The Night Bird, page 9
Among the blur of faces, someone was watching her. By the time she passed him, she realized that his face was familiar. It took her brain a moment to catch up, and then she knew who it was. She stopped and reversed her tracks, walking back toward the bench, breathing hard. He waited for her.
Frankie put on a neutral smile. “Todd.”
“Hello, Dr. Stein.”
She was going to comment on what a surprise this was, but she didn’t think it was a surprise. You could always run into someone you knew in San Francisco, but she saw in his face that he’d been expecting her. She felt paranoid, but it was only because of the strange e-mails she’d received. Looking at Todd, she couldn’t remember now whether he was one of the patients with whom she’d shared her personal e-mail address.
Frankie sat down next to him. “It’s been a while.”
“Five months.”
“And how are you?” she asked.
“Honestly? Not so good.”
Frankie didn’t say anything immediately. She let her breathing return to normal. The pedestrians came and went on the trail, ignoring them, but she spoke softly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Why don’t you call and make an appointment next week, and we’ll talk.”
“No, I can’t do that,” Todd said. “I can’t go to your office.”
“Why not?”
“Because you take notes. You have to do that legally, right? But I don’t want anything written down.”
Frankie leaned forward with her hands on her knees. She stared at her sneakers. “So this isn’t an accident. Did you follow me?”
“No, I—”
“Because I have to be honest with you, Todd. I don’t like being stalked, and that’s what this feels like.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Stein. I didn’t follow you. I just remembered that you told me how much you liked running this trail on the weekends. And I thought I would take my chances.”
Her instinct was to get up and walk away. Todd wasn’t the first patient to cross the line between personal and professional. She’d had patients show up at her home, and invite her to Thanksgiving, and make clumsy passes at her. The thing to do was to shut them down calmly and politely. Even so, she didn’t. There was something in Todd’s voice that made her stay.
His full name was Todd Ferris. He was in his late twenties, tall and bony. He had a wistful face, with faraway eyes, a feminine mouth, and a soft-spoken way of talking that made her lean in to hear him better. A gathering of longer hairs along his chin line pretended to be a beard. He wore a navy wool cap, a gray Boomtown Casino sweatshirt, and jeans. A small loop earring hugged one ear, and a silver cross dangled on a chain around his neck.
He wasn’t one of her success stories. He’d come to her months earlier, troubled by memories of bullying he’d suffered as a child. The emotional trauma had worsened since he’d taken a new job at one of the large gaming companies, with a demanding and intimidating boss. He’d been unable to sleep or work. He’d started drinking heavily.
As a patient, Todd was hard to draw out. He was vague about whether the past abuse was sexual, which made her suspect that it was. He was reluctant to share details about his family and whether anyone else knew what his cousin had done to him. He’d grown up in a Nevada small town, and it was obvious that he still carried a stigma about therapy. Many people were like that. If you went to a psychiatrist, you were crazy or weak. She’d tried several approaches with Todd, but he was resistant to hypnosis, and he’d declined drugs to improve his suggestibility.
In the end, he’d thanked her and walked away. She didn’t think she’d helped him at all.
“So what’s going on, Todd?”
He stared off at the dark waters of the bay. His face twitched, as if his brain and mouth were struggling with what to say. “Something really weird is happening to me.”
“What is it?”
“I’m having strange memories,” he told her.
“Of your cousin?” she asked. “Of what he did to you?”
“No, this is completely different. I’m remembering things that never happened. And yet it’s like they did.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, me neither. I mean, it’s like waking up from a dream where you have flashbacks of what was in your head, but you can’t really put them together. I see things—I remember things—but only fragments. They’re disconnected. Like somebody snipped pieces out of a video. I’d swear they were dreams, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’m remembering something that really happened. I can’t explain it.”
Frankie was silent as she processed what Todd was saying. He went on in a voice that was so soft she struggled to hear him: “I was just wondering if this could be a side effect of what we did.”
“You mean the therapy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, I’m sure this is something else, Todd.”
“You mean I can’t remember false things? Because online, they talk about recovered memories that aren’t true. People will remember things that never actually happened to them.”
“I really don’t think that’s what this is.”
He nodded, but he looked doubtful. “Okay, whatever you say, but I’m scared. I don’t like what’s going on in my head.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
Todd rubbed a hand across his face. He blinked and looked lost. “The first time was two months ago. And then it stopped, so I figured it was some weird one-time thing. But this week—this week it happened again—”
“What exactly do you remember?” Frankie asked him.
“Torture.”
Frankie recoiled. “What?”
“That’s what I remember, Dr. Stein. Horrible shit. The pictures in my head, they’re graphic and violent.”
Her mind was in a whirl. “Did this happen to you? Were you suffering some kind of physical or mental abuse?”
“No, I saw it. I was watching it. It’s like I was a witness, you know?”
“Who was being tortured?” Frankie asked.
“A woman. Women, actually. It’s happened more than once.”
“What happened to them? Who was doing this?”
