The Other: (A Psychological Thriller) Page 13

  “Jill, I’m sorry but I’ve got more bad news.” He rushed the words.

  “Oh fuck! What now?”

  “Logan is gone.”

  She bolted to her feet. “What do you mean?”

  “He doesn’t seem to be in the hospital, and I think a phony electrician smuggled him out.” Roger was in full panic, his voice a frantic whisper.

  “An electrician? I don’t understand.” Jill’s heart pounded with anxiety.

  “This old guy and his partner pretended they were here to inspect our ECT machines, but instead they caused a power outage. The woman had some kind of seizure, and she’s now in the clinic. We have her restrained.”

  Her temples were throbbing now. “What does this have to do with Logan?” It was all she could do not to scream.

  “Dr. Carlson is still searching, but we think he went out with the older guy.”

  Fuck! This seemed like something Shay would do. “How are you handling the intruders and the power outage? Did anyone call the police?” Jill yanked open a desk drawer, pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka, and downed a hefty slug.

  “I directed them not to. The last thing I need is to have cops here, searching the property.”

  That could be a nightmare. “What about Logan? Does the staff know he’s gone?”

  “Just Dr. Carlson. Logan was supposed to have an appointment with her and didn’t show. She looked in his room, then reported to me.” Roger seemed to calm himself. “While all this was happening, we had rolling power outages. Our maintenance guy checked where the inspectors had been and discovered sabotage. Which he was able to repair somewhat quickly.”

  That was not important! “What about the partner, the woman?”

  “I told you. She’s sedated and restrained.”

  “Why? Wouldn’t it have been less trouble to just let her walk out?” Jill paced her office, feeling the vodka kick in. That was better. She could handle this now.

  “The woman had some kind of seizure, so Dr. Mendoza treated her and notified me.” Roger’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone. “I thought we might use her as leverage. You know, to get Logan back.”

  She appreciated his thinking, but this was fucked up in ways Roger didn’t understand. Neither did she. “You can only trade her if you know who to bargain with.”

  “They’ll probably call you with a ransom demand.”

  No, they wouldn’t. “This is a family thing, so we’ll have to handle the intruder another way.” Ideas came to her and her pulse started to slow. “She was there illegally, so I doubt anyone will send the police. But since you’ve restrained the woman, we can’t just let her walk out now.”

  Roger sucked in his breath.

  “I’m not talking about that! Just give her ECT without sedation. That should zap some of her memory of being in the hospital. Use Versed to keep her sedated and that will make her groggy too.”

  “And?”

  Why wasn’t this obvious? “In a few days, put her in a transfer van and dump her somewhere far away.”

  A long silence. Finally, Roger said, “Keeping Logan institutionalized has been more problematic than I bargained for, and I can’t keep gaslighting him. The staff is starting to question my competence. If you find your son, I’d rather he didn’t come back here.”

  Jill laughed, not caring how harsh it sounded. “Don’t forget I’m keeping your secrets too. And yours are much worse. We’re going to get Logan back and ensure that he commits suicide, one way or another. I need to put that whole episode behind me.” Guilt overwhelmed her, so she hung up and silenced it with more vodka.

  Roger only knew part of the story, thank god. She cursed her decision to sleep with him. But at the time, she’d been lonely and had needed leverage over him to keep a well-intentioned shrink from deciding Logan could be released. Now Roger was using their relationship to his own advantage, pressuring her to close the damn hospital to cover his accident.

  Jill took another sip of vodka. Was this office and the power it held worth the stress? Sometimes she didn’t think so. And sometimes she missed Blake so much, she just wanted to die. The small handgun she kept in her car would do the job. She imagined herself pulling the trigger. Jill shuddered and put the vodka away. She only thought about it when she was drinking.

