Chapter: 5
Elisa

Devon found that she could not pull her gaze from the deep wells that were the murderer’s eyes. Something was pulling her irresistibly down, down, down, into those indeterminable depths – a controlling hook rooted solidly in her subconscious, tendrils of a symbiotic weed which ensnared every aspect of her mind –

– and all of a sudden she was suffocating, icy black water frothing and churning around her as she flailed and kicked in the murk, eyes squeezed shut from fear and cold –

– ice water filling her lungs as she sucks in a breath that simply isn’t there –

Then Patrick blinked, and the sensation was gone.

Suddenly, she was standing in cell 4 again, drenched not in icy water, but her own sweat. Her heart pounded unevenly within her chest, causing her rapid breathing to whistle harshly through her flared nostrils.

There’s no way – he can’t have known –

Devon had grown up in Alaska, her father being a wealthy businessman in the trade and manufacturing of petroleum. The Schoffe family had owned a three–story house that overlooked a perpetually frozen lake. The tiny ice–encrusted marina yawning across the frozen water had been there when the Schoffes had purchased the property.

The house itself snuggled its back up against an evergreen–forested lump of hills that stretched south for several miles. The whole area was forested with evergreens and naked oaks, all of them dusted with ice and snow. The ice remained until late spring, sometimes even into early summer, and even then it remained chilly. Sometimes they couldn’t see the ground year–round.

The entire estate had cost a fortune, but it was money that Richard Schoffe could afford to spend, considering the success of his business.

One winter day, Devon and her younger sister Elisa had been skating on the lake. They had been laughing and enjoying their play. The winter air had been exceptionally cold and crisp, but they were both wearing their new scarves and hats to keep them warm. Devon’s nose had distinctly felt like it was going to fall off, but their fun was more important than frostbite – priorities normal for a nine–year–old mind.

Devon vividly remembered the look of sheer joy on Elisa’s face as they glided smoothly across the surface of the frozen water together –

– and then she was simply gone, and Devon had been left staring at open air as her younger sister plunged through the ice and into the frigid water.

And she didn’t know how to swim.

It had been Devon’s secret fear for years: water. She hadn’t gone swimming since that day, when she had run, stumbling, screaming up to the house in her bare feet to get her father. She had been sure that it wouldn’t be too late – that when they got back, Papa would drag Elisa from the iron–grey water in time to save her –

Elisa had never breathed again.

Papa had pulled Elisa’s frozen body from the water and preformed mouth–to–mouth resuscitation, but to no avail. The water was simply too cold: she’d never had a chance.

The coroners had assured the heartbroken family that the death had been relatively painless. Elisa had drowned, rapidly inhaling more water than her lungs could hold, not long after her body had gone numb from the frigid water.

The funeral took place the following Friday – two days later – due to her parents’ grief over the whole affair.

After that, there was no more fun skating in the afternoons. I was always afraid of the lake after that day.

Unconsciously, Devon had developed a phobia of water, which had persisted until the present day. Psychopaths such as Patrick Svahe didn’t scare her nearly as much as water did.

And, speaking of Svahe…

How could he have known? How could he have reawakened that in me?

Devon had been trying to tame her hydrophobia for years, but now it was reawakened with a sudden renewed fervor – she could feel it churning uncomfortably in her guts. She already knew that her nightmares would be back with renewed strength.

But Svahe –

He can’t just pry into my mind, can he? Can you hear what I’m thinking now, Svahe?

The murderer was giving her a calculating stare, accompanied by a small smile that froze her insides as completely as the imagined water had done. Perhaps he could hear her thoughts.

“Doctor?” Patrick asked, as though he was truly concerned, his smooth forehead creasing with a frown. He was British; the accent rendered his words perpetually polite. “Are you alright?”

Jason was giving her a strange look as well. His gaze flicked back and forth from Devon to Patrick and then back again, as though he suspected that some sort of mental exchange had taken place.

And maybe one did.

Devon shook her head to clear it of reminiscent cobwebs. “I’m fine,” she replied curtly – more curtly than was normal for her.

“You look pale,” Patrick commented, sounding genuinely troubled. His deep voice was somehow calming and disquieting at the same time. “Perhaps you should sit down. If there were more chairs in this cell of mine, I would offer you a seat. As it is, you may sit on my bed –”

“Thank you anyway,” Devon said, perhaps more snappily than she would have preferred. “Listen, Mr. Svahe, we don’t have the time to spare for idle small talk. We have a recurring situation down in Ward 18 –”

“I know why you’re here, Ms. Schoffe,” Patrick broke in, his icy blue eyes glittering with intelligence.

