But the eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, and the hair was stringy and greasy, so much so that she decided to put it in a ponytail and wear a cap. And she felt permanently hunched, a result of the ever-present worry that her abdomen might unexpectedly pulse in pain.
Will I ever get back to who I was? Does that person even still exist?
She shook the thought away, forcing the self-pity to take a backseat, at least for a while. She was too busy to cater to it right now.
It was time to get ready for her physical therapy session, her meeting with the apartment broker, her appointment with her psychiatrist, and then one with her OB-GYN. It was going to be a full day of pretending to be a functional human being.
*The apartment broker, a petite whirling dervish in a pantsuit named Bridget, was showing her the third apartment of the morning when Jessie started getting the urge to jump off a balcony.
Everything was fine at first. She was on a bit of a high from her final physical therapy session, which had ended with the pronouncement that she was reasonably equipped for the tasks of daily living. Bridget had kept things moving as they looked at the first two apartments, focusing on unit details, pricing, and amenities. It was only when they got to the third option, the only one Jessie was intrigued by so far, that the personal questions began.
Are you sure youre only interested in one-bedrooms? Bridget asked. I can tell you like this one. But theres a two-bedroom one floor up with virtually the same floor plan. Its only thirty thousand dollars more and it would have greater resale value. Plus, you never know what your situation might be a couple of years from now.
Thats true, Jessie acknowledged, mentally noting that only two months ago she was married, pregnant, and living in a mansion in Orange County. Now she was separated from an admitted killer, shed lost her unborn child, and she was bunking with a friend from school. But Im fine with a one-bedroom.
Of course, Bridget said in a tone that suggested she wasnt about to let it lie. Do you mind if I ask what your circumstances are? It might better help me target your preferences. I cant help but notice the skin on your finger is white where a wedding ring might recently have been. I could gear location choices based on whether youre looking to aggressively move on or hunker down.
Were in the right area, Jessie said, her voice tightening involuntarily. I just want to see one-bedrooms around here. Thats the only information you need right now, Bridget.
Of course. Im sorry, Bridget said, chastened.
I need to borrow the restroom for a moment, Jessie said, the tightness in her throat now expanding to her chest. She wasnt sure what was happening to her. Is that okay?
No problem, Bridget said. You remember where it is, down the hall?
Jessie nodded and walked there as quickly as she could without actually running. By the time she got in and locked the door, she feared she might pass out. It felt like a panic attack coming on.
What the hell is happening to me?
She splashed her face with cold water, then rested her palms on the counter as she ordered herself to take slow, deep breaths.
Images flashed through her head without rhyme or reason: cuddling on the couch with Kyle, shivering in an isolated cabin deep in the Ozark Mountains, looking at the ultrasound of her unborn and never-to-be-born child, reading a bedtime story in a rocking chair with her adoptive father, watching as her husband dumped a body from a yacht in the waters off the coast, the sound of her father whispering Junebug in her ear.
Why Bridgets mostly innocuous question about her circumstances and references to hunkering down had set her off, Jessie didnt know. But they had and now she was in a cold sweat, shaking involuntarily, staring back in the mirror at a person she barely recognized.
It was a good thing her next stop was to see her therapist. The thought calmed Jessie slightly and she took a few more deep breaths before leaving the bathroom and heading down the hall to the front door.
Ill be in touch, she called out to Bridget as she closed the door behind her. But she wasnt sure she would be. Right now she wasnt sure of anything.
CHAPTER THREE
Dr. Janice Lemmons office was only a few blocks from the apartment building Jessie was leaving and she was glad for the chance to walk and clear her head. As she walked down Figueroa, she almost welcomed the sharp, cutting wind making her eyes water and immediately dry up. The bracing cold pushed most thoughts other than moving fast from her head.
She zipped her coat up to the neck and put her head down as she passed a coffee shop, then a diner filled to near overflowing. It was mid-December in Los Angeles and local businesses were doing their best to make their storefronts look holiday festive in a town where snow was almost an abstract concept.
