Chris Carter - An Evil Mind

Taylor’s mother was a tender woman with a kind soul, but she was also one of those people who just couldn’t handle being by herself. What followed was a string of deadbeat boyfriends, some of them abusive. Taylor was just about to graduate from high school when her mother became pregnant again. Her mother’s boyfriend at the time told her that he just didn’t want that kind of responsibility, that he wasn’t ready to become a father and have a family, and that he had no intention of becoming a father to someone else’s daughter — a girl that he couldn’t care less for. When Taylor’s mother refused to follow through with the abortion clinic appointment he’d set up for her, he simply dumped her and left town the next day. They never heard from him again.

With her mother heavily pregnant and unable to work, Taylor gave up on the idea of going to college and started working full time at the local mall. A month later, her mother gave birth to a baby boy, Adam — but unfortunately Adam was born with an abnormality on chromosome eighteen, resulting in moderate mental retardation, muscle atrophy, craniofacial malformation, and huge difficulty in coordinating movement. Instead of bringing her joy, Adam’s birth threw Taylor’s mother into an out-of-control depression spiral. She didn’t know how to cope with it and found solace in sleeping tablets, antidepressants and alcohol. At the age of seventeen, Taylor had to become ‘big daughter’, ‘big sister’, and ‘man of the house’.

Government subsidy wasn’t nearly enough so, for the next three years, Taylor worked whatever jobs she could get and took care of her little brother and mother, but despite all the medical support, Adam’s health kept on deteriorating, and he died two months after his third birthday. Her mother’s depression worsened considerably, but without medical insurance, professional help was nearly impossible to find.

One rainy night, when Taylor came back from working a late waitress shift in a restaurant downtown, she found a note from her mother on the kitchen table:

Sorry for not being a good mother to you or Adam, honey. Sorry for all the mistakes. You’re the best daughter a mother could ever hope for. I love you with all my heart. I just hope that you can one day forgive me for being so weak, so stupid, and for all the burden I’ve put you through. Please be happy, honey. You deserve to.

Reading the note filled Taylor with a heart-stopping dread, and she rushed to her mother’s room. . but it was way too late. On her mother’s bedside table there were three empty bottles — one of sleeping pills, one of antidepressants, and one of vodka. Taylor still has nightmares about that night.

A black GMC SUV with tinted windows, FBI-style, was already waiting for them on the runway when they landed.

Hunter stepped off the plane and stretched his six-foot frame against the early morning breeze. It felt good to be breathing clean air again, and to finally get out of such confined space. No matter how luxurious the jet’s passenger cabin was, after five hours locked inside it, it felt like a sky prison.

Hunter checked his watch — the sun wouldn’t be up for another two hours, but surprisingly, the night air in Virginia at that time of year felt just as warm as it did back in Los Angeles.

‘We all need to try to get some sleep,’ Kennedy said, coming off his cellphone again. All three of them boarded the SUV. ‘And a decent breakfast later on. Your quarters are ready,’ he addressed Hunter. ‘I hope you don’t mind staying at one of the recruit dorms at the academy.’

Hunter gave him a subtle headshake.

‘Agent Taylor will come get you at ten a.m.’ Kennedy consulted his timepiece. ‘That’ll give everyone around six hours’ break. Get some sleep.’

‘Can’t we make it any earlier than that?’ Hunter asked. ‘Like now? I’m here already. I don’t see the point of delaying this any longer.’

Kennedy looked straight into Hunter’s eyes. ‘We all need some rest, Robert. It’s been a long day and a long flight. I know that you can work on very little sleep, but that doesn’t mean that your brain doesn’t get tired like everyone else’s. I need you sharp when you walk in there to talk to your old friend.’

Hunter said nothing. He simply watched the lampposts fly by as the SUV drove off.

Special Agent Courtney Taylor knocked on Hunter’s dorm room door at exactly 10:00 a.m. She had managed five hours’ sleep, had showered, and was now wearing a businesslike but elegant black pinstripe suit. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a very slick ponytail.

Hunter opened the door, checked his watch, and smiled.

‘Wow, I guess you timed your arrival to absolute perfection.’

Hunter’s hair was still wet from his shower. He was wearing black jeans, a dark blue T-shirt under his usual thin black leather jacket, and black boots.

Dozing on and off, he had only managed to sleep a total of two and a half hours.

‘Are you ready, Detective Hunter?’ Taylor asked.

‘Indeed,’ Hunter replied, closing the door behind him.

‘I trust that you got breakfast OK?’ she said, as they started walking down the corridor toward the staircase.

At precisely 9:00 a.m., an FBI cadet carrying a healthy breakfast tray of fruit, cereal, yogurt, scrambled eggs, coffee, milk and toast had knocked on Hunter’s door.

‘I did,’ Hunter said with a questioning smile. ‘But I didn’t know the FBI did room service.’

‘We don’t, this was a one-off. You can thank Director Kennedy for that.’

Hunter nodded once. ‘I’ll make sure I do.’

Downstairs, another black SUV was waiting to drive them across the compound to the other side. Hunter sat in silence in the back seat, while Taylor sat in front with the driver.

The FBI Academy was located on 547 acres of a Marine Corps base forty miles south of Washington, DC. Its nerve center was an interconnected conglomerate of buildings that looked a lot more like an overgrown corporation than a government training facility. Recruits in dark blue sweat suits, with the bureau’s insignia emblazoned on their chests and FBI in large golden letters across their backs, were just about everywhere. Marines with high-powered rifles stood at every intersection and at the entrance to every building. The sound of helicopter blades cutting the air seemed to be constant. There was no way of escaping the palpable sense of mission and secrecy that soaked the entire place.

After a drive that seemed to have lasted forever, the SUV finally reached the other side of the complex, and stopped at the heavily guarded gates of what could only be described as a compound within a compound, completely detached from the main network of buildings. After clearing security, the SUV moved inside and parked in front of a three-story brick building fronted by dark-tinted, bulletproof-glass windows.

Hunter and Taylor exited the car, and she escorted him past the armed Marines at the entrance and into the building. Inside they went through two sets of security doors, down a long hallway, through two more sets of security doors and into an elevator, which descended three floors down to the Behavioral Science Unit, or BSU. The elevator opened onto a long, shiny and well-lit hardwood corridor, with several portraits in gilded frames lining the walls.

A big man with a round face and a crooked nose stepped in front of the open elevator doors.

‘Detective Robert Hunter,’ he said in a harsh voice that came across as a little unfriendly. ‘I’m Agent Edwin Newman. Welcome to the FBI BSU.’

Hunter stepped out of the lift and shook Newman’s hand.

Newman was in his early fifties, with combed-back peppery hair and bright green eyes. He was wearing a black suit with a pristine white shirt and a silky red tie. He smiled, flashing gleaming white teeth.