  She had to get control of this scenario and find Logan. Maybe she should drive out to the Canby home. The thought disturbed her, reminding her of another stressful situation she didn’t have time for. A detective had called that morning asking about Shay. He’d said a reporter had been killed and dumped in the pond near the house. Jill knew Shay couldn’t have done anything like that, but she didn’t trust Logan. He’d been a disappointment and a pain in the ass from the moment he was born. Actually, he’d been a problem even before. She remembered the day she’d walked into the Hopewell fertility clinic—as vividly as ever.

  Jill hurried to the counter, her husband Blake at her side. “We’re the Palmers, and we have an appointment with Dr. Seltzer.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  They stood while they waited, both too nervous and excited to sit down. Blake squeezed her hand. “It’s going to work this time.”

  “I know. I feel it in my bones.” Actually, what she’d been feeling lately was stressed and anxious. The fertility shots had been painful and the hormones triggered wild mood swings. She barely felt like herself anymore. But Blake desperately wanted a child and no amount of hoping and waiting had worked. So they’d come to the clinic to get help. Today, one of the embryos they’d created would be transferred into her womb. Jill didn’t know what kind of mother she would be, but Blake would be a great father, and with him at her side, she could handle anything.

  They heard their names called and walked hand-in-hand toward the doctor’s assistant waiting in the open doorway. She led them down the hall to a private room with a narrow padded table. Jill hated the actual transfer, which was worse than a pap smear, but she refused to focus on it. She wanted a legacy for Blake, a little boy who could grow up to be president some day. Because as a woman, she might never make it that far, and Blake wasn’t ambitious enough. But he was already serving as county commissioner, and they’d talked about his running for governor.

  Jill took off her skirt and panties, grabbed the paper gown, and climbed up on the table. Blake held her hand again. “Are you sure you only want to transfer one embryo?”

  They’d talked about this. “I don’t want to risk multiple births.” So many women who went to fertility clinics came out either empty-handed or with triplets. She wasn’t certain she could handle one baby, let alone two or three. “They’ll freeze the others, and we can have another baby in a few years.” She didn’t really want more than one, but Blake thought it was important that children had siblings.

  Jill was suddenly filled with anxiety. Her sister had come to the clinic as well, but her embryos hadn’t implanted. Shannon and her husband had finally given up, then Mark had left. Poor Shay. She wasn’t handling the divorce well. Jill wanted to invite her to stay with them for a while, but she worried that being around a pregnancy might make Shay even more depressed.

  Jill forced herself to think positive thoughts. The embryo would implant and she’d give birth to a sweet baby boy soon. Blake would run for governor and win, and they’d be a First Family. Shay would get over her depression and maybe adopt a child.

  Loud knocking shook Jill out of the memory. Her assistant was calling to her. Jill stood and walked to her office door, feeling unsteady. Maybe she should quit drinking so much. It was starting to affect her mind in weird ways. But escaping into the past had been a pleasant diversion. Unfortunately, none of her wishes that day had come completely true.

  Chapter 26

  Wednesday, October 17, Mt. Angel

  Rox woke to the sound of voices. She tried to open her eyes and couldn’t. Where was she? A vague memory of opening a fuse panel floated into her brain, then she saw Marty pushing a cart down a ha
llway. Were those images real?

  One of the voices sounded familiar. She’d heard it on the phone. A doctor. At the mental hospital! Was that where she was? More memories flooded in. She and Marty had planned an extraction. They’d come in together, but where was Marty? And why was she still here?

  Had he abandoned her like her mother had? The thought crushed her. She hated being alone. Would she die here in this cold room by herself? Rox fought the strange emotions, but her brain clouded and she couldn’t focus. She drifted for a while, searching dark rooms in her mind.

  She woke again, the voices still in the room, her heart pounding in her throat. How much time had passed? Rox tried to open her eyes but the lids were too heavy. Maybe it was best they thought she was sleeping. She tried to move her hands and couldn’t. Shackles encircled her wrists. She was strapped down!

  Adrenaline flooded her body and she ground her teeth. This made no sense. She had to be dreaming. But she knew it was real. The voice she recognized was Logan’s doctor. But who was Logan? The person they’d tried to rescue?

