John Locke - Lethal Experiment

“So far, none of this makes any sense,” Kimberly said. “If Mr. Denhollen was selling drugs, they would have shot him , not Charlie and the others.”

“Let me keep reading,” I said. “It starts to come together: ‘Madison Park police discovered the four bodies Sunday morning. Because the area where the bodies were found encompasses both jurisdictions, police officers from Madison Park and Darnell have joined forces to create a task force to investigate the shootings. All four victims were known to police at the scene and therefore identified simultaneously. At 1:25 p.m. today the task force began a thorough search of the victims’ homes, personal belongings, and computers. They discovered several clear, odorless vials of liquid in a box on the top shelf of Bickham Wright’s bedroom closet, which they turned over to a local medical lab for testing. Riley Cobb, a local computer expert, was able to access Robby Milford’s computer. He was able to uncover hundreds of pornographic downloads, as well as a folder named ‘Fuck Club.’”

I waited to see if she had a comment about that. She didn’t.

“Sorry about the language,” I said.

“Its okay, Daddy,” she said. “I’ve heard the word a million times.”

“There’s a lot of stuff about this,” I said. “Rather than read it, I’ll summarize. The task force found several files in the Fuck Club folder on Robbie’s computer, including seven rules for participating in the club, and photographs of three local girls, all nude, all apparently unconscious.

“Who were they, Dad?”

“I don’t have their names yet, but the task force has identified them as local girls, meaning either Darnell or Madison Park, or both.”

“Why were they unconscious? Were they drunk? I don’t understand.”

“This is the part you’re not going to like. The task force is almost certain that the test results on the vials found in Bickham’s closet will reveal GHB, the date rape drug. Based on the files and photographs they uncovered from Robbie’s computer, and the vials found in Bickham’s closet, it looks like the boys had a club where they were drugging girls and having sex with them.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Kimberly shouted. “I don’t know the others. I mean, I know of them, but I don’t know them. But I do know Charlie. He was gorgeous , Dad. He could’ve had any girl. He didn’t need to drug anyone. If there actually was such a club, Charlie couldn’t possibly have been a part of it.”

I had to bite my tongue not to speak. Because not only was Charlie part of it, he was the worst part of it.

“I’m sure you’re right, Kitten. By the time they finish the investigation maybe they’ll conclude it was the other three, not Charlie.”

“I can guarantee it,” she said.

“Well, you certainly knew him better than me,” I said, “so I’m sure you’re right.”

“Did they find any evidence when they searched the van?”

That’s my daughter , I thought.

“In fact, they have. In addition to blood evidence, they’ve found five shell casings that are almost certainly related to the shooting, hundreds of fingerprints, and they’ve collected dozens of hair and fiber samples. They’ve also found numerous semen stains and other bodily fluid stains on sleeping bags found in the back of the van.”

“They’ll test the semen against the boys, won’t they?” she said.

“They will.”

“And if they find a match to Charlie, they’ll think he was in on it.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, Charlie’s father is an outstanding criminal lawyer. I’m sure if Charlie is innocent, his father will be able to make a compelling argument to prove it.”

“You believe me, don’t you Dad? About Charlie?”

“I do, honey.”

“Good. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.”

“I understand there’s going to be a vigil tonight,” I said. “At the high school.”

“It starts at nine. We’re all going.”

“Well, you be safe, okay?”

“I will. And thanks for trusting me with all this. I won’t tell anyone.”

“No problem. I love you, Kimberly.”

“I love you too, Dad. And…”

“Yes?”

“I loved Charlie.”

I winced. “I know you did, honey.”

Chapter 17

“ Donovan, let’s cut to the chase,” said Dr. Nadine Crouch. “This is our third visit, and so far you’ve refused to talk about your parents or your childhood, you’ve refused to talk about your job, or even what you were doing in the moments before the chest pain occurred. So I have to assume you were doing something illegal or immoral.”

She paused to see if her words stirred a reaction in me.

“Do you deny it?” she said.

“Would it bother you?”

She said, “Suppose you found a bird with a broken wing that needs your help. Is it really important how its wing got broken?”

I paused a moment, trying to follow her train of thought. Giving up, I said, “Maybe you should just tell me what you’re trying to say.”

“It’s not my job to judge you.”

“In that case, I don’t deny it.”

“Very well,” she said. “So you were doing something immoral or illegal when the pain began. Is this an activity you’ve engaged in previously?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

“Would I be right in assuming you haven’t suffered chest pains while performing this activity in the past?”

“You would.”

She pursed her lips. “Normally I wouldn’t make a rush to judgment, but you’re not a typical patient. By helping you, I might be protecting others.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. “So what’s the verdict?”

“We haven’t spent enough time together for me to pronounce this with a high degree of certainty. But at first blush, this seems to be a classic example.”

“Of?”

“Psychologically Induced Pain Syndrome. PIPS, for short.”

“PIPS? I’ve got PIPS? Boy, won’t Gladys Knight be jealous!”

“Psychological pain syndromes are defense mechanisms created by your subconscious mind to cover up unresolved emotional issues. In short, whatever your body was doing the day of the chest pains, your mind wanted no part of it. Your mind fought back the only way it could: by creating pain.”

“Are you being serious?” I said.

“Completely. Your mind creates an intense pain to try to force you to stop doing whatever it is you’re doing. It forces you to focus on the pain. If you don’t, the pain gets worse. Your mind is determined to make you stop doing whatever it is that is so distasteful. If you don’t come to grips with it, it can shut you down altogether.”

I thought about that for a minute. “Is this a common thing?”

“It is, but it typically manifests in back pain.”

“Then why the heart this time?”

“Look at you,” she said. “You’re strong as an ox. I’m guessing you’ve never had the slightest back pain, am I right?”

“You are.”

“So your mind knows you wouldn’t believe a back pain. The subconscious mind is very clever. It won’t create a pain that can be ignored or put off . It takes advantage of you by creating something so convincing, you have to focus on it. In your case I’m going to go out on a limb and guess your father, or someone close to you, died of a heart attack.”

I could feel her looking at me, hoping for a reaction.

“So you’re saying the pain is only a smokescreen, something my subconscious mind created to distract me from what I was doing at the time.”

“That’s correct. Be glad it wasn’t colitis.”