Beyond the Consequences
Page 39
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“Don’t play dumb. Your intelligence is what’s gotten you this far. Try capitalizing on it. It could save your life. Tell me you’ll leave them alone.”
“Save my life?” she asked. “What does that mean?”
“I gave you the answer. Say it.”
“I’ll leave them alone.”
Phil heard the lie roll off her tongue with ease.
“I don’t know what you planned to accomplish with your mailings, but whatever it was, it’s over.”
“Tell me what you mean, over?” The panic showed in her eyes. “What are you going to do? Does Mr.… Tony know you’re here?”
Phil reached into his pocket. “No. No one knows, which is not to your advantage. I’m here to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“Give up your quest, whatever it is. By using the U.S. Postal Service to send your threatening mailings you’ve committed a federal crime, one that’s punishable by up to twenty years in prison.”
Her back again straightened defiantly. “I never threatened anyone. And as I recall, you’re not in law enforcement.”
“I’m not—another disadvantage for you. And you did threaten. You also attempted to manipulate and harass, all punishable by law.”
“Fine,” Patricia said, shuffling her feet to move away from Phil. “No one can prove it was me.”
“Wrong again, Ms. Miles. The FBI has your DNA. I guarantee that if they catch you, you’ll be spending time behind bars. Perhaps we can arrange a shared cell with Catherine, since you’re using her idea.”
The color returned to her cheeks. “It was my idea to remind them, to remind her! No one’s taking me into custody. It’s her. She’s going back to the asylum where she belongs. You don’t understand.” She shook her head as her hands waved about her sides. “He needs me. I’ve been there for him. I was there for him. She’s crazy! She doesn’t deserve him…”
Patricia continued to protest as the textured handle of the cool pistol in Phil’s jacket pocket fit perfectly into the palm of his hand. The old Phil longed to end her ridiculous reasoning; however, the new Phil recalled Taylor’s warning. Never had Phil worried about the consequences of his actions; then again, never before had he had the concerns and relationships he currently enjoyed. The bonds he felt with the Rawlingses were double-edged. While he’d come to enjoy the affiliation and rapport, at this moment he felt that same connection limiting his capabilities. It wasn’t that he couldn’t kill Patricia. He’d killed before, and doing so again would guarantee her future silence. It was that for the first time that he could recall, Phil didn’t want to risk losing the life he lived. He didn’t want to disappear. Leaving his current life wasn’t an option.
“Enough!” he proclaimed.
The outline of a pistol was easily defined through the fabric of Phil’s jacket. Patricia’s eyes locked on his pocket. “Are you going to kill me?”
Phil narrowed his gaze. There were no detectable signs of emotion in his expression or tone as he stepped forward. “Give me answers, truthful answers, and we’ll discuss it.”
Perspiration glistened on her brow. “I-I have a life here,” she reasoned. Her body visibly trembled as she stepped back once, then again, inching farther and farther away. Each miniscule movement tried in vain to create an impenetrable gap, as if one more step would be enough to assure her safety. In reality, she could run the length of the house and the bullets in Phil’s gun would never miss their target. The two individuals continued to stare as only the sound of their breathing interrupted the looming silence. Finally the squeak of a chair against the worn linoleum announced the end of Patricia’s retreat. In an act of desperation, she lifted her chin and quipped, “You can’t just expect my death to go unnoticed.”
He smirked. “You’re living a life that doesn’t exist. There’s no Melissa Garrison. Once you’re gone, and if anyone cares enough to investigate, they’ll learn the truth: you were a lie. You never existed.”
“B-But you said that the FBI is on to me. They’ll know.”
“They’ll know that you willingly disappeared once and you did it again. That’s what happens to psychopaths like you. Perhaps you figured out that the bureau was on to you. Once you did, you panicked and moved on.”
Though Phil had yet to show her what he held within his pocket, her shoulders slumped in defeat at his reasoning. “What questions do you have?” she asked.
“I want the truth. If you’re honest with me, we might be able to work out a deal. If you’re not… let’s just say that I don’t make deals with people I can’t trust.” His training had kicked into gear. No longer was this emotional—he wouldn’t allow it. The outcome was up to her.
Swallowing hard, Patricia looked up. “What do you want to know?”
“What were your plans for Nichol?”
Patricia blinked repeatedly, keeping her gaze toward his ice-cold stare. “I-I didn’t have plans—”
Phil released the safety on the pistol. The faint click echoed through the otherwise still kitchen. “Try again.”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t have it all worked out, but I’ve been laying groundwork…” Tears came to her eyes. “She doesn’t deserve everything. She took it all from me.”