  Damn, her head hurt, like a vice grip had squeezed her temples. Had she fallen and smashed it? The voices caught her attention. The female doctor sounded worried. “I think we should wake her up. If she had a seizure, we need to get her brain working again as quickly as possible.”

  A man’s voice she didn’t recognize argued with the woman. “We don’t know who she is or what happened to her, and this hospital can’t afford any more negative publicity. Keep her sedated until I can arrange a transfer, and do not tell anyone else she’s here.” Heavy footsteps indicated he’d walked out. The woman spent another minute shuffling around, then followed him.

  Transfer her where? Stress overwhelmed Rox, so she began to count. Numbers were comforting and helped her focus. At three hundred and fifty-two, she drifted off again.

  Chapter 27

  Wednesday, October 17, 3:15 p.m., Woodburn

  Restless and hungry, Marty drove the kid to a fast food joint, where they ordered cheeseburgers and fries at a drive-up window. Bowman hadn’t called back yet, and Marty worried that Logan’s face might be on the news. His too. He couldn’t believe he’d just kidnapped the governor’s son out of a state institution. The mental butt-kicking had escalated into full swing. How could their client not tell them the boy’s mother was Jill Palmer? Marty had a few choice names for Shay as well. She’d known they would turn down the case if she’d been honest about her sister. Cat Skylar! Had she just made up that name? Marty had done his best not to swear in front of Logan or make him feel bad about his family, but it had been challenging.

  When they had their food, Marty circled to the back of the parking lot. “Sorry, we can’t go inside.”

  “I have to wash my hands before I eat,” Logan announced.

  “Can’t you make an exception? I really don’t want you to get picked up and taken back to the hospital.”

  “I have to wash my hands. No exceptions.” The boy jumped out of the van and ran toward the restaurant. Marty swore under his breath and let him go. Trying to stop him would attract more attention than not.

  He ate half his burger before Logan returned. “Nobody even looked at me,” the kid said, grabbing the food sack. “I’m safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe…”

  Logan was stuck on the word. Rox had done that a few times when she was a preschooler, but he’d learned how to break her out of it. “Safety. Safety. Safety.”

  Logan switched over and started saying the similar word.

  Marty switched again and added emphasis. “Safety first!”

  “Safety first!” Logan shouted, then started laughing. He smiled shyly at Marty, then said “thanks” and took a bite of burger.

  “No problem. I’m sorry we can’t eat inside.”

  “I don’t care. This is so good.” The boy made happy grunting noises as he wolfed his meal. “I haven’t had a real cheeseburger since Mother sent me away. I didn’t get many when I was with Aunt Shay either.”

  Marty didn’t detect bitterness. “That’s a crime. Regular fast food is good for the soul.”

  “I like you.” Logan smiled broadly this time.

  “You’re okay too.” Marty tousled the kid’s hair. He did seem fine, with no sign of actual mental health problems. The hand washing and word repetition were only moderate autistic behavior. Why the hell had his mother locked him away? Unless this was the calm before the storm.

  “Why hasn’t Aunt Shay called?” Logan’s brow creased, his first sign of worry.

  “I don’t know. It seems to be her pattern though. Don’t worry, she’ll contact us eventually.”

  A realization flickered in the boy’s eyes. “You tried to rescue me once already, didn’t you? That day I was supposed to be transferred.”

  Marty didn’t know if he should admit to it. The circumstances—with Logan being able to identify him—were already risky. Yet, he couldn’t lie to the kid. “Yeah. We were there, but you got spooked. What happened?”

  Logan cast his eyes down. “I saw the other boy. The one who looks like me. Dr. Carlson says he’s not real.”

  Marty gave it some thought. “The boy you see is always outside, correct?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “He’s not locked up. What if your mind was just trying to imagine yourself being free? Maybe now that you are, you’ll stop seeing him.”

  “I like that hypothesis.” Logan rolled the word in his mouth as though it were tasty.

