolly, trying to prevent her voice from betraying her nervousness. "I really must apologize, but I'm having trouble placing you."
"I'm hurt," Adam replied, mockingly. "I always thought everyone remembered their first."
Adam's words took Kathryn by surprise. What did he mean by her "first?" Her first, what? Her mind raced as she thought back to the men who had been important in her life.
Whoever this Adam was, Kathryn was sure he wasn't the first guy with whom she had ever had sex. That had been Quinn McCafferty, the summer she turned 15. Quinn was now married with three children, and lived in Connecticut. Besides, he and Kathryn stayed in regular contact after reconnecting on Facebook, so she'd certainly recognize his voice.
Adam also couldn't possibly be her first love -- Andy Miller.
Kathryn still choked up every time she thought of Andy, and even after all of these years, she couldn't help feeling responsible for his death.
Kathryn and Andy began dating in their sophomore year of high school and had been practically inseparable. Their friends envied their relationship, and everyone was certain they'd marry after high school and live "happily ever after."
However, in the months leading up to graduation, they were frequently arguing and the relationship was beginning to crumble.
Kathryn had been accepted to UCLA - nearly two thousand miles from their hometown in Nebraska - and she was excited to move to California. However, Andy was content to stay in Greenwood, and had planned to take over his father's appliance store after high school.
Andy had also looked forward to marrying Kathryn and raising a family together, but Kathryn wanted something different and had hoped Andy would move to Los Angeles with her. She wanted to meet new people and broaden her horizons. She wasn't ready to be married and have children at that age, and she certainly didn't want to be stuck in Greenwood for the rest of her life.
Kathryn had begun to feel that if Andy couldn't understand that, then perhaps they weren't meant for each other after all.
Only a few weeks after graduation, they had their worst fight ever. Kathryn, frustrated by what she felt was Andy's lack of ambition, had lashed out at him with pure vitriol.
"You'll never amount to anything if you stay here," she had said, scornfully. "You'll live a dull, wasted existence like your father and everyone else in this rotten town!"
Andy's face had reddened with anger and he had parted his lips, as if to speak, but stopped himself. Instead, he stormed out of Kathryn's parents' house and jumped into his car.
"Let him sulk," Kathryn remembered thinking. "Maybe he'll finally grow some fucking balls."
Hours later, Kathryn's mother had awakened her from a fitful sleep.
"Kathy, sweetheart," her mother had said, with tears filling her eyes. "There's been an accident. Andy's gone."
Andy's body had been burned beyond recognition, so Kathryn wasn't allowed to see him, but she still remembered watching as his demolished car was towed from the crash scene the next morning.
His beautiful, red Mustang, crumpled like a discarded piece of paper.
That last memory snapped her back to the present, as the realization sent a shiver down her spine.
"Oh my God," she thought. "Andy drove a red Mustang, exactly like the one I saw on the morning of the accident!"
“Kay, dear, I can hear the wheels turning. Do you remember me now?” Adam’s voice brought her back to reality.
Almost choking on her fear and sadness, Kay tried to keep her voice level. “The only first that you could possibly be to me is my first stalker. If you won’t leave me alone, be man enough to show your face.”
“I’m a man without a face, sweetheart.” And, with that, Adam hung up.
Kay stared at the phone in her hand for a long time. Burn victims can have damaged vocal cords, leading to soft, raspy voices. If you’re burned bad enough, she thought, you’re face might be just a map of scars and grafts.
She knew it was crazy; but she couldn’t stop the thoughts in her head. What if Andy lived? She had gone to the funeral, been at his parents house as well-meaning friends and family offered their condolences and food. She had helped his mother tearfully go through his room and put away his belongings.
Determined to put her irrational fear to rest, she booted up her laptop. She found the obituary, the newspaper articles, the horrific photos of the accident. His Mustang was so twisted and burned that it was barely recognizable. She relived that night and the agonizing months that followed. It had taken her three months to face the fact that she needed therapy. Three long months of hiding from the world, blanketing herself in grief and guilt.
