The Girl With the Bad Dreams

Chapter 9

Carlin sits alone and uncomfortable in a clean, white-tiled interrogation room. She rubs her clean hands over her scrubbed face in agony, and then through the wet locks of her washed hair. Even though her skin has been cleansed of Andrea's gore, her shirt is still stained and crusted with dried blood.

Carlin stands and walks, almost stumbles, to a closed circuit video camera mounted near the ceiling in the corner of the florescent-lit room. "Please," she says to it, "just give me my pills. Or at least some coffee. Something. I can't fall asleep without my pills."

The closed circuit video camera's cable winds through the walls of police station, broadcasting both image and sound onto a high-definition, flat screen monitor in an observation room. Dr. Everett and Detective Jim Warabowski stare at the monitor, where Karen's face stretches across its entire 28" width.

Also watching is Martin Valquez, Detective Warabowski's partner. He almost appears the exact opposite of Warabowski. While Warabowski dresses meticulously in rather expensive suits, Valquez prefers baggy jeans and basketball shoes. He shows off his muscled arms with a tank-top T-shirt, and those arms are inscribed with a fascinating and intricate assortment of tattoos.

But both policemen stare at Carlin's begging image with stoic silence, apparently unmoved by her plight. Only Dr. Everett, empathic to a fault, can't stand what he's seeing. He turns away, disgusted. "You don't actually think she killed that woman do you?"

Valquez looks offended. He has learned to speak with an impressive variety of accents, allowing him to slip into almost any situation like a lingual chameleon, so in front of Dr. Everett he decides to use the manner of speech he learned while a graduate student at the University of Chicago. "Of course not. But she did see the person who did."

"That poor girl's in shock. You can't expect her to give any sort of reliable description – "

"Which is why we called you," interrupts Detective Warabowski.

Dr. Everett shakes his head. "I don't think this is right. If you insist on holding her you need to let her call a lawyer –"

"She's not under arrest," corrects Valquez.

"Then I must insist you let her go!"

Warabowski glances at Valquez, who nods. Warabowski returns his attention to Dr. Everett. "She doesn't want to be let go. She's asked us to hold her here. She is terrified that the killer knows who she is and where she lives. This is the only place she feels safe."

Dr. Everett looks at both Detectives' faces, reading in their expressions that Warabowski is telling the truth. "Then what do you want from me?"

Valquez answers: "Make her feel safe. We can put a tail on her."

"Then if she is right and the killer does come after her," Warabowski continues, "we can catch the fucker."

                                                                                    * * *

When Carlin hears footsteps approaching outside of the interrogation room, she believes the police have finally heard her and are coming to honor her request.

Instead she's surprised to see Dr. Everett walking through the door. "What are you doing here?"

"The police called me," Dr. Everett informs her. "They asked me to come down and talk to you."

"I already told them everything." Her voice is confused, not defiant.

"Forget what you already told them. Let's start at the beginning. What happened?" Dr. Everett places a pad of paper on the table and prepares to take notes.

Carlin stares at Dr. Everett; her mind is clearly racing. But she doesn't say a thing.

"What's wrong?" asks Everett.

"Nothing's wrong," Carlin replies, trying to cover a quake of shame in her voice. "I'm just trying to organize my thoughts."

"You mean you're trying to figure out what to say."

"In a way, yeah, I guess so."

"But you already know what you're going to say, you already told the police. Why do you have to tell me something different?"

"Because I don't think you'll believe me."

"You don't think I'll believe that your sister's fiancé is the reincarnation of his murderous uncle? You don't think I'll believe that he killed you in a previous life and now he wants to do the same thing to you in this one?"

Carlin looks down at her reflection in the steel table top. Her face is red with embarrassment. "No," she says quietly, "but it's the truth." Her voice is almost a whisper.

"Why do you think that's the truth?"

She still looks down at the table top; she still can't meet Dr. Everett's eyes. "Because it's the only thing that makes sense."

Dr. Everett's eyes soften with deep sympathy. "No, you poor thing, can't you understand? Your story doesn't make any sense. There's no such thing as past lives. You know it, I know it, and this poor woman...Andrea was her name? Even she knew it."

"That's not true," Carlin whispers.

"It is true. She was a psychic. That's what psychics do. They prey upon insecurities, they exploit fear, they make money off of uncertainty and confusion."

"No, she wasn't making any money, she was trying to help me."

"I warned you not to go to someone like that. I warned you something like this could happen."

Carlin breaks down and starts weeping. "you're right it's my fault," she moans through her gasping painful breaths, "I never should have gone to her, I'm the reason she's dead."

Dr. Everett puts down his pen and takes Carlin's hand in both of his. "No, that's not what I'm saying, that's not even remotely what I'm saying." He lets go with one hand, reaches into his pocket, and places a new prescription bottle on the interrogation room's table. "What you need more than anything right now is sleep. Go home, everything will be a lot clearer after some rest."

"I can't go home; he knows where I live. He has a key."

"Who has a key?"

"Mark."

"You don't have to worry about Mark."

"I don't?"

Dr. Everett shakes his head. "The police already brought him in for questioning."

Carlin looks up, her eyes wide with hope. "They did?"

Dr. Everett nods. "I doubt they'll be able to hold him, but you've got at least..." He checks his watch. "Twelve hours? So go home and get some sleep."

"Thank you. I will." Carlin grabs her pills and heads for the doors. She opens it and hesitates, turning back to Dr. Everett. "I'm sorry I didn't do what you asked. But you'll see that I'm right about this. Tell the police to check Mark's knives."

"His knives?"

Carlin nods. "For DNA. Then you'll all see that I'm right."

"Okay, I'll tell them," Dr. Everett promises.

Carlin looks at him, smiles wanly, and leaves. The door swings shut behind her.

A few moments later the door re-opens, this time to admit Detective Valquez. "You did good," he tells Dr. Everett.

Everett frowns. "I didn't like lying to her."

"It's okay. We've got eyes on her. She'll be safe."

"Is it possible that she's right about the knives?"

"I guess anything's possible."

"Can you do it? Can you really check them for DNA?"

Valquez shrugs. "Could have. She brought them in a few days ago. But that was then, this is now. Now we'd have to find them again first."

Dr. Everett nods. "I see."