Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

“Detective Goodwin,” George said. “This is Amelia’s therapist, Karen Carlisle.”

“Hello.” She shook the detective’s hand. “I understand you wanted to meet with Amelia. But I’m afraid I kind of threw a wrench in that. You won’t be able to get a statement from her this afternoon-or even tonight. She’s heavily sedated right now.”

The detective frowned. “But we need to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry. She’s asleep. It’s my fault. She was hysterical earlier, and I had to give her some tranquilizers to calm her down-the maximum dosage.”

“The poor thing, it would have broken your heart to see her,” Jessie chimed in from the doorway. “All the crying and carrying on, she was just beside herself. Thank God Dr. Carlisle was here.”

Karen shot her a look over her shoulder. She knew Jessie was trying to help. But did she have to pour it on so thick-especially with the doctor bit? Jessie quietly retreated toward the kitchen.

Turning, Karen locked eyes with George. He hadn’t witnessed Amelia in hysterics. He hadn’t seen his niece crying and carrying on to a level that required her to be sedated. Yet he seemed to know she was protecting Amelia right now. Karen could see he understood.

His gaze shifted to the detective. “Haven’t you gotten enough for the time being? Do you really need to question Amelia now ?”

The gray-haired detective rubbed his chin and stared at Karen. “How long have you been treating Amelia?”

“Since the beginning of the summer,” she replied.

“In any of her therapy sessions, do you recall her mentioning anything about her father that would shed more light on what happened at the Lake Wenatchee house last night?”

She shook her head. “I can’t think of anything significant-at least, nothing that would help your investigation.”

“Sure you’re not holding out on me?” he pressed. “This isn’t one of those doctor-patient confidentiality things you’re pulling on me, is it?”

“No, sir. If you were infringing on that, I’d tell you.”

Frowning, he let out a little huff. “I still want to talk to her.”

Karen shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m sorry.”

“Listen,” George interjected. “If you’re after more information about her dad’s state of mind, you won’t get much. Amelia has been away at school these last two months. I don’t think she knows about her dad and Ina.” He turned to Karen. “My wife and Amelia’s dad, they had an affair in August. It was very short-lived. Has Amelia mentioned anything to you?”

Karen bit her lip. “No. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

He turned to the detective. “See what I mean? You won’t get much from Amelia. So leave the poor girl alone-at least for tonight.”

“Fine,” Goodwin grumbled. Then he glanced at Karen. “But I’d like her in my office at the West Seattle precinct tomorrow morning at nine o’clock-sharp.”

Karen nodded. “I’ll drive her myself. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. If that’s all, can I go now?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

But Karen couldn’t leave it at that. She was thinking about Amelia’s fantastic confession to last night’s shootings. She hesitated in the doorway. “May I ask you a question, detective?”

“Go ahead,” he muttered.

“I had to tell Amelia about what happened last night-based on an early report from Mr. McMillan. I really didn’t have a very clear idea.” She stole a glance at George, hoping this wouldn’t bother him too much. “I told Amelia it appeared her father had shot her mother and aunt-and then himself. Amelia asked me what kind of gun he’d used-and where the police had found the bodies. She-um, she wanted details I couldn’t give.”

The detective stared back at her, unyielding.

“Mark had a hunting rifle, he used that,” George answered-almost bitterly, as if he were just so sick and depleted from discussing it. Still, there was a tremor in his voice as he spoke. “My sister-in-law, she was shot in the face. They found her in the upstairs hallway. Ina-my wife-she-um, she was shot in the chest. She was in the living room with Mark. And Mark, he sat down in his rocking chair by the fireplace and shot himself in the head.” Over the rims of his glasses, George looked at the older cop. “Did I get everything right, Detective?”

The plainclothesman said nothing.

Neither did Karen. She was thinking about Amelia’s version of how it had happened last night. Amelia’s story wasn’t part of a nightmare or some delusion. The details she’d recalled were horribly real.

In the darkened guest room, Amelia lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. She listened to the voices upstairs in Uncle George’s study, distant undecipherable murmuring. But she recognized Karen’s voice. Maybe Karen could keep the police from talking to her for a while. But eventually they’d figure out who had killed her parents and her aunt. Karen couldn’t keep that from happening.

In fact, Karen couldn’t do much to help her at all.

Amelia wondered if she was even that good a therapist. Probably not.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t even think it.”

Amelia clung to her pillow and curled up into a fetal position. She suddenly felt sick, because along with her doubts, another thought raced through her head-an ugly thought that Karen Carlisle deserved to die.

Around five o’clock, after George and the two policemen had left, Karen went down to the guest room to check on Amelia again. But she wasn’t there. Karen felt a little wave of panic in her gut. She glanced toward the bathroom, and saw the door was closed. But she still felt wary, thanks to memories of Haley. While checking the medicine chest earlier, she hadn’t been looking for razor blades or sleeping pills.

She gently tapped on the bathroom door. “Amelia?”

“Karen?” she replied in a lazy voice. “If it’s just you, come on in.”

A warm waft of steam engulfed her as she stepped into the bathroom. The shower curtain had a pattern of fish and seahorses. It was halfway open to reveal Amelia sitting in the tub. Her hair was pinned up, but some wet black strands cascaded over her pale shoulders. Her head was tipped back, and her eyes half closed. “Did the police leave?” she asked.

“Yes, they’re gone,” Karen replied. She was glad no one had heard the water running down here. They would have known Amelia was awake after all. She wondered if Amelia, on some subconscious level, was trying to give herself away.

“Sit down,” Amelia said, with a nod toward the toilet.

Karen lowered the lid and sat down. The tub faucet dripped steadily, and the sound echoed off the blue and white tiles. Amelia didn’t seem a bit shy. She had a beautiful body, and Karen was reminded of high school, and her own teenage envy toward bigger-breasted girls. She felt a resurgence of that now.

“So you talked to them,” Amelia said. She took a deep breath. “Was I right about how it happened?”

Karen nodded. “You might be close,” she allowed.

She didn’t know what else to say. How could Amelia have known-without being told-exactly where the bodies were found and how each one had been slain?

The only possible explanation was that perhaps Amelia had some kind of extrasensory perception or clairvoyance. But that was a stretch, and it still didn’t account for why Amelia had assumed she’d committed the murders.

With a vague, forlorn look in the direction of the faucet, Amelia soaped up her arms. She wouldn’t even glance at Karen. “Do the police still think my dad did it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Karen replied. “There’s no reason to doubt them, Amelia. It’s a terrible thing to comprehend. But your father did this-not you. We’ll never know why he did it. But there are things about your dad that will come out now, because of what happened, some things you might not be aware of.”