Chris Carter - An Evil Mind

Lucien gave her an unenthusiastic smile. ‘I injected her with Propofol.’

Taylor glanced at Hunter.

‘It’s a fast-acting general anesthetic,’ Lucien clarified. ‘It’s incredible what you can get your hands on when you manage to get access to the medical school building at Stanford.’

‘So what happened next?’ Taylor asked. ‘Where did you take her? What did you do?’

‘No, no, no,’ Lucien said with a slight shake of the head. ‘It’s my turn to ask a question. That was the agreement, was it not? So far, this “question game” has been very one-sided.’

‘Fair enough,’ Taylor agreed. ‘Tell us what happened next and then ask your question.’

‘No deal. It’s my turn now. Time to finally feed my curiosity.’ Lucien massaged the back of his neck for a moment before looking back at Hunter. ‘Tell me about when you were a kid, Robert. Tell me about your mother.’

Hunter’s jaw tightened.

Taylor looked a little confused.

‘ Quid pro quo ,’ Lucien said. ‘You as cops, or profilers, or federal agents, or whatever, are always looking to try to understand what makes people like me tick, isn’t that right? You’re always trying to figure out how the mind of a ruthless killer works. How can a human being have such disregard for another human life? How can someone become a monster like me?’ Lucien delivered every word in a steady, mono-sounding rhythm. ‘Well, on the other hand, a monster like me would also like to know what makes people like you tick. The heroes of society. . the best of the best. . the ones who’d risk their lives for people they don’t even know.’ He paused for effect. ‘You want to understand me. I want to understand you. It’s as simple as that. And as Freud would tell you, Agent Taylor, if you want to delve deep into someone’s psyche, if you want to understand the person they became, the best place to start is with their childhood and their relationship with their mother and father. Isn’t that right, Robert?’

Hunter said nothing.

Lucien slowly cracked every knuckle on both of his hands. The creepy, bone-creaking sound reverberated against the walls in his cell.

‘So, Robert, please indulge me in a twenty-five-year-old curiosity of mine, will you?’

‘I don’t think so, Lucien,’ Hunter said, his voice as serene as a priest’s in a confessional.

‘Oh, but I do, Robert,’ Lucien replied in the same peaceful tone. ‘I really do. Because if you want to know any more about what happened to Susan, including where you could find her remains, you will indulge me.’

The knot in Hunter’s throat got a little tighter.

‘Tell me what happened, Robert? How did your mother die?’

Silence.

‘And please don’t lie to me, Robert, because I can assure you that I’ll know if you do.’

For a moment Hunter’s memory flashed back to Susan Richards’ parents. He and Lucien had met them a couple of times when they’d made the trip from Nevada to Stanford to visit their daughter. They were a very sweet couple. Hunter couldn’t remember their names, but he remembered how thrilled and proud they were of Susan for being accepted into such a prestigious university. She was the first person in either of their families to have ever gone to college.

Just like Hunter’s parents, Susan’s mother and father had come from very poor backgrounds, and neither of them had been able to finish high school, having to drop out before their freshmen year and find jobs of their own to help their families. When Susan was born, they’d promised themselves that they would do whatever it took to offer their daughter a better chance at life than the ones they had. When they started saving for her college fund, Susan was only three months old.

According to the law in the USA, death in absentia , or presumption of death, occurs when a person has been missing from home and has not been heard from for seven years or more, though the amount of years may vary slightly from state to state. Despite what the law says, in the absence of remains or any concrete proof, Hunter was sure that if Susan Richards’ parents were still alive, they’d still be holding on to a sliver of hope. The least he could do was give them some closure, and the chance to bury their daughter with dignity.

‘My mother died of cancer when I was seven years old,’ Hunter said. He still looked pretty relaxed in his seat.

Lucien smiled triumphantly. ‘Yes, that much I already know, Robert. What type of cancer?’

‘Glioblastoma multiforme.’

‘The most aggressive type of primary brain cancer,’ Lucien said, his voice emotionless. ‘That must’ve been a tough blow. How fast did it develop?’

‘Fast enough,’ Hunter said. ‘Doctors found it too late. Within three months of the diagnosis she passed away.’

It was Taylor’s turn to shift her weight in her chair.

‘Did she suffer?’ Lucien asked.

Hunter’s jaw tightened again.

Lucien leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and very subtly started rubbing his hands against each other.

‘Tell me, Robert.’ The next four words were delivered slowly, with a pause between each of them. ‘Did your mother suffer? Did she scream in pain at night? Did she go from being the strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones? Did she beg for death?’

Hunter could see that Lucien had switched his game, at least for the time being. He wasn’t interested in getting under Taylor’s skin anymore. Today, Hunter was his target. And Lucien was doing a damn good job.

‘Yes,’ Hunter replied.

‘Yes?’ Lucien said. ‘Yes to what?’

‘To everything.’

‘So say it.’

Hunter breathed in.

Lucien waited.

‘Yes, my mother suffered. Yes, she did scream in pain at night. Yes, she did go from being a strong, smiling, full-of-life person to an unrecognizable sack of skin and bones, and yes, she did beg for death.’

Taylor stole a peek at Hunter and felt goose bumps creep up all over her body.

‘What was her name?’ Lucien asked.

‘Helen.’

‘Was she in a hospital or at home when she died?’

‘At home,’ Hunter said. ‘She didn’t want to be in a hospital.’

‘I see.’ Lucien nodded. ‘She wanted to be with her family. . with her loved ones. Very noble, though strange and a little sadistic that she’d want her seven-year-old son to witness first-hand all of her suffering, all of her pain. . and I’m guessing it must’ve been something quite excruciating.’

Through the avalanche of memories, keeping a steady face had become impossible. Hunter looked away and pressed his lips together, taking a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was as steady as he could muster, but there was no hiding the sadness in it.

‘My mother worked as a cleaner for minimum wage. My father worked nights as a security guard, and to complement the little money he earned, during the day he would take any odd job he could get. The end of each and every month was always a struggle in our house, even when they were both healthy. We had no savings because there was never anything left to save. My father’s small health insurance wouldn’t cover the costs. We couldn’t afford the hospital bills. Back home was the only place she could be.’

A long, dragged silence.

‘Wow, that’s one sad story, Robert,’ Lucien finally said coldly. ‘I can practically hear the violins. Tell me, were you at home when your mother died?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘No.’

Lucien returned to a regular seating position and nodded calmly before standing up. ‘I told you that if you lied to me, Robert, I’d know. And that was a lie. This interview is over.’