Autopsy of a Mind

Chapter 114: Crushed Pills and Betrayal

The child psychiatrist was brought in. She was a professor at some fancy university. A woman in her late thirties, she had no children of her own. She sat down and watched the tapes and read through the diary. 

"This is very helpful," she said. "I will try to talk to her about everything but we need to separate her from her mother." 

She pointedly looked towards us. "You're thinking that her mother will try to intercept the conversation?" I asked. 

"Yes, she has written what was done to her so her mother must have said some things to keep her from spilling to the police. We need to separate the two. You can interrogate the mother and I can talk to the child. When I get a full account of everything that happened, I will file charges against the mother as a medical representative. We can get them completely separated that way."

"And after that? I will have to diagnose her, probably put her on medication and re-interview her several times." That sounded like a lot of work. 

"Thank you. Do you want to start?" I asked. The lady nodded.

"Okay, we need to take her to a cozy room and not one of the interrogation rooms," she announced. I took note of her demand and nodded. I turned to Nash. 

"Can we take the side staff-room for a bit? I'll set up the camera and everything." I pleaded. I wanted to do right by this child.

"We'll clear out the room in no time." Everything was settled and Carol was taken to the room. She took one look at me and then shook her head in disapproval.

"I want to talk to her," she said stubbornly pointing towards me. I stood stunned and waited for her to say something else. 

"You don't like me?" the psychiatrist asked. 

Carol shook her head. "I do like you. You smell nice but she betrayed me." Her eyes were accusing. 

I betrayed her? How was that?

I knelt down beside her, my face right in front of her. "How did I betray you, Carol?" I asked softly. 

"Your eyes. They are like mine, so I told you a little. But you told everyone." She pouted. 

"My eyes are like yours?" I enquired. I kind of knew what she meant. My gaze was often disconcerting. One psychopath could sense another and one tormented soul another. Now, the question was... which one did she sense?

"Yes, I saw your eyes at the crime scene. That's why I wanted to talk to you." She sneered. "You even brought me hot chocolate. So, I thought." 

I looked helplessly at the psychiatrist. "If you want Evie to sit in, we can arrange that," she said helpfully. My eyes widened for a fraction of a second and then I too nodded, back in control. I informed Sebastian of the change in plan and then went back inside the room.

"Sit beside her," the psychiatrist insisted in a whisper. "She identifies with you. I'll ask her more about why she feels that way, okay? Don't be shy and help her this once." I stared. 

"Thank you for letting me in. I wanted to learn how to interview kids, too," I admitted. The psychiatrist smiled. 

"From what I saw, you have the bases covered. You are warm and caring and don't accuse them. You ignited her curiosity and coaxed her to talk. You did the best you could." Albeit, I had done it poorly. 

I bowed and then brought up the warm blankets I had found. Carol was sitting on the couch, looking around the room like the curious child that she was.

"Do you want a blanket?" I asked. Carol looked at it for a second and then nodded. I put it over her legs and smiled at her. 

"Can you bring me some soda, too?" she asked. I could see why someone would follow her without thinking she was harmful. The small body, weak limbs, and keen eyes made you want to trust and protect her. For a young boy to blindly follow, it made sense.

"We already gave you a cup, remember?" I gave her a cup of hot cocoa. She took it and frowned. She didn't thank me. Which was okay. It was okay that she felt no gratitude for small things. She shouldn't with the life she had led. She deserved to get the world handed to her.

"Let's begin, shall we?" the psychiatrist asked. The camera had already been rolling. I sat beside Carol, a little distance between us. She looked at me curiously and scooted closer. I threw a glance towards the psychiatrist and she gave me a cautious nod. 

"What is your full name?" she asked. Carol didn't stir. It took two more tries for her to speak. 

"Carol Myers," she said. 

"My, what a beautiful name you have. Who named you?" The tone was conversational, but the reply nothing but. 

"I don't know. I don't think my mother gave it to me." She shrugged. 

"Why do you think that?" the psychiatrist asked.

"She never pays much attention to me. I remain in my room or go out to play most of the time."

"She doesn't pay attention to you? Why do you think that?" It was standard procedure. The questions were textbook so that we could get the difference between what the child thought was true and what was reality. Having read the diaries, we had some insight into what had happened to her. 

"She's locked up with those men all day long," she hissed. "She barely comes out and when she does, she asks me to follow her." She hung her head. 

"What do you eat then?" the psychiatrist asked. 

"She usually leaves a piece of bread, milk, and banana from me. I eat that." My jaw ticked. That was true. Social services had checked the fridge. The food was scarce, some stale bread, expired milk and bananas were all they found. From neighbors, they knew that Grace rarely left the house and often had delivery boys bring over takeout food in between her sessions.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" she asked. 

"I did. I told the neighbors but they couldn't do anything. They sometimes invited me over to their house for meals." She paused. "They offer you meals once or twice but then they get scared that you will have meals with them every day, so they stop helping you. The pity in their eyes makes me angry." 

She balled her little hands into fists.

"And the men in the house?" the psychiatrist broached the topic with hesitation.

"Filthy," she sneered. "They know nothing about manners. They come in at all times of the day and never stay for long." And there it was... the reluctance to speak. She had spoken about the follies of her mother but never spoke of the men. Why was that? 

"You don't like them, I see..." ten more minutes of going in circles and she started to speak about how she had seen them in different states of undress, the way they had touched her or hit her. 

"I don't want to see a man ever again!" she claimed. So, this anger towards the whole sex had what led her to murder. Kids because they didn't have the strength to hurt her. But how did she know she had an urge to kill? That was the question.

"And your mother? You don't hate her?" The question was asked softly. 

Carol remained silent for a solid moment. "I don't hate her. She's my mother. At least she lets me stay at home and feeds me something. She didn't kill me..." she trailed off. A spark of interest passed both the psychiatrist and my mind. Now, this raised a question which we could interrogate the mother over. It was definitely not over the statute of limitations, so.

"What do you mean she didn't kill you?" The thing about kids was that they didn't understand the law. They didn't understand that something that happened long ago or didn't succeed was still considered a crime.

"My mom fed me these crushed pills. You know, she would put them in my milk and I would feel so woozy all the time." She shook her head at the memory.

"Were you sick? Was that why she was giving you the medicine?" the psychiatrist asked, leaving out all signs of horror from her voice. 

"No, I wasn't sick. She said they were vitamins." She looked down at her hands. "My mom took one every night and I read that they were for sleeping."

"Did you see her put them into your milk?" she asked. 

"Yeah. She would put in a lot of pills at once. She used to grind the medicine, so I always knew she was putting it in."

"And when it made you woozy, you still drank it?" She shook her head. 

"Sometimes, the medicine would knock me out and I would wake up after a long time. So, I stopped taking the milk for a while."

So, the mother had been experimenting with medication. Because it was something she took every day, no one would suspect her. They would think the girl was curious and had ingested too many pills. Grace had dozed up on the pills to make it look seamless. Pure evil. 

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