“It’s only my sister and her husband.”
“Oh? So it’s not a big deal?”
Jack reached for Natasha’s head and pulled her face close to his. He smiled and said, “Yeah, it’s a big deal. At least Liz thinks so. Speaking of which, you better have an appetite. Her Sunday dinners are always great.”
“Is that the way to your heart? Through your mouth?”
Jack grinned, then said, “Not necessarily. Your hand may have found another way.” He kissed her as her bathrobe fell to the floor.
As they finished breakfast and started clearing dishes, Jack thought about their visit to the farm … and about Marcie. What type of image did The Suit portray to others? What would his profile consist of? He decided to tell Natasha about The Suit. How he provided the bikers with secret police information and the ugly details of his attack on Marcie.
Natasha’s face expressed her horror. “Give me a minute to think about it.” She was quiet as she slowly collected her thoughts. She saw the grim look on Jack’s face as he stood drying the same dish over and over again. Finally she said, “He’s sick. Really sick.”
“All those years of medical school and you tell me he’s sick? Incorrect answer, doctor! I want something more professional. A psychiatric profile to help identify him.”
“I know. Just hang on.” She drained the kitchen sink before taking the towel from Jack’s grasp and tossing it on the counter. “Hold me a sec.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. He saw that she had tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about my work, let alone this.”
“No, it’s okay. I knew something appalling had happened to her. I just didn’t know how awful.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers, then continued, “Psychiatry is not my field of expertise, but considering what he did to Marcie, I would say you’re looking for someone in a position of power or authority.”
“Like a policeman?” Jack said it as a question but meant it more as a statement.
“Perhaps. It’s no coincidence that the mask he wore was of the president of the United States. This is a guy who wants absolute power. He likely portrays a perfect, strong image, yet deep down inside he is very insecure. He would detest feeling like anyone had any power over him. The type of person who would strongly object to something as benign as, say, a seat belt law, because he would feel that it implies that someone has power over him by telling him what to do.”
“So I’m looking for a guy who doesn’t wear a seat belt?”
“He might wear it, only to present a perfect image, but would despise the nuance of power that he believes it holds over him.”
“Ah, that makes it easier,” said Jack bitterly.
“I’m sorry. I’m just telling you what —”
“No. Don’t be sorry. I appreciate what you’re telling me, it just upsets me that I don’t know who he is. I wonder if he’s ever sought treatment?”
“He might have if he had been caught and thought it would keep him out of jail. In reality, I suspect that he is so twisted that he doesn’t see himself as the perverted, sick animal that he is. He has a psychopathic personality. Someone without a conscience. He would stridently defend his belief that it is okay to molest children, except he knows it would tarnish his image or perhaps get him caught.”
“So your final diagnosis is…?”
“He’s like a rabid dog. I don’t believe there is any cure for someone like that.”
“Maybe a bullet.”
Jack cringed as soon as he said it. She’s a doctor. She saves lives.
Natasha’s face was without expression. She chose her words carefully. “Killing him would be like eradicating an infectious disease. You would be doing society a favour. The risk is contamination — that you could become infected and be viewed as having rabies yourself.”
The meaning of her words was not lost on Jack, but a more important issue crowded his brain. He realized he was afraid of something that had never bothered him before. He thought about what he was going to do tomorrow — and became afraid of dying. The prospect of not being with Natasha… He felt a strong desire to tell her how much he loved and admired her, but the timing wasn’t right. Talking about murder and molestation … it wasn’t a topic for love.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“I’m thinking that my ethics could never become infected, as long as I have you as my guiding light. Having you makes me think that I would never want to face … quarantine.”
“Good. Promise me you’ll keep it that way.”
“I promise.”
Natasha hugged him. He felt her warm face on his neck and held her there for a long time.
Late that afternoon, Jack watched as Natasha, Liz, and Ben chattered like long-time friends. Marcie sat in the living room as well, but she was mostly silent, keeping her thoughts to herself. When Liz excused herself to check on dinner, Jack followed her into the kitchen.
“Need a hand with anything?” he asked.
“No, I was just checking. Everything is under control.”
Jack stayed and looked at his sister.
Liz smiled, then whispered, “I think she’s great. Intelligent, beautiful, charming. Witty with a good sense of humour. Yes, I like her. Is that what you came in to find out?”
Jack grinned.
“She also seems open and honest. I can tell that Ben likes her, too.”
“Thanks, sis, it means a lot to me that —”
“Anything I can do to help?” Natasha asked.
Jack spun around quickly. “Uh, no. Liz and I were just coming back to sit down.”
“Oh? Talking about me, were you?”
A laugh escaped from Elizabeth’s lips, then she said, “Add perceptive to the list!”
Liz and Natasha took delight in announcing that Jack was blushing when they returned to the living room to join Ben.
Jack changed the subject by asking, “Where’s Marcie?”
“She went to the barn to toss a couple of bales down for the animals,” Ben replied. “She shouldn’t be long.”
“How are you all doing? It’s been two weeks.”
Ben and Liz exchanged glances, then Ben said, “She’s a really good kid. A hard worker. Maybe working too hard. It’s like she’s always underfoot.”
“Sounds like she’s trying to please you.”
“She’s been volunteering for everything, from helping Liz in the house to wanting to help me on the farm. On top of that, she’s doing about three hours of homework every night.”
“She’s a bright kid,” said Liz. “I’ve been checking with the school. She’s missed the first six weeks, but they said that at the rate she’s going, they expect her to catch up soon.”
“What about the psychologist?”
“She’s had two meetings so far. Now she’s scheduled for one a week.” Liz looked at Natasha and said, “I talked to the psychologist; she said that Marcie has post stress disorder.”
“PTSD,” replied Natasha. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. Yes, I’m sure that diagnosis is correct. Considering her history, she may need a lot of counselling.”
“That’s what we were told.”
“So what’s the problem?” asked Jack. “I feel like you’re holding something back.”
Ben and Liz exchanged another glance, then Liz said, “Don’t get me wrong on this. We both think she’s a really great kid.”
“That’s what you’ve been telling me on the phone. What’s changed?”
Ben cleared his throat, then said, “Last Thursday … maybe I overreacted, but Liz was pretty upset.”
“It’s not Ben’s fault,” said Liz. “I was the one who overreacted. I went in her room and she was drawing pictures on sheets of paper. Not nice pictures. Pictures of people crying and sticking needles in their arms. Then I realized that the sheets of paper were ones that Maggie had drawn pictures on. On the other side. I started to cry and that’s when Ben came in.”
“I yelled at her. Told her to keep her damn hands off stuff that wasn’t hers. I apologized to her later, but she acts like she doesn’t hear. Not rude. More like her mind is elsewhere. She’s hardly spoken to us since. Not working much anymore, either. Stays in her room a lot.”