“I’m not sure I can describe it. It’s all bits and pieces. There’s this white room, and the woman is on a bed or chaise or something. She’s like—I don’t know, she looks drugged. Tied up, too, so she can’t move. And I remember some guy in a creepy-ass mask. He’s the one torturing her.”
“A mask?”
“Yeah. Some weird grinning mask with bug eyes. Scary as shit. I mean, it’s so bizarre, it can’t be real, right? But I feel like it happened.”
“Have you told anyone else about this?” Frankie asked.
“Are you kidding? No way. Like I said—no notes, right? I don’t want anybody thinking I’m nuts. You can’t tell anyone about this, can you? Doctor–patient privilege or whatever?”
“That’s right,” she said.
Todd exhaled in relief. “Good.”
Frankie hesitated. This wasn’t the kind of question she usually asked a patient. You didn’t challenge their hallucinations. “Listen, Todd, can you tell me one other thing? You said this felt like a dream, and yet you seem convinced that it really happened. Why?”
He slid closer to her on the bench. She was uncomfortable with the lack of personal space between them. He eyed the Bay Trail to make sure that no one else was within earshot. He looked frightened now.
“When this first happened two months ago, I thought it was a dream, too,” he said, “but then I realized it couldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because the women I saw are real. I saw them on TV. That chick who threw herself off the bridge this week? She was one of the women in the white room. I mean, I don’t know her, I’ve never met her, I don’t know who she is. But I remember her.”
14
Frost waited for the cable car to pass, and then he crossed into Union Square. He finished a foot-long hot dog as he walked. Ketchup, pickle relish, no onions. It drove his brother crazy that Frost ate so many hot dogs. Duane was a chef, and he didn’t appreciate Frost’s argument that street-vendor hot dogs were better than just about any other food in the world.
The sun beat down on his neck. Entering the plaza, he passed under the palm trees. The Macy’s building was across the square on his right. People swarmed the park, clustering around musicians, mimes, jugglers, and acrobats. Above the street music, he heard the chants and drums of protesters, and he could see hand-painted signs waving in the air. It was San Francisco. Someone was always protesting something.
He found the terraced steps leading down to Geary Street, and it took him a minute to spot Lucy Hagen among the hundred-or-so people eating lunch on the steps on the warm afternoon. She was small and alone, watching the world go by with a dreamy expression on her face. She wore a belted red dress with black stripes at the hem. Her knees were pressed together, and she wore red high heels. The dress showed off her pretty arms and legs. Her brown hair nestled on her shoulders.
He squeezed his way down the steps and slid to the ground beside her. He whistled a tune that had been stuck in his head all day.
“Hey, Lucy,” he said.
“Oh, hey, Frost.” She welcomed him with a smile.
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break, but I had a few more questions for you.”
“That’s okay. I like the company.”
Her lunch consisted of a couscous salad with olives and artichoke hearts. She took dainty, uninterested bites with a plastic fork. He guessed that if he’d offered to buy her a hot dog, she would have jumped at the chance.
“You look great,” he said.
“Have to look good for the Macy’s customers, you know.” But he could tell she was pleased with the compliment.
Lucy always looked a little lost when he saw her. Some single women owned the city, and some looked overwhelmed by it. Her big, curious eyes followed the people around her. She was a watcher, not a doer. He had the feeling that she stared at other San Franciscans on the street and wondered how they could make it look so easy. The businessmen. The construction workers in bright yellow. The drag queens. Even the homeless wrapped in blankets.
She noticed him studying her face and went back to her lunch in embarrassment. Her mouth twitched into a frown. “Have they found Brynn’s body yet?”
“No.”
Lucy shivered. “That’s awful.”
“It is. I’m sorry.”
“I checked with her supervisor, by the way. Brynn missed a day of work this week. She didn’t show up. She didn’t call.”
“And you have no idea where she was?” he asked.
“No.”
Frost craned his neck to study the plaza. “Did you say Dr. Stein’s office is nearby?”
Lucy pointed at a tall building on Stockton on the east side of the square. “She works in there.”
“Did Brynn say anything about seeing Dr. Stein lately? Is there a chance she could have gone to her for some kind of follow-up appointment?”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t mention it.”
“Did she say anything at all about Dr. Stein recently?”
“On the bridge, when we were stuck up there, she suggested I talk to her. She said she was pretty good. That’s it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Lucy closed the plastic lid on her salad, as if she weren’t hungry anymore. She put her chin up, savoring the sun. “I love hanging out here, don’t you? Especially on the weekends. It’s so crazy. All the street performers. All the wild getups.”
“There’s nothing like it in the world,” Frost agreed.
She played with her hair, wrapping a curl around one of her fingers. “So did you always know you wanted to be a detective? Were you one of those little boys who played cops and robbers all the time?”
Frost shook his head. “No, when I was a kid, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to do.”
“That’s like me. I still don’t.”