After six months, she had convinced her therapist that she was past the “guilt stage”. She gave convincing speeches on how she had not been the one behind the wheel. On how she could not hold herself responsible for his reckless actions. She was so convincing that she almost convinced herself.
“Maybe that’s why I chose a career in therapy.” She almost laughed at the thought. What she did was a far cry from the therapy that she endured all those years ago.
After hours of scouring the net, revisiting her pain, and a few more bottles of wine; she fell into a fitful sleep on her mangled couch. Her dreams were vivid and troublesome. She saw Andy’s accident as if she had been standing on the side of the road. She tried to run and save him; but she couldn’t move. She tried to scream for help; but no sound came out. The ambulance never came. She stood helplessly as the car burned. When the flames finally subsided and the smoke was almost cleared; a figure came walking out of the wreckage. Black and mangled as the car.
Her own scream awoke her. Gasping for air, she tried to calm herself. The beating on the door startled her so much; she almost screamed again. She cautiously got up from the couch and silently made her way to the door. The pounding came again.
“Are you okay?” Her neighbor’s nervous voice calmed her.
“Yes, I’m sorry for the noise. I just had a really bad nightmare.” She answered, not opening the door.
“Are you sure? Would you like me to come in and sit with you? Have some tea?”
“No, really, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern and sorry to have bothered you.” She answered, amazed at the steadiness of her voice. She certainly didn’t feel steady. She was clammy and nauseous.
* * *
After a few Tylenol PM, she finally managed to fall asleep, but her dreams wouldn’t let her sleep peacefully because guilt can be powerful, especially unresolved, unexamined guilt. Could Adam be Andy? Could her last words to him have cursed his final hours? Is it possible he could have survived that horrific accident? Kathryn had no answers to the many questions which flooded her mind, but she knew she had to find a way beyond this anxiety or it would do irreparable damage to her job, her friends, and her life.
The next morning, she decided she needed answers, so she told Tom she would be taking the next two days to take care of some family business, and she drove to Greenwood to see Andy’s mother.
As her car rolled to a stop in front of the house, she didn’t quite know what she was going to say to the woman who thought of her like a daughter while she was dating Andy. The house was just as she remembered: a white split-level ranch with burgundy trim, the close-cropped lawn which Andy’s father kept meticulously green through assorted chemicals and religious watering, and the wildflowers which grew along the driveway, botanical fringe to offset the red brick driveway. Walking toward the door, Kathryn’s heart pounded as if it would burst through her chest, but she had to do this. She not only needed answers, but she also needed closure. Tentatively, she knocked on the burgundy door, recalling all those times when she and Andy came by to see his parents for dinner every few weeks. A face peered through the sidelight for a moment, and then Kathryn heard the jingling of the lock. As the door opened, a face she had not seen for a long time looked back at her, and she felt more at ease.
“Kathryn, is that really you?” asked Andy’s mother, holding the door as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.
“Yes, Gladys, it’s me,” she smiled.
“Well, don’t just stand there, honey. Come in. It’s so good to see you.”
The burgundy door closed behind her, and for the first time in a very long time, Kathryn felt calm. Gladys gestured for her to go into the kitchen and sit at the table while she put out some iced tea.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you, Kathryn,” Gladys began. “I really hope you don’t still feel guilty about Andy’s death. You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”
Sipping some tea, Kathryn paused to look at Gladys’ face. The woman hadn’t really aged all that much since the last time she saw her. The last she saw her was at Andy’s funeral.
“Yes,” Kathryn said, softly. “I know. I still struggle with it a little, but I know deep down I had nothing to do with…” She couldn’t say it.
