Rather than eyeing the bullet point with any trace of wariness, a thrill bloomed violently beneath her skin. Did attending a vigil for one of his deceased patients count as an infraction of this rule?
The first patient soon arrived and Kenna slipped into her best attempt at professionalism, a hard task with her former mentor turned ex-lover on the other side of those walls.
Dayton appeared before the psychotherapy room and the silence grew taut as she studied him, though nothing had changed. The same scars and overgrown hair and the seductive yet threatening pull of his lips he passed off as a smile.
His dark eyes swept over her. It was the briefest of acknowledgements but it triggered a series of hair-raising images. His hand around her throat, his bedroom, the pictures.
“I’m ready for you, Ms. Castillo.”
Malice dripped from his every word, even when his clinical persona was engaged. That sinful voice was a humanized form of aposematism, warning others to stay away.
And she had not listened. She’d wandered straight to the center of his universe; the precise place from which, months earlier, she had narrowly escaped.
The door shut with a snick and Kenna was alone in the reception area, bathing in the fluorescent lights as beads of cold sweat jeweled on the nape of her neck.
5
BELLA
The sun hung orange and magnificent in the sky as Kenna skidded to a stop outside of the cemetery.
The wrought iron gates and unkempt landscaping were eerie enough on their own but she imagined their effect was magnified tenfold once it was nightfall.
There was no parking lot. Instead, a one-lane road snaked through the grounds. A literal highway to Hell. She followed it until she came upon a line of cars, tires touching both pavement and grass, and heard a distant voice.
Her heart climbed the walls of her throat as she drew nearer to the source. Kenna kept her distance, standing a couple rows of tombstones away.
A group of no more than 20 people was gathered around one of the graves, all holding unlit candles. One woman buried her face in a man’s shoulder and wailed. A teenage boy looked at the tombstone with a blank expression, perhaps staring at the final resting place of the sister he’d hardly known. An elderly woman kissed the knuckles of her thumbs, hands steepled in prayer, as she chanted under her breath.
A man with a thick, dark mustache stood beside the tombstone, holding hands with a woman whose face suggested she’d made crying a full-time job. Bella’s parents.
The father spoke. “Tonight marks five years since we lost our Bella. Even though He took her from us too early, she died loving God, just like she loved all of you. Bella had a big heart, and she had no problem opening it up to people. She traded this life to walk with her Lord and Savior, but she’ll never truly be gone. We’ll remember her, honor her, and love her. Always.”
He paused, striking a match and lighting his candle. He tipped the flame toward his wife’s candle until the tip went cherry red and its own fire roared to life. She went up to someone in the crowd, using her candle to light theirs, and the process continued until everyone’s had been ignited.
“We light these candles as a symbol of keeping Bella’s memory alive. Let us pray.”
Kenna bowed her head and prayed along with the McAnders family. She didn’t know them nor had she known their daughter but they were connected by a thin, vile thread.
Dr. Dayton Merino.
The parents left first, followed by some of the older relatives. One by one, people extinguished their candles and climbed into their cars. A woman wearing a black baseball cap remained. Her hand cupped around the flame, protecting it from the gentle night breeze. She fixated on the grave, just as the McAnders boy had.
The sun sat lower on the horizon. Kenna had a gig downtown. She knew she couldn’t stay much longer.
Dead grass crunched beneath her feet as she moved toward the woman. She stopped several feet away, within the stranger’s field of vision, and clasped her hands together as if she were there paying her respects to the dead girl rather than exploiting grieving attendees of the vigil.
A pair of puffy eyes peered at Kenna from under the bill of the cap. “How did you know Bella?”
“I didn’t.” She quickly amended, “We had a mutual friend.”
“She was a good person. I thought things would get easier after five years. But the guilt hasn’t let up.”
“Guilt?”
“We were roommates. Every year, I come here and I see the pain her family’s still in, and I think, ‘I could’ve done something.’ Maybe if I’d acted, she’d be alive. If I had woken up, or …” She shook her head, tears falling to the cracked soil.
Kenna studied the tombstone.Bella Dade McAnders. Beloved daughter and sister. Oct. 12 1994-Aug. 22 2015.