“Yeah, it’s different for some people. My brother, Duane, knew he was going to be a chef when he was five years old. He was cooking dinner for all of us by the time he was seven.”
“People like that amaze me,” Lucy said. “I wish I had a dream like that, but I don’t.”
Frost shrugged. “I think the rest of the world is more like you and me. We just kind of find our way. Things happen, and we figure it all out as we go.”
“Well, I’m still trying to figure it out,” Lucy replied.
“You’ve got time. When I was your age, I was just getting out of USF law school. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do.”
“Oh my God, you’re a lawyer?” Lucy asked.
“I hope that doesn’t destroy your opinion of me.”
“No, it’s just—why aren’t you practicing law?”
“Like I said, things happen,” Frost told her. “I went to SF State as an undergrad and got a dual degree in history and criminology. I was really only interested in history, but my parents said I should get some practical value out of my college education. They pushed law school on me, too. Duane was working ninety hours a week at minimum wage as a cook, and I think they figured one of the Easton boys should go make some money. It didn’t work out that way.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, there were no jobs for lawyers when I got out. That’s okay. I would have hated it.”
“So you joined the police?” Lucy asked.
“Nope.”
She was confused. “What did you do?”
“I drove a taxi for two years.”
Lucy laughed. She reached out and touched his shoulder and then quickly drew her hand back. “Wow, you really are full of surprises.”
“I liked it,” Frost said. “I got to know the ins and outs of the city, all the back roads and back routes. That still comes in pretty handy.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“I got robbed too many times. I had too many people throw up in my cab. So I hooked up with a high school buddy down on the Wharf. We ran fishing charters for a year. We slept on the boat. I liked being on the water, but I smelled like fish all the time, and girls didn’t really go for that.”
Frost was enjoying his trip down memory lane, but he knew how it ended. He felt a tightness in his stomach. Things happen, and you figure out where you’re going, but it doesn’t mean what happens is good.
“Then I spent six months working on Alcatraz as a tour guide. I loved that, being a history buff. It was my favorite job.”
“But only six months?” Lucy asked.
“Only six months.”
“What happened? Did you get laid off?”
Frost glanced at Lucy and then glanced away. They were the same age. Lucy and Katie. Both twenty-five.
“No, my sister was murdered,” Frost told her.
Lucy’s big eyes flew open even wider. He heard her inhale sharply. Without a word or thought, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly. “Oh my God, Frost. I don’t know what to say.”
“Thanks. There’s nothing to say.”
She let him go, but she held on to his hand. “That’s so terrible.”
“Yeah. Katie was a sweet kid.”
He was about to say she was your age, but he didn’t. He was about to say you remind me of her, but he didn’t.
“I found her in the backseat of her car. It was—”
He stopped. It was a scene only the devil would understand.
“There are so many ripple effects when something like that happens,” he went on. “My parents separated for a while and only reconciled a couple years ago. They left the city. Moved to Tucson. They couldn’t handle being here anymore. Duane and I actually grew closer. We were so different, and we’d never spent much time together, but without Katie, we were all we had.”
“And you became a cop,” Lucy concluded.
“Yes, I became a cop. Suddenly, the criminology degree, the law degree, seemed to make sense in the world. Up to that point, they didn’t. But I guess there’s a weird synchronicity to life. The puzzle pieces come together eventually.”
Lucy still clung to his hand.
“Did you catch the guy?”
“Yes, we got him. My lieutenant was the detective on the case. Now he’s gone away for good. Honestly, I don’t always know how to deal with it. That guy completely changed my life. I’m sitting here right now because of a murderer.” He shook his head and gave a silent, unhappy laugh. “Sorry, Lucy. I don’t mean to drag you down with my stories.”
“No, I’m glad you told me. I don’t have any stories like that.”
“Be glad you don’t.”
“I don’t know. I want there to be something, you know. I feel like I’m not going anywhere. I think I’d rather be like you. Drive a cab, or live on a fishing boat, or work on Alcatraz, instead of selling jewelry to rich old women.”
“Nothing’s stopping you,” Frost said.
“Except myself.” Lucy checked the time on her phone. “I better go. Break’s over.”
“Sorry. One more question.”
“Sure.”
“Did Brynn tell you anything about her treatments with Dr. Stein? I’m trying to find out more about how this memory thing really works.”
“No, she didn’t talk about it, but she seemed fine afterward. Nothing was wrong, as far as I could tell.”
“She didn’t give you any details?”
“Not really, but if you want to find out more about it, I know someone who can help.”
“Who?” Frost asked.
“Me.”
“You? What do you mean?”
Lucy looked embarrassed. “I decided to talk to Dr. Stein about my gephyrophobia. It’s stupid, living in the Bay Area and freaking out about bridges. I want to know if she thinks she can help me.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” Frost said.
“Oh, I won’t do any treatments yet. I probably can’t even afford it. I just figured I’d do an initial consultation to find out what it’s all about. That’s what you want, too, isn’t it?”
“Lucy, don’t do this for me. Really.”