“Save my life?” she asked. “What does that mean?”
“I gave you the answer. Say it.”
“I’ll leave them alone.”
Phil heard the lie roll off her tongue with ease.
“I don’t know what you planned to accomplish with your mailings, but whatever it was, it’s over.”
“Tell me what you mean, over?” The panic showed in her eyes. “What are you going to do? Does Mr.… Tony know you’re here?”
Phil reached into his pocket. “No. No one knows, which is not to your advantage. I’m here to warn you.”
“Warn me?”
“Give up your quest, whatever it is. By using the U.S. Postal Service to send your threatening mailings you’ve committed a federal crime, one that’s punishable by up to twenty years in prison.”
Her back again straightened defiantly. “I never threatened anyone. And as I recall, you’re not in law enforcement.”
“I’m not—another disadvantage for you. And you did threaten. You also attempted to manipulate and harass, all punishable by law.”
“Fine,” Patricia said, shuffling her feet to move away from Phil. “No one can prove it was me.”
“Wrong again, Ms. Miles. The FBI has your DNA. I guarantee that if they catch you, you’ll be spending time behind bars. Perhaps we can arrange a shared cell with Catherine, since you’re using her idea.”
The color returned to her cheeks. “It was my idea to remind them, to remind her! No one’s taking me into custody. It’s her. She’s going back to the asylum where she belongs. You don’t understand.” She shook her head as her hands waved about her sides. “He needs me. I’ve been there for him. I was there for him. She’s crazy! She doesn’t deserve him…”
Patricia continued to protest as the textured handle of the cool pistol in Phil’s jacket pocket fit perfectly into the palm of his hand. The old Phil longed to end her ridiculous reasoning; however, the new Phil recalled Taylor’s warning. Never had Phil worried about the consequences of his actions; then again, never before had he had the concerns and relationships he currently enjoyed. The bonds he felt with the Rawlingses were double-edged. While he’d come to enjoy the affiliation and rapport, at this moment he felt that same connection limiting his capabilities. It wasn’t that he couldn’t kill Patricia. He’d killed before, and doing so again would guarantee her future silence. It was that for the first time that he could recall, Phil didn’t want to risk losing the life he lived. He didn’t want to disappear. Leaving his current life wasn’t an option.
“Enough!” he proclaimed.
The outline of a pistol was easily defined through the fabric of Phil’s jacket. Patricia’s eyes locked on his pocket. “Are you going to kill me?”
Phil narrowed his gaze. There were no detectable signs of emotion in his expression or tone as he stepped forward. “Give me answers, truthful answers, and we’ll discuss it.”
Perspiration glistened on her brow. “I-I have a life here,” she reasoned. Her body visibly trembled as she stepped back once, then again, inching farther and farther away. Each miniscule movement tried in vain to create an impenetrable gap, as if one more step would be enough to assure her safety. In reality, she could run the length of the house and the bullets in Phil’s gun would never miss their target. The two individuals continued to stare as only the sound of their breathing interrupted the looming silence. Finally the squeak of a chair against the worn linoleum announced the end of Patricia’s retreat. In an act of desperation, she lifted her chin and quipped, “You can’t just expect my death to go unnoticed.”
He smirked. “You’re living a life that doesn’t exist. There’s no Melissa Garrison. Once you’re gone, and if anyone cares enough to investigate, they’ll learn the truth: you were a lie. You never existed.”
“B-But you said that the FBI is on to me. They’ll know.”
“They’ll know that you willingly disappeared once and you did it again. That’s what happens to psychopaths like you. Perhaps you figured out that the bureau was on to you. Once you did, you panicked and moved on.”
Though Phil had yet to show her what he held within his pocket, her shoulders slumped in defeat at his reasoning. “What questions do you have?” she asked.
“I want the truth. If you’re honest with me, we might be able to work out a deal. If you’re not… let’s just say that I don’t make deals with people I can’t trust.” His training had kicked into gear. No longer was this emotional—he wouldn’t allow it. The outcome was up to her.
Swallowing hard, Patricia looked up. “What do you want to know?”
“What were your plans for Nichol?”
Patricia blinked repeatedly, keeping her gaze toward his ice-cold stare. “I-I didn’t have plans—”
Phil released the safety on the pistol. The faint click echoed through the otherwise still kitchen. “Try again.”
She took a deep breath. “I didn’t have it all worked out, but I’ve been laying groundwork…” Tears came to her eyes. “She doesn’t deserve everything. She took it all from me.”