“With Andy’s death,” Gladys said, finishing the sentence. “It’s okay to say it.” The gentle woman placed her hand over Kathryn’s on the table. “So, what brings you to Greenwood? I thought you told Andy you didn’t want to come back. Something about starting a career…”
Kathryn, who always had something to say, couldn’t find the words to express herself. Taking another sip of tea, she padded her lips with the paper napkin Gladys had put next to the glass. This trip couldn’t be for nothing, she told herself, so she explained to her former boyfriend’s mother the entire story, from the accident she had witnessed to the unnerving phone calls from ‘Adam’.
“Hm,” Gladys said at the name.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” Gladys replied, trying to be casual.
“Gladys, you can’t play poker, and you can’t hide things from me,” Kathryn said, smiling. “Remember those times when you used to sneak cigarettes, and all I had to do was look at you a certain way, and you’d spill that you’d been down the street at the park smoking? What is it?”
“Before Andy met you, we lived in Tampa, FL. In fact, my family is originally from Florida. Harry—you remember Harry—well, he died a few months ago.”
“I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me? You know I would have come out to help.”
“I know, that’s why I didn’t call you. I needed time to myself after the man I had been married to for 35 years just up and died. Anyway, Harry and I had tried to have children when we first got married, but he… he had a low sperm count,” she said, rushing that part. “Anyway, we tried and tried to have children, and we had some false alarms—those damn pregnancy tests—but we eventually got pregnant, and we had Andy. We really didn’t think that it would happen again, since Harry had that problem, you know. Well, when Andy was just three, I got pregnant again. We had another son.”
“I didn’t know Andy had a brother? He never mentioned it.”
“He wouldn’t have. He was always jealous of Andy, no matter what we tried to do to treat them equally. Andy tried to be the best brother he could, but it just wasn’t enough. Eventually, when both the boys were in their teens, we moved here to Greenwood. I thought the change would help, and it did for a little while.”
Kathryn felt a twinge in her chest.
“Gladys,” she began, “what was Andy’s brother’s name?”
“Michael…”
Kathryn instantly felt the twinge go away.
“…but, he preferred to go by his middle name, Adam.”
Taking a sip of iced tea, Kathryn felt the uncomfortable feeling return. Slowly, her heart started to beat more noticeably.
“What ever happened to Michael…er…Adam?”
Andy’s mother’s face fell a little, and she nervously wiped the condensation off her glass, folding the napkin afterward.
“He and Andy couldn’t get along, and Harry and I couldn’t figure out why. Whatever Andy got, Michael wanted. If Andy got new clothes, Michael took them and tried to wear them, even though they didn’t fit him. When Andy dated someone, Michael always hung around, making the poor girl uncomfortable, so she’d eventually break up with Andy. Eventually, Harry and I decided to send Michael to his aunt, my sister, in Oakstead, about fifty miles from here. He didn’t want to leave. I suppose, even with the jealousy, he loved his brother very much, but Andy was fed up with him.”
“What happened? I mean, neither you nor Harry, or even Andy, ever mentioned him. In fact, I don’t ever remember seeing any pictures of him.”
Kathryn’s initial curiosity made her now quite uncomfortable.
Gladys pursed her lips a little, trying to put something into words. She spoke softly, carefully, almost as if she were trying to be respectful of the dead.
“Michael didn’t do very well with my sister. In fact… he tried to hurt her. She had him committed to a psychiatric facility in Oakstead, but she still insisted on visiting him every week. Dear Angela… she always thought she could save people, no matter how lost they were.”
“Is she okay?”
“Oh, yes. She moved to New York after a few months when she realized Michael wanted nothing to do with her. She would just sit with him for hours, supervised, of course. He said nothing. She would try to tell him things about the people she saw, the places she went. When she moved, we decided it was best to leave Michael there. I tried to speak to him once, but he told me he wanted nothing to do with us ever again, and I should never contact him. It hurt me so much, but I knew it was for the best. Harry and I promised not to talk about him. We threw away everything we had of his, including all his pictures, even the baby pictures. That almost killed me inside. He was my baby, after all.”