But in the wind tunnels created by downtown skyscrapers, cold was ever-present. It was almost 11 a.m. but the sky was gray and the temperature was in the low fifties. Tonight it would drop close to forty. For L.A., that was bone-chilling. Of course, Jessie had been through far more frigid weather.
As a child in rural Missouri, before everything fell apart, she would play in the tiny front yard of her moms mobile home in the trailer park, her fingers and face half-numb, fashioning unimpressive but happy-faced snowmen while her mom watched protectively from the window. Jessie remembered wondering why her mother never took her eyes off her. Looking back now, it was clear.
A few years later, in the suburbs of Las Cruces, New Mexico, where shed lived with her adoptive family after going into Witness Protection, she would go skiing on the bunny slopes of the nearby mountains with her second father, an FBI agent who projected calm professionalism, no matter the situation. He was always there to help her up when she fell. And she could usually count on a hot chocolate when they got off the barren, windswept hills and went back to the lodge.
Those chilly memories warmed her as she rounded the final block to Dr. Lemmons office. She meticulously chose not to think about the less pleasant memories that inevitably intertwined with the good ones.
She checked in and peeled off her layers as she waited to be called into the doctors office. It didnt take long. Right at 11 a.m., her therapist opened the door and welcomed her inside.
Dr. Janice Lemmon was in her mid-sixties but didnt look it. She was in great shape and her eyes, behind thick glasses, were sharp and focused. Her curly blonde ringlets bounced when she walked and she had a coiled intensity that couldnt be masked.
They sat down in plush chairs across from each other. Dr. Lemmon gave her a few moments to settle in before speaking.
How are you? she asked in that open-ended way that always made Jessie genuinely ponder the question more seriously than she did in her daily life.
Ive been better, she admitted.
Why is that?
Jessie recounted her panic attack in the apartment and the subsequent flashbacks.
I dont know what set me off, she said in conclusion.
I think you do, Dr. Lemmon prodded.
Care to give me a hint? Jessie countered.
Well, Im wondering if you lost your cool in the presence of a near stranger because you dont feel like you have any other place to release your anxiety. Let me ask you thisdo you have any stressful events or decisions coming up?
Well, Im wondering if you lost your cool in the presence of a near stranger because you dont feel like you have any other place to release your anxiety. Let me ask you thisdo you have any stressful events or decisions coming up?
You mean other than an OB-GYN appointment in two hours to see if Im recovered from my miscarriage, finalizing a divorce from the man who tried to murder me, selling the house we shared together, processing the fact that my serial killer father is looking for me, deciding whether or not to go to Virginia for two and a half months to have FBI instructors laugh at me, and having to move out of my friends apartment so she can get a decent nights sleep? Besides those things, Id say Im cool.
That does sound like quite a bit, Dr. Lemmon replied, ignoring Jessies sarcasm. Why dont we start with the immediate concerns and work outward from there, okay?
Youre the boss, Jessie muttered.
Actually, Im not. But tell me about your upcoming appointment. Why does that have you concerned?
Its not so much that Im concerned, Jessie said. The doctor already told me that it looks like I dont have any permanent damage and will be able to conceive in the future. Its more that I know going there will remind of what I lost and how I lost it.
Youre talking about how your husband drugged you so he could frame you for murdering Natalia Urgova? And how the drug he used induced your miscarriage?
Yes, Jessie said drily. Thats what Im talking about.
Well, Ill be surprised if anyone there brings that up, Dr. Lemmon said, a gentle smile playing at her lips.
So youre saying Im creating stress for myself about a situation that need not be stressful?
Im saying that if you deal with the emotions ahead of time, it might not be so overwhelming when youre actually in the room.
Easier said than done, Jessie said.
Everything is easier said than done, Dr. Lemmon replied. Lets table that for now and move on to your pending divorce. How are things going on that front?
The house is in escrow. So Im hoping that gets finished without complications. My attorney says that my request for an expedited divorce was approved and that it should be final before the end of year. There is a bonus on that frontbecause California is a community property state, I get half the assets of my murdering spouse. He gets half of mine too, despite going on trial for nine major felonies early next year. But considering I was a student until a few weeks ago, that doesnt amount to much.
