Adrianne Byrd: Deadly Double

“I’m taking care of, uh, one of Sheila’s cousins.” William rubbed at his temples as he recited the lie he’d practiced. “She’s pretty out of it, so she shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“You’re such a good brother-in-law,” Cat praised. “Taking care of Larry’s extended family like this.”

William’s guilt multiplied. His behavior in the past twenty-four hours was akin to an out of body experience. Kidnapping, lying…what would come next?”

“I’ll be happy to come out there Monday and so what I can,” she said cheerfully. “Anything for you, Dr. Hayes.”

William thanked her and hurried off the phone. A headache immediately bloomed in William’s temples. He reviewed his plan to leave Josie with his trusted housekeeper. The risk was high, but it was also a necessity.

He was already scheduled off for the weekend, but if he took any more time off from the Institute right on the heels of a disappearance, surely he’d raise more than a few eyebrows. Speaking of which, he thought, grabbing his cup again, he should see if anything was on the news.

He strode into the living room and clicked on the television. On channel 2, news anchor Warren Savage stared back at him. Keystone’s emblem and digital graphic of a white chalked-body projected from the corner of the screen.

“ Police were called to Keystone Mental Institute early this morning when a prominent doctor at the facility this morning was found dead in the trunk of her car. Minutes later, the institute discovered a patient was missing. Authorities are trying to piece together whether the two incidents are connected. The name of the doctor as well as the missing patient has yet to be released at this time.”

William pressed the mute button on the remote. Dead? Found in the trunk of a car? Murdered? He stared at the reported for a few frantic heartbeats before bolting to the kitchen to retrieve the phone. Upon picking up the receiver, he quickly hung up. Who was he going to call, and what was he going to say?

“The truth,” he thought. He would say he saw everything on the news. He nodded, telling himself it sounded good, and grabbed the phone again.

While he waited for the line to connect, the words to his prepared speech jumbled inside his head. On the fifth ring, the line was transferred to Marcus Hines’s voicemail.

William hung up without leaving a message.

But his mind raced over the previous night’s events, and he couldn’t stop obsessing over what the hell had happened and who was murdered. Slowly the rest of the reporter’s words sank in: “... authorities are trying to piece together whether the two incidents are connected.”

“If I’m caught, they’re going to think I’m a murderer.”

Chapter 8

To help combat Josie’s withdrawal symptoms, William decided to administer methadone injections twice a day. The drug was a narcotic pain reliever, similar to morphine. It was commonly used for drug addiction detoxification and maintenance programs.

For most of Saturday, William helped his patient through fits of delirium, heavy sweating, vomiting, and manic outburst. He found all of these to be good signs.

The day flew by, and, as night descended, William was exhausted. When Josie fell into a deep slumber, he could no longer ignore his own needs. First thing being first, he sated his hunger with a large bowl of pasta and a bottle of Heineken.

Outside, he heard the rain return and pound the windows and roof as though it had a vicious vendetta against the house.

William moved into the living room and settled into an armchair juxtaposed to a plaid soda and in front of the television. He should check the news again, he rationalized, he had no idea what he would do if the news broadcast his picture as the latest member on the most wanted list.

He punched the power button on the remote control, and the screen came alive with snowy static. William grunted and scanned the other channels. They all showed the same thing.

Great. The cable was out. He stood up from the chair and crossed over to the television. He checked the cable box and the other cords and connections. Everything appeared to be fine. A power line must be down, he concluded. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the wall of windows and the house lights flickered as a mild threat. He huffed out a tired breath and went in search of gas lamps, flashlights, and candles.

He lit the fireplace in the living room and master bedroom. From the upstairs linen closet, he gathered extra blankets and comforters. When he put everything in place, there was a mighty thunderclap overhead, and the lights went out.

He returned to Josie’s bedside and changed her IV bag, mopped the sweat from her fevered brow, then settled back into the chair across from the bed and watched her.

His thoughts wrestled with how she came to be admitted to a psychiatric ward under a false name. Could it truly be a case of mistaken identity? How likely was it that the hospital had gotten her mixed up with another patient?

Slim to none.

However, sixteen years was a long time. He’s lived another life since then and was sure that she had, too.

His gaze fell away from the bed and slid to the medical chart on the vanity table next to him. He picked up the chart and flipped through it once again. All the while, the square box refused to cram into the small triangle.

William set the chart aside. With everything he had attended to that day, he didn’t have much time to call Marcus Hines again. The cable was still out, and there was no way fro him to know who was murdered. Had the murder happened while he was on the premises? Did he leave any clues to his criminal actions?

Scientist say there was always clues, but he prayed that, in his case, it wasn’t true.

What if the woman was really Michelle Andrews?

He cleared his head of this train of thought. He had been over it numerous times before he concocted his plan to steal her away. He wasn’t mad, and he hadn’t taken the wrong woman.

An ear-piercing scream followed by a loud crash propelled William to his feet.

From the bed, Josie flailed about like a mad woman. Her jumbled words were incomprehensible, but it was clear that she no longer wanted the IV in her arm.

“No, no, Josie.” He rushed over to her and struggled to restrain her. At her surge of superhuman strength, William climbed onto the bed and pinned her hands down.

In response, Josie bucked, thrashed, and, as a last desperate attempt, sank her teeth into his arm.

He clenched his jaw shut. No matter what, he refused to release his hold on her, and after what seemed like an eternity, she gave up and drew away from his arm.

Seconds later, the fight left her body, and she fell limp beneath him.

Panting heavily, William held firm, suspicious of her abrupt surrender. Finally, as his adrenaline waned and Josie’s breathing became slow and even, he sighed with relief and released his grip. Immediately, Josie came up with a left hook that literally stunned him but didn’t knock him off of her. “Josie, stop. It’s me, William. I’m trying to help you.” She got another good blow across the high part of his left cheek before he was able to pin her back down. “No. No! Let me out,” she screamed. William’s heart raced while debated whether to give her a sedative. In the end, to do so would be counterproductive. Josie’s threats diminished to low grumbles.

It was a long time before William relaxed. When he did, he was fairly confident that she was sound asleep. At least he prayed she was. He couldn’t take another blow to the head.

He climbed off her and exhaled in a long, tired breath. He definitely had his work cut out for him, and he expected more outbursts before daybreak.