Icy blue? He had black holes for eyes a second ago –

Distracted, Devon blinked rapidly. “What, are you a mind–reader too?” she snapped.

Patrick shrugged – at least, attempted it; the straight-jacket restricted such movement. “When you are left to sit in a chair in a padded cell with nothing to occupy your time, you start listening harder, thinking more, retaining more knowledge, and recalling more memories. No, I’m not a telepath, but I do have very good ears.”

He smiled, and Devon felt the icicle boring into her intestines again.

“I have overheard many conversations taking place right outside my door,” the murderer concluded softly.

“That’s impossible,” Jason said tersely, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “The padding is designed to be sound–proof as well as you–proof. There’s no way you could hear anything going on outside even if you had your ear pressed up against the door.”

Patrick fixed the Catholic man with a glittering stare. “Some would say it is impossible for a man to ruthlessly slaughter eight men and women and yet retain his sanity. Do I seem insane to you, doctor?”

Jason’s jaw snapped shut – closing over his next comment – but he held the murderer’s gaze.

Not that there was ever any doubt in my mind, but he just blatantly admitted that he is the killer. Either he feels no remorse over what he’s done, or he has resigned himself to the fact.

That didn’t make complete sense, but there was no time to consider the possibilities.

“Listen to me, Mr. Svahe,” Devon said, bringing the convict’s attention back onto herself. “If you know why we’ve come, then do you know what we have come to ask?”

“You want me to help the girl.” Patrick’s unblinking ice–stare would have been just as chilling had he not been a murderer. “May I ask why?”

Devon’s immediate answer to the question was simple: because it’s my job, because Allison needs help.

But her reasoning ran deeper than that; she knew that there was something else inside her that had pushed her hard to help Allison Bennett recover – perhaps an ulterior motive that she had kept hidden even from herself.

But why is that important?

Devon opened her mouth, about to tell the man that it was none of his damn business –

Elisa.

The reason hit her so hard, she was stunned.

Elisa.

She was doing it for her sister. All these years, she had fought for Allison, devoted time and money to Allison, sacrificed energy and patience for Allison. And it was all for Elisa – unconsciously, all because Devon felt she could have done more to save her younger sister.

Instead of running for help, I should have tried to pull her out myself. Instead of panicking, I should have remained calm and perhaps kept her from drowning just long enough –

Devon knew that her mouth was open, knew she was staring into Patrick’s eyes, knew that she wasn’t responding to the question posed, but didn’t know how to correct any of these errors. Her mind had been wiped blank, effectively rendering her speechless, and she could feel tears coming.

Patrick’s perpetual smile had taken on a knowing empathy, a smile that was sad and almost tender.

“Ah,” he said. “I have revealed something in you that you did not know about yourself. This is how you want me to save the girl – you want me to save her from herself.”

It was a statement, not a question.

When Devon – still reeling from this new discovery – did not respond, Jason stepped in.

“Yes, that’s right,” she heard him say, and caught the look of sincere anxiety he sent in her direction. “We’ve tried everything else and thought that you might be able to help.”

“Really?” Patrick said, turning to face him. “This I had not heard. I am your last resort in other words?”

Jason glanced at Devon for support, found it, and nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “We’re… not sure where to turn next. So we’ve come to you.”

Devon got the strong impression that – had his arms and legs not been bound – Patrick would have leaned back at that moment, crossed his legs, and steepled his fingers. He seemed almost comfortable all of a sudden – as though he were the top of the heap.

“May I ask, then, what is in this for me?” he asked.

“Satisfaction?” Jason suggested sardonically. “Pardon my bluntness, Mr. Svahe, but you are in no situation to negotiate.”

“It is so,” Patrick agreed, turning to face Jason again. “Pardon my bluntness, Dr. Freedwork, but it would seem that you are in no position to barter either – much less with the life and sanity of a young girl at sake.”

Jason’s cheeks colored, and he looked as though he was about to bite out a retort, but Devon sent him a warning glance. Patrick Svahe didn’t seem volatile, but she wasn’t too keen on the idea of testing how far the convict’s patience would stretch.

And considering what he did to those people, I would hate to see him angry.

Jason clamped his lips shut over his teeth, but Devon could see the jaw muscles bunching up in his cheeks. She took over for him.

Regretting every word, Devon forced herself to spit them out. “What do you want, Mr. Svahe? I can’t promise you a lighter sentence, mind, but I’m sure we can do… something for you that you would appreciate.”

