Live to Tell (Detective D.D. Warren, #4)(92)

“Danielle—”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but you’re right. Someday, it will be. I love you, Aunt Helen. Even when I’m a bitch, I know how lucky I am to have you.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, still holding my hands, “we’ll go together.”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed. Now I pulled my hands free and made my way toward the door, frantic to get out of her house.

I hit the driveway, already punching numbers on my cell phone as I ran for my car. All these years later, I didn’t know his number, so I did the sensible thing and dialed the sheriff’s office. Then, the second I got someone on the phone: “I’m looking for Sheriff Wayne. My name is Danielle Burton and I need to speak with him immediately.”





| CHAPTER

THIRTY





Blood. D.D. noticed it first in the common area. It splattered across one table, dotted a nearby wall, then trailed down the carpeted hall.

“Jesus Christ,” D.D. breathed. She’d been wrong. They didn’t have until six p.m. The evildoer had already struck, while she’d been chattering away in Admin. Shit.

“The kids,” Karen exclaimed immediately. “Where are the kids?”

Just then, another rage-filled scream, high and piercing from down the hall: “No, no, no. Get away. I will kill you. I will EAT YOUR EYEBALLS!”

D.D. and Karen bolted toward the sound, making it partly down the hall before drawing up short. A bathroom loomed to the right. The door was open and an older girl with huge dark eyes and lank brown hair stood in front of the sink, holding a pair of scissors and dripping blood. Outside the bathroom, an older MC was positioned with his hands outstretched, as if to block the girl’s escape.

“Don’t f*cking touch me! I’ll punch you in the nuts. I’ll rip off your penis!” The shrieks continued farther down the hall. D.D. shook her head in confusion. So far, she heard one extremely pissed-off young boy, and she saw one very bloody young girl. What the hell?

“Come on, Aimee,” the MC was crooning as D.D. and Karen approached. “Time to hand over the scissors. Everything’s all right. Just take a deep breath and put the scissors down. Nothing we can’t handle here, right? You and me, a few of your favorite coloring books—”

“I WILL DRINK YOUR BLOOD!” the distant boy roared.

Aimee held up her left arm and, deliberately, dragged the blade of the scissors down her forearm. A thin line of red bloomed across her skin. She stared at it with rapt fascination. More lines covered both arms, her cheeks, the exposed column of her throat. Her skin looked like a crazy quilt, seamed with stitches of blood.

A violent crash from the end of the hallway. Something heavy and wooden smashing against a wall. “DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME DON’T TOUCH ME.”

Aimee jerked toward the sound, then promptly sliced open her collarbone.

“Jesus Christ, get the damn scissors,” D.D. commanded. “What are you waiting for?”

Karen, however, placed a quieting hand on her shoulder.

“Ed?” the nurse manager asked softly.

“Aimee didn’t start it,” the MC murmured back. “Not sure what happened. New kid arrived. Greg was escorting him through the unit, when all of a sudden Benny bolted across the common area into a wall. That set off Jimmy, who started tossing chairs, and everything disintegrated from there. I was trying to get Jamal back to his room. Cecille had Jimmy in a bear hug, Greg was trying to get the new kid tucked away. Andrew came out to see what he could do, and Jorge socked him in the eye.”

“NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOO!”

“Jorge?” Karen asked in shock. “Hit Andrew?”

“Solid right hook. Who knew? Fortunately, Lightfoot is, as his name implies, light on his feet. He started working with Jorge. I returned from tending Jamal and, lo and behold, discovered that during the ruckus, our friend Aimee got her hands on a pair of scissors.”

“How? We keep the craft supplies locked up.”

Ed stopped staring at Aimee long enough to give his boss an exasperated stare. “News flash, Karen, we’re not exactly at the top of our game. Unit’s a little funky, and that was before Benny tried to fly through Sheetrock.”

“BITCH BITCH BITCH. I WILL RIP OFF YOUR EARS. I WILL BEAT YOUR BRAINS. MASH THEM UP. BRAIN SMOOTHIE. ADD BANANAS. YUM YUM YUM.”

“Oh no.” D.D. finally figured out who was screaming. Benny. The small, dark-eyed boy who liked mashing fruit and playing with cars and making airplane noises. She could tell by Karen’s resigned expression that the head nurse already knew, had figured it out way before D.D. A day in the life.

Ed returned his attention to Aimee, whose dark eyes glazed over as she ran the open scissors along a vein in her neck.

“Hey, Aimee,” Ed said, voice sharper now, commanding the girl’s attention. “I know your safety plan requests that you not be touched. You want to be talked through these episodes. But we’re nearing the end of talking here. What are the rules of this unit? We treat ourselves and one another with respect. You’re not showing yourself respect. You’re hurting yourself, and you’re ignoring my orders. You have until the count of ten, Aimee. Then I come in after you.”

More crashing. Fresh screams, not Benny’s but another child’s as the agitation spread from room to room. Aimee calmly lifted her left hand and sliced open her palm. She inspected the wound, then added a second.