At least I had one question now firmly in the answered column.
You are not evil, Penny.
You have a full-blown, true case of DID. This wasn’t a game for you. But DID and dissociative states don’t make you a killer, so if you did in fact murder Rachel, you did it during some kind of a psychotic episode you suffered. Too bad a jury probably won’t see it that way. They’ll see the mountain of evidence against you, the hit list with Rachel’s name on it, pictures of Rachel’s cut-up body, and other photos of you bathed in her blood.
Guilty on all charges. That’s what they’ll say, I’m sure of it.
Can we change that outcome by putting you on the stand? Mom is counting on it. Navarro isn’t so sure. He couldn’t be here today. Had to be in court, but said he’d be available by phone for questions. Questions are not something we have in short supply, but I’m not sure there’s any that he can answer better than we can.
Mom took the lead, guiding us through the prescreening process before armed security ushered first Annie, then Mom, then me past a massive steel door. Beyond that door stood Dr. Mitch, awaiting our arrival. The guard exchanged handshakes and paperwork with Mitch before stepping off to the side so we could all meet and greet. I hadn’t met Mitch before, but I liked him right away. Seemed like a nice guy to me. Think: Tom Hanks worked for PBS. I got good vibes from him. For sure, he was someone you’d want on your team.
I’d decided to forgo my usual flannel attire and came dressed in khaki pants and a blue oxford shirt, which I wore under a tailored blazer Mom didn’t realize I owned. I also had with me a road atlas with pages marked to places you’d listed off in your dissociative state.
I was curious if you’d have any reaction to seeing those places in map form. I wasn’t yet done with my drug mule theory—that somehow these were locations Rachel took you to when you were young. All I knew was that they were important to you, but I didn’t know why. I was worried I wouldn’t be allowed to bring the atlas inside, but Mom had some pull here, so if there were a rule against it, someone bent it in our favor.
No surprise, Ryan didn’t come. He opted for the restaurant instead. Don’t take it personally. He’s got issues.
I can’t imagine how you’ve adjusted to living here, Penny. The pervasive dull hum and incoherent announcements over the loudspeakers, the strange smells pervading the hallways, the starkness of the concrete walls—it was sensory deprivation and overload all at the same time.
“Eve’s waiting for us in one of the visiting rooms,” Mitch told us. Annie’s cowboy boots clomped like horse’s feet on the concrete floor.
We came to a stop in front of a steel door painted the color of a battleship. When Dr. Mitch opened the door, I saw not you, Penny, but Eve seated at the table. A lone guard stood off in a corner, as animated as a houseplant.
You noticed me right away and looked sort of pleased.
“Jack,” you exclaimed, a bit loudly, but that’s typical for Eve. “It’s been ages. And Aunt Annie—really, really glad you could come.” Your honey-drenched voice came out quite caustic. “So the gang’s all here.” You clapped your hands together, looking past Dr. Mitch and Mom to the open door behind us. “What? No Ryan?” You made a tsk-tsk sound with your tongue. “Such a surprise. He’s been so supportive.” Your mouth crinkled into a tight smile.
“Hello, Eve,” I said, trying to ignore the grand, regal persona you exuded.
“So what brings you all here today?” You cocked your head sideways.
“We need to ask you an important question,” Annie said, coming around to give you a quick hug and a peck on the check, which coaxed out a grimace. Mom bent over to hug and kiss you as well and received an equally chilly reception.
“Fine, then,” said Eve. “Let’s get it over with. Tuesdays we get to do arts and crafts in the rec room, and I’d hate to miss it for … well … this.” You gestured to us, your family.
“Damn,” I said. “You’re cold as ever.”
“You’ve always looked after me, Jack, even when I was sugar or spice.”
We had a code, you and I, and I knew you meant no disrespect. You were telling us, in your special Eve style, that it hurt to be together because we couldn’t do it in the way that you remembered and missed.
“Let’s get on with it then,” said Annie.
“We think there’s a chance you didn’t kill anybody,” I said. You eyed me coolly.