The convict graced her with a smile, causing her to shiver. “This I know, Ms. Schoffe. Don’t mistake me – I am not attempting to barter for my freedom. I simply wish for more… comfortable living conditions – considering I most likely will be detained here for the rest of my life.”

He arched an eyebrow, a seemingly innocent gesture. “That is all I ask, Doctor. Give me more guards, if you’d like – that is, if you don’t trust me outside of a padded cell.”

Devon looked at Jason, saw the young man shake his head sharply in the negative, whipping strands of brown–blonde hair into his eyes.

But we have no other choice, she told him with her eyes. He gave her a look that she didn’t particularly like, but it told her that he was relinquishing command to her. Devon sent him a silent thank–you, took a deep breath, and then spoke to Svahe.

“Alright,” she said, regretting every syllable. “You can have different living quarters. I will have to arrange this with Dr. McCarthy – and I’m sure he won’t be happy about it, but… We’ll make him understand.”

Patrick nodded in salute to her. “For this, I thank you, Dr. Schoffe. When will I begin seeing the girl?”

Devon looked over at Jason again. He shrugged: they hadn’t appointed an exact time yet. Devon returned her attention to Patrick Svahe again.

“This coming Saturday,” she replied. “Two days. Is there anything you will need to begin treatment?”

“Nothing but this jacket removed,” Svahe replied. He didn’t seem perturbed by the fact that electrodes and magnets protruded like spikes from the straightjacket. It couldn’t have been comfortable.

“That will be arranged,” Jason said. He looked at Devon and jerked his head back at the door. “I think that’s all we need. Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr. Svahe.”

The convict attempted a shrug again. “As you so keenly pointed out, Dr. Freedwork, a man in my position does not have much room to negotiate.”

Devon felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, but she mashed it back down in disgust. “Allison thanks you as well, Mr. Svahe. We will see you on Saturday, then?”

Patrick nodded, his blue eyes glittering. “Until then, Doctors,” he said. “And please, call me Patrick. I don’t prefer formalities.”

Devon didn’t like his tone, knew there was something hidden in his voice inflection, but couldn’t discern exactly what. She determined that she must be being paranoid, but still couldn’t even convince herself to give the convict a chance.

A man who murders eight people doesn’t deserve a second chance. Not even God should give him a second chance.

Murmuring uncomfortable farewells, she and Jason exited into the hallway, still vacant and serene. It felt just as sickly wrong as before, but Devon barely noticed it. Her mind was still reeling from the confrontation that had just unfolded mere moments ago.

Jason broke the silence as they walked slowly towards the elevator. “I hope we’re doing the right thing. Saturday is awfully soon – are you sure Allison will be ready by then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Devon replied, but she hadn’t heard what he had asked. She was still introverted, pondering her new discovery, wondering how in the world Patrick had known – how in the world he could have done that to her –

“Devon?”

She blinked, snapping back to the present. She found herself standing outside Svahe’s cell, staring at the green–tiled floors. She shivered violently. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jason fixed her with a concerned stare.

“I just asked you who gets to break the news to Dr. McCarthy. Are you alright? You seem distant.” He jerked a thumb back in the general direction of Svahe’s cell. “Is it Captain Picard?”

Devon couldn’t bring herself to laugh at the joke. She considered lying, but figured it wouldn’t be right to lie to a man who had given up a life in priesthood just to help mental patients.

All because of his mother.

She was distracted again. She shook her head to clear it.

“I… I’m fine, Jason,” she said slowly. “I’m just a little… worried about exposing Allison to a man like Svahe.”

It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was true that she was concerned.

“Uh – McCarthy,” she said quickly, changing the subject. “I’ll see to it. Hopefully he’ll be understanding. Maybe we’ll leave it at it’s just going to be a temporary move. That might make him less angry.”

“I hope so.” Jason seemed to have let his concern slip for the moment. “We should talk to him immediately, though – he would want to know as soon as possible. And this way we’ll have more time to argue him into a corner again –”

He was suddenly interrupted by the trill of Devon’s beeper – attached to her belt. The sound wasn’t all that loud normally, but it was positively deafening in the cavernous, empty hall, and it rang within their skulls.

That sound only ever meant one thing: trouble.

“Dr. Schoffe to room 23. Repeat, Dr. Schoffe to room 23.”

Allison.

Devon shot Jason a grimace, and then they both took off for the elevator, arms and legs pumping.