Kathryn wanted to know if Michael was still in the Oakstead facility, but she wouldn’t ask Gladys. Something told her she didn’t want to go down that path, but another something told her that that path was also leading right to her. She began to think that maybe Michael had been released.
“Gladys, is it likely that Michael will ever be released from Oakstead?”
“I suppose it’s possible. Angela told me that, if Michael had shown improvement in his violent tendencies over a certain period of time, he might be able to get some unsupervised time away from the facility. I would think that Oakstead would call us before they let him do that, though. Wouldn’t you think?”
“Do you happen to have the number, by any chance?”
“I do. It’s next to the phone. Why?”
Without answering Gladys, Kathryn moved to the phone, found the number on a business card, and dialed.
“Oakstead Psychiatric Hospital. May I help you?”
Kathryn steadied her voice. “Yes, I was wondering if you could tell me if a patient is still in residence?”
“I’m sorry. We can only give that information to members of a patient’s family, or a patient’s doctor.”
“Oh, well, I am Dr. Kay Morrow.”
“The doctor from the radio show?”
“Yes, that would be me. I’m wondering about a patient of mine who became a resident of your facility. I wanted to visit to see how he was doing.”
“That request takes 24 hours to process, but may I ask which patient you would like to see?”
“Michael Preston.”
“Hmm. We don’t have a Michael Preston in residence.”
“Oh. He might be going by Adam. Adam Preston.”
“Yes, we had an Adam Preston.”
“Had?”
“He was released a few months ago, after the Review Board examined his progress.”
A chill brushed the back of Kathryn’s neck.
“Do you know where he would have gone? I would really like to follow up with him.”
The receptionist told Kathryn that Michael’s former doctor would have that information, since he would have arranged outpatient therapy for Michael. She would patch Kathryn through to him, assuming he was in his office.
Dr. Albert, once he heard who was on the phone, immediately began telling Kathryn how much of a fan he was of her radio show. Flattered, she tried to redirect him to the whereabouts of Michael, or rather, Adam.
“The last known address I have for him is Los Angeles. That was about two months ago, I believe.”
The blood drained from Kathryn’s face, and she mechanically hung up the phone without saying goodbye to Dr. Albert.
“What is it, dear?” Gladys asked.
Kathryn sat down again and finished her iced tea, staring blankly into the kitchen.
“Los Angeles,” she uttered, incredulously. “He’s in L.A.”
The words had barely left her lips when her cell phone rang, making both women jump. As she looked down at the phone, she saw, “Unavailable.”
“Damn. It’s him.”
“Who, dear?”
“Adam.”
Note to self, she thought, change the damn ring tone. She suddenly had a thought, and a smile slowly crept across her face. The little black book Adam mentioned before.
“Hello, Adam.”
“Well, you seem almost glad to hear from me, Kat. Enjoying your chat with Mom?”
She realized that he would have followed her, so she wasn’t thrown by his question.
“As a matter of fact, I am… Michael.”
Silence.
“What’s wrong, Michael? Did I say something to upset you?”
“Not at all. How is dear old Mom doing?”
She could hear it in his voice. He was thrown off his game. Now, he would be her plaything for a while.
“Just fine. She was telling me all about you, and your penchant for hurting others. I actually pity you.”
Her confidence angered him.
“Shut up. It’s all lies!”
“What, Michael? What lies?” Her composure grew with each passing moment.
“Dammit…my name is Adam!”
“Okay, Michael, whatever you say.”
His heavy breathing made her smile. She knew she was getting to him. Putting her hand over her cellphone, she—very calmly—told Gladys to call the police. Unsure of what to do exactly, Gladys moved toward the phone, but turned, as if to ask why.
“Because this is the endgame. Michael, Adam, or whoever he is… he’s not going to hurt me, or anyone else, anymore. Now, please, Gladys, call the police.”
In her heart, she wanted to scream to her son and tell him what Kathryn wanted to do, but then she thought of Andy, and her sister, and she dialed 911.
“You still there, Kat?” His voice had regained its composure.
