Garcia once again glanced at Hunter, half hoping for some sort of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he checked his watch before leaning forward and placing both elbows on the table.
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Monica,’ he said calmly. ‘I hope you understand that at the moment we’re stretched thin and really pressed for time. But I’ll ask an officer to take down what you think you saw, and if you leave us your details we’ll get in touch if we have any questions…’
‘I’m not trying to waste your time, detective,’ she said firmly, reading Garcia’s reluctance to believe her.
‘And we appreciate that,’ he replied in the same tone, but she didn’t break stride.
‘Whether you believe it or not, detective, it happens. Unfortunately, it happens to me. I see other people’s suffering. I see their pain and tears and what makes them sad. It’s not a gift; it’s a curse that makes me scared of closing my eyes every night. I don’t wanna be here either. I’ve never done this before, but I really think I can help.’
Monica went back to staring at Hunter. Something shifted in her eyes.
‘Helen…’ she whispered, ‘… it wasn’t your fault.’
Hunter raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You just wanted the crying to stop. She just wanted the pain to go away. You did what you thought was right. What she asked you to do. You freed her from the pain.’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
Hunter stiffened. His eyes fixed on the brunette in front of him. He felt his mouth go dry and his stomach churn as images of a long time ago flooded his memory.
Garcia sensed the change in Hunter, but before he could say anything the door to the interrogation room was pushed open by Captain Blake.
‘You guys better wrap it up in here,’ she said, ignoring Monica. ‘It looks like he claimed another one.’
Hunter looked up. ‘Our man?’
Captain Blake nodded. ‘In Malibu.’
Garcia jetted out of his chair. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said before hurrying out of the room.
Hunter turned and faced Monica. ‘I’ll get an officer to write down your details.’ He quickly placed one of his cards on the table in front of her.
‘Detective,’ she called as Hunter got to the door.
‘He knew about the fire. He knew what scared her.’
Thirty-Eight
Hunter sat in silence staring out of the window as Garcia sped down Hollywood Freeway. Night had already fallen over Los Angeles, and with it came rain. Not your typical, heavy Californian downpour, but a steady, annoying English-type drizzle. The sky was covered by gray clouds. The wet weather would go on for hours.
Hunter was softly massaging between his eyebrows with his index finger, focusing his attention on the raindrops on the passenger’s window. His thoughts were tangled in a tight cluster, and he was trying hard to unwind them. In the space of half an hour, the whole complexion of the case had changed. Now that they knew about the priest’s dream, the idea of the killer being ritualistic took a knock. Hunter was certain that what happened a few days ago inside the Seven Saints church was not a ritual. The killer had simply acted out Father Fabian’s nightmare, but why?
Garcia’s attention was on the road, but he’d noticed his partner’s change in mood inside the interrogation room. Something that girl said had really got to Hunter.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Garcia asked tentatively.
‘Shoot,’ Hunter said without breaking his stare.
‘Who’s Helen?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Monica, the-’ Garcia searched for the correct word ‘-psychic girl we just talked to. She said something about Helen and it not being your fault. Who’s Helen?’
Hunter closed his eyes.
Garcia knew better than to push for an answer. He allowed the silence to stretch.
‘My mother,’ Hunter finally replied, returning his attention to the window. ‘Helen was my mother.’
He’d only been seven when it happened, but the memories crowding his mind now were still fresh.
Thirty-Nine
He sat alone in his room watching the heavy rain hammering against the window. He liked rain, especially heavy rain. Its thundering noise was almost enough to cover the crying, the moans of pain that came from the room next door – almost. He’d asked his father why the doctors didn’t do something. Why they didn’t take her into hospital and make her better.
‘There’s nothing more that can be done,’ his father had said with tearful eyes as he placed two tablets next to a glass of water before hiding the medicine bottle deep inside the highest cupboard in their small kitchen.
‘Can’t we give her some more tablets, Dad? They help with her pain. She doesn’t cry so much when she takes them.’
‘No, Robert,’ his father replied in a nervous voice. ‘Too many aren’t good for her.’
He had to take care of her when his father wasn’t home, and back then his father worked nights.
Nights were always worse. Her screams sounded louder, her groans deeper and heavier with pain. They always made him shiver. Not like when he felt cold, but an intense shiver that came from deep within. Her illness had brought her so much pain, and he wished there was something he could do to help.
He cautiously opened the door to her room. He felt like crying, but his father had told him he mustn’t. She was curled up on the bed. Her knees pushed up against her chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She was crying.
‘Please help me,’ she whispered. ‘It hurts so much.’
He was shivering, trying to keep his tears locked in his throat. ‘What can I do, Mom?’ His voice was as weak as hers.
She curled up into a tighter ball.
‘Do you want me to call Dad?’
She shook her head. Tears were streaming down her face.
‘Dad can call the doctor. He’ll come and help you.’
‘Dad can’t help, honey. Neither can the doctor.’
His mother looked like a different person now. She was so thin he could see her bones poking at her sagging skin. Her eyes had the darkest bags under them. Her once-beautiful long blond hair was now fine and frizzled and sticking to her sweaty face. Her lips were cracked and crusted.
‘I can heat some milk up for you, Mom. You like hot milk.’
She managed a delicate shake of the head. Her breath was coming in short gasps.
‘Would you like me to get you some biscuits? You haven’t eaten much today.’
She winced as a new surge of pain took over her body. ‘Please, baby. Help me.’
He couldn’t hold his tears anymore and they started rolling down his cheeks.
‘You can help the pain go away,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘You can get me my pills. You know where they are, don’t you?’
He ran the back of his right hand against his running nose. She could see he was scared and shaking. ‘They’re very high up,’ he said, hiding his eyes from her.