Kershaw shook his head. “Something stinks. Even after I told him we found a body in Sarah’s car, his surprised act was see-through.” Kershaw put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Let’s head back to the station and see what we can do about this. Even if we can’t get Sarah out of here for the next two days, I’ll at least get them to grant me a visitation in light of the murdered woman in her car. We have to see that she’s okay. We just have to, because I don’t think she is. Something tells me she’s in a lot of trouble.”
Kershaw spun on his heels and half walked, half ran for the car.
“If he’s right,” Aaron said, “there goes my theory of her wanting to be here.”
“It was only a theory,” Parkman added.
Once they were all in Kershaw’s car, he squealed the tires on the way out of the parking lot.
When Aaron looked back at the doors they had just exited, Dr. Williams was standing there, watching them leave.
It looked like Williams was smiling.
Chapter 17
The scent of food wafting down the corridor from the dining area made her stomach ache. She hadn’t eaten since being brought in.
Cole leaned down and whispered, “Your hands are secured to the wheelchair and they’re not going to be untied. I’ll be feeding you.”
He pushed her chair toward the dining area.
“What am I supposed to have?” Sarah asked.
“Whatever’s cooking.”
“No, not food, condition. What psychosis have you fabricated to get me here? I must be badass to be locked to a chair and a bed with no one saying anything about it.”
“Your diagnosis is the Macdonald Triad.”
“What’s that?”
They entered an area filled with tables. Patients in various levels of dress and cleanliness meandered through the tables, plates of food in their hands. Someone laughed high and loud, the kind heard at a circus. Another person to Sarah’s right grunted.
“The Macdonald Triad is also called the triad of sociopathy. Fancy words for a set of three behavioral characteristics with violent tendencies. Basically, you’re a predator who commits serial offenses. You destroyed your cabin, too.”
She turned and glared at him. “I did what?”
“You destroyed your cabin. Then killed that receptionist in Williams’ office. With your history, which has been documented in the media for years, it will be an easy sell.”
“Why kill the woman? Why wreck the cabin? Only to justify why you locked me up? Or to cover up more of yours and Williams’ indiscretions?”
“Beef stroganoff and steamed carrots are on the menu tonight,” he said, ignoring her questions. “You’ll enjoy the beef, Sarah. Think of this as your last meal.”
He pushed her chair into a vacant corner by the window. He left her and started toward the food trays. Outside, the sun was an hour away from disappearing and still nothing from Vivian.
Where are you? she asked. Could use a little help here.
A woman pivoted to look at Sarah. She snapped her head Sarah’s way so fast that her body shook with the effort. Then the woman, dressed in a drab brown top and too-short shorts, shot to her feet.
Sarah glanced at Cole who hadn’t noticed the woman’s odd behavior. When she looked back, the woman was already walking toward Sarah. Sarah jerked her hands up in defense, but the restraints held fast. The woman’s mouth moved, eyebrows twitched, and her hands clenched and unclenched as she strode toward Sarah.
Ten feet from the wheelchair, the woman burst into a run and dove at Sarah. Out of reflex, Sarah flinched and shoved her body to the side of the chair, but couldn’t get too far.
The woman smashed into the wall just behind the wheelchair, slamming her fists into the eggshell white paint, ranting gibberish.
“Code one!” a man yelled from somewhere in the room.
Then Cole was on the crazy woman, attempting to
Kershaw spun on his heels and half walked, half ran for the car.
“If he’s right,” Aaron said, “there goes my theory of her wanting to be here.”
“It was only a theory,” Parkman added.
Once they were all in Kershaw’s car, he squealed the tires on the way out of the parking lot.
When Aaron looked back at the doors they had just exited, Dr. Williams was standing there, watching them leave.
It looked like Williams was smiling.
Chapter 17
The scent of food wafting down the corridor from the dining area made her stomach ache. She hadn’t eaten since being brought in.
Cole leaned down and whispered, “Your hands are secured to the wheelchair and they’re not going to be untied. I’ll be feeding you.”
He pushed her chair toward the dining area.
“What am I supposed to have?” Sarah asked.
“Whatever’s cooking.”
“No, not food, condition. What psychosis have you fabricated to get me here? I must be badass to be locked to a chair and a bed with no one saying anything about it.”
“Your diagnosis is the Macdonald Triad.”
“What’s that?”
They entered an area filled with tables. Patients in various levels of dress and cleanliness meandered through the tables, plates of food in their hands. Someone laughed high and loud, the kind heard at a circus. Another person to Sarah’s right grunted.
“The Macdonald Triad is also called the triad of sociopathy. Fancy words for a set of three behavioral characteristics with violent tendencies. Basically, you’re a predator who commits serial offenses. You destroyed your cabin, too.”
She turned and glared at him. “I did what?”
“You destroyed your cabin. Then killed that receptionist in Williams’ office. With your history, which has been documented in the media for years, it will be an easy sell.”
“Why kill the woman? Why wreck the cabin? Only to justify why you locked me up? Or to cover up more of yours and Williams’ indiscretions?”
“Beef stroganoff and steamed carrots are on the menu tonight,” he said, ignoring her questions. “You’ll enjoy the beef, Sarah. Think of this as your last meal.”
He pushed her chair into a vacant corner by the window. He left her and started toward the food trays. Outside, the sun was an hour away from disappearing and still nothing from Vivian.
Where are you? she asked. Could use a little help here.
A woman pivoted to look at Sarah. She snapped her head Sarah’s way so fast that her body shook with the effort. Then the woman, dressed in a drab brown top and too-short shorts, shot to her feet.
Sarah glanced at Cole who hadn’t noticed the woman’s odd behavior. When she looked back, the woman was already walking toward Sarah. Sarah jerked her hands up in defense, but the restraints held fast. The woman’s mouth moved, eyebrows twitched, and her hands clenched and unclenched as she strode toward Sarah.
Ten feet from the wheelchair, the woman burst into a run and dove at Sarah. Out of reflex, Sarah flinched and shoved her body to the side of the chair, but couldn’t get too far.
The woman smashed into the wall just behind the wheelchair, slamming her fists into the eggshell white paint, ranting gibberish.
“Code one!” a man yelled from somewhere in the room.
Then Cole was on the crazy woman, attempting to
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