“Yes, I’m still here. So, tell me, how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Kill your brother, Andy.”
Silence.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I think I know. Cut his break lines? Tamper with his transmission? You see, I’ve had a revelation, Michael… sorry, Adam. The accident I witnessed made me think about Andy’s death, but it doesn’t matter what color the car was that I saw. It was Andy’s red Mustang that matters now. You wanted his car, didn’t you?”
“He didn’t deserve any of it.”
“Deserve what?”
“I’m not going to play your game.”
“Why not? I’ve been playing yours. What else did you want of his?” And then, it hit her. “You wanted me. You knew he was dating me. Your mother probably told your aunt Angela, who told you, since she wanted to keep you in the loop of the family.”
“He didn’t deserve anything!”
She continued as if he weren’t saying anything. “You killed him, thinking you could have me. You probably came to Greenwood, arranged his death, but decided to go back to Angela’s to lie low afterward.”
She enjoyed when he went silent. Instinctually, she carefully looked out the window and saw a black Chevy about a block away, with a man sitting in the driver’s seat. She couldn’t make out his face, but he seemed to be on a phone.
“When you were released from Oakstead, you went to L.A. to find me. You knew with Andy out of the way, you’d have no obstacle to get me.”
Damn, she was good.
“You probably saw a billboard with my face on it, tuned into the radio show, and then called that night. Am I even close? Don’t bother to answer.”
Gladys sat mesmerized by the one-sided conversation, wondering if her son was saying anything at all. She prayed to G-d that whatever was going to happen would happen quickly, and without more grief. In the distance, she heard sirens, so she knew it wouldn’t be long.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“I did what I had to do, Adam.”
“You know you won’t win.”
“I already have.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. And now, I’ll have to deal with my mother and you. Look at what you’re making me do.”
“Everything we do is a choice, Adam. Choices have consequences, so choose wisely.”
“Very witty, Kat. Is that from psychology textbook? I’m smarter than that.”
“Oh, I know, Adam. I’m counting on it. If you want me, you know where I am. Now’s your chance.”
Glancing through the curtain, she could see Adam. He got out of the car and moved slowly toward the house. Sirens blared even more loudly, and the car’s lights could be seen sparking about two blocks away. Even with the police car advancing, Adam still moved slowly. He seemed unarmed, but she had no idea what he would do. With a sudden thought, she ran over to the front door and latched it.
“Gladys, go upstairs. Now.”
Without hesitation, the older woman did as she was told, more out of fear than anything else.
By the time that Adam got to the kitchen window, he was shouting for Kathryn.
“What’s wrong, Kat? Afraid to let me in? Afraid I’m too much man for you? I’d be so much better for you than Andy. He was weak, and he never knew how to please a woman.”
He pounded on the glass, shaking the panes. With every fistfall, Kathryn thought the window would shatter. It seemed as if he were just trying to get her attention. A voice from outside, not Adam’s could be heard over his shouting.
“Put your hands over your head and kneel on the ground. Now!”
Adam continued to taunt Kathryn, pounding more on the glass.
“Get on the ground! Now!” the policeman shouted, his gun pointed right at the back of Adam’s head.
Adam complied, kneeling before the window, his hands laced behind his head. And he was laughing.
“You think you’ve won, Kat. You think you’ve won. Andy couldn’t have you. And if I can’t, no one can!”
With that, he reached around, lunging for the policeman’s handgun. A shot rang out, shattering the window, and Adam was pinned to the ground by two other policemen. All Adam could do was laugh. When they took him away, handcuffed, he laughed, singing,
“Pulling out jives and jamboree handouts
Two turntables and a microphone
Bottles and cans just clap your hands just clap your hands,
Where it’s at…”
Gladys came down the stairs slowly and stood by the window, watching the policemen take her little baby away. She stood next to Kathryn, who was crying, but these tears were of closure. She wasn’t thinking about Adam. She was thinking about Andy. After all this time, she was finally at peace.
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