Okay, how do you feel about all that?
I feel good about the money. Id say I more than earned it. Did you know I used the health insurance from his job to pay for the injury I got from him stabbing me with a fireplace poker? Theres something poetic about that. Otherwise, Ill be glad when its all over. I mostly just want to move on and try to forget that I spent nearly a decade of my life with a sociopath and never realized it.
You think you should have known? Dr. Lemmon asked.
I am trying to become a professional criminal profiler, Doctor. How good can I be when I didnt notice the criminal behavior of my own husband?
Weve talked about this, Jessie. Its often difficult for even the best profilers to identify illicit behavior in those close to them. Often professional distance is required to see whats really going on.
I gather you speak from personal experience? Jessie asked.
Janice Lemmon, in addition to being a behavioral therapist, was a highly regarded criminal consultant who used to work full time for the LAPD. She still offered her services on occasion.
Lemmon had used her considerable string-pulling influence to get Jessie permission to visit the state hospital in Norwalk so she could interview serial killer Bolton Crutchfield as part of her graduate work. And Jessie suspected that the doctor had also played an integral part in her being accepted to the FBIs vaunted National Academy program, which typically only took seasoned local investigators, not recent graduates with almost no practical experience.
I do, Dr. Lemmon said. But we can save that for another time. Would you like to discuss how you feel about being played by your husband?
I wouldnt say I was totally played. After all, because of me, hes in prison and three people who would otherwise be dead, including myself, are walking around. Dont I get any credit for that? After all, I did eventually figure it out. I dont think the cops ever would have.
Thats a fair point. I assume from your snark that youd rather move on. Shall we discuss your father?
Really? Jessie asked, incredulous. Do we have to go there next? Cant we just talk about my apartment troubles?
I gather theyre related. After all, isnt the reason your roommate cant get any sleep because you have scream-inducing nightmares?
You dont play fair, Doctor.
Im only working from things you tell me, Jessie. If you didnt want me to know, you wouldnt have mentioned it. Can I assume the dreams are related to your mothers murder at the hands of your father?
Yep, Jessie answered, keeping her tone overly jaunty. The Ozarks Executioner may have gone underground but hes still got one victim very much in his clutches.
Have the nightmares gotten worse since we last met? Dr. Lemmon asked.
I wouldnt say worse, Jessie corrected. Theyve been pretty much at the same level of terrifyingly awful.
But they got dramatically more frequent and intense once you got the message, correct?
I assume were talking about the message Bolton Crutchfield passed along to me revealing that hes been in contact with my father, who would very much like to find me.
Thats the message were talking about.
Then yes, thats around the time they got worse, Jessie answered.
Setting aside the dreams for a moment, Dr. Lemmon said, I wanted to reiterate what I Ive told you previously.
Yes, Doctor, I havent forgotten. In your capacity as an advisor to the Department of State Hospitals, Non-Rehabilitative Division, youve consulted with the security team at the hospital to ensure that Bolton Crutchfield doesnt have access to any unauthorized outside personnel. There is no way for him to communicate with my father to let him know my new identity.
How many times have I said that? Dr. Lemmon asked. It must have been a few for you to have it memorized.
Lets just say more than once. Besides, Ive become friendly with the head of security at the NRD facility, Kat Gentry, and she told me basically the same thingtheyve updated their procedures to ensure that Crutchfield has no communication with the outside world.
And yet you dont sound convinced, Dr. Lemmon noted.
Would you be? Jessie countered. If your dad was a serial killer known to the world as the Ozarks Executioner and youd personally seen him eviscerate his victims and he was never caught, would your mind be set at ease by a few platitudes?
I admit Id probably be a bit skeptical. But Im not sure how productive it is to dwell on something you cant control.
I was meaning to broach that with you, Dr. Lemmon, Jessie said, dropping the sarcasm now that she had a genuine request. Are we sure I dont have any control over the situation? It seems that Bolton Crutchfield knows a fair bit about what my father has been up to in recent years. And Boltonenjoys my company. I was thinking another visit to chat with him might be in order. Who knows what he might reveal?