  “It’s probably as good as any.” Marty wiped his hands with a napkin and started the van. “We shouldn’t stay long in one place.”

  His phone rang, he glanced at the caller’s ID, and turned the engine off.

  “Do you need privacy again?” Logan asked.

  “Probably not, but thanks.” Marty answered the call. “Hey, Bowman. What have you got?”

  “Not a damn thing. No calls from Mt. Angel to the local department or the state police. And no reports of a missing patient.”

  “That’s weird. The hospital’s director must not want media attention for any reason.”

  “Consider it a blessing. This one could have landed you in hot water.”

  His daughter was still unaccounted for. “Rox is still in there and I don’t know what’s happening.”

  “Was she carrying ID?”

  “No. And her shirt said Dave.”

  “Not helpful.” Bowman sighed. “I’ll call the facility and describe her, then ask if they have a Jane Doe who matches the description.”

  “Thanks, my friend. I’ll pay for your next three rounds of golf.”

  “And buy me beer.”

  “You got it.” They hung up and Marty looked over at Logan, who was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. “Let’s stop at a discount store and get you a coat. Then we’ll see if you can find your Aunt Shay’s house.”

  “What if I can’t?” Distress in his eyes and voice. “Can I come home with you?”

  The thought terrified Marty. What if their client had changed her mind and left town without the kid? A darker thought hit him. What if Rox was dead and the hospital planned to simply cover it up?

  Chapter 28

  Wednesday, October 17, 11:46 p.m., Mt. Angel

  Rox tried to wake up but her mind refused to clear. She managed to cast her eyes around the near-darkness. Nothing had changed. She was still in a small hospital-like room, strapped to a narrow bed. She had to get loose and get out. But how? She couldn’t even think straight. And where was Marty? Had he made it out, or was he trapped in here too? Despair washed over her, and warm tears rolled from the corners of her eyes.

  Crying? She didn’t cry! It had to be the drugs they were giving her. They hadn’t forced anything into her mouth, so the medication must be coming through an IV. She forced herself to lift her head and look at her body. Still wearing the work clothes she’d had on earlier—except the tennis shoes were gone. A white blanket lay bundled around her lower legs, and a tiny needle stuck out of her arm just a
bove the strap over her left wrist. That thing had to go! She needed a clear head and a strong body to make an escape. A plan would be helpful too. But she couldn’t think anymore. Her mind clouded and she drifted off.

  She woke again later, not knowing how long she’d been asleep or what time it was. The room was still dark, except for two nightlights on the wall. She remembered thinking about an escape plan, but couldn’t recall the details. Her mind was too fuzzy. She had to get clear of the medications. Oh right, the IV in her wrist. Rox raised her head and shoulders so she could locate the needle again. There, on the inside of her forearm, with a loose piece of tape. Could she wiggle the tip out? Not damn likely. Still, she had to try.

  Rox flexed her left hand, stretching it as far as she could. She repeated the motion ten times, counting in a whisper and struggling to stay focused. She switched actions and rotated her wrist side to side. The strap limited her movement, but she made herself count to twenty before taking a short break. She planned to rest for ten seconds, but drifted off for a moment in the middle. After a few deep breaths, she began the stretching movement again. On the seventh extension, she felt the needle shift. Yes!

  She lifted her head to look. The syringe hung off to the side. The tip was still in her skin, but not as deeply. Rox began the process again, but drifted off after six stretches.

  When she opened her eyes, a young woman stood by her bed. Bone thin with shoulder-length hair, she wore pink pajamas and held a small flashlight.

  “Sorry for pinching.” Her voice was as frail as her body. “I wanted to wake you.

  “It’s okay.” Rox lifted her head and shook it, trying to focus her mind. But she didn’t feel as groggy this time. “Who are you?”

  “Amelia. But people call me Mils.”

  “I’m Rox.” Oops. She’d forgotten to use her alias.

  “Did you come here with the man who took Logan?”