Beth stood in the center of the casket raft like a figurine on a dashboard. The canvas tarp was wrapped around her like a shroud, covering her entire body and forming a hood over her head that completely obscured her face. From beneath the hood she watched the black Zodiac boat slip out from the darkness between two rooftops. It was a shadow moving among shadows, like a bat flying toward her in a cave. The image triggered something nameless and primitive in her mind, and it made her shiver.
He was less than thirty yards away now, almost even with the coffins, and he showed no signs of slowing down. Beth prayed that he might continue on by—but when LaTourneau saw that the trail he was following had suddenly ended, he cut his engine, and the night became as silent as a tomb.
LaTourneau turned and looked in her direction.
When he did, Beth slowly raised both arms to the side. She wanted to make sure she was seen—to be the focus of his full attention instead of a certain object behind her. It worked—she saw his eyes turn to her and stare.
She said nothing at first; she just held her pose to allow the visual impression to sink in—to create a nameless and primitive sensation of her own. She counted slowly to ten, then whispered a single word.
“Daddy.”
The whispered word carried through the air like an electric current. LaTourneau blinked and shook his head.
“Daddy.”
“Sweetheart,” he whispered back. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Daddy.”
He took a step toward her. “Please, sweetheart, let me come to you—”
Beth let out a piercing shriek. “Stay back! You can’t come to me. You can’t touch me. It isn’t . . . allowed.”
LaTourneau stumbled back and stood there, blinking in confusion. Beth watched him: He was displaying athetosis—his hands and arms were constantly writhing over one another like snakes, and he picked at his skin with his fingernails. His entire body trembled—he looked as if he might convulse at any time. He looked feverish; he was drenched in sweat—she wondered what his body temperature must be. She knew that meth could produce hypothermia, stoking the body’s metabolism and driving its temperature as high as 108 degrees. He was burning up right in front of her eyes.
“I’m sad, Daddy,” she said.
“Why are you sad, sweetheart?”
“I don’t like to see you this way. I miss you—the old you. Not this one—not the one who hurts people. That makes me sad.”
“They took you away from me. They come out at night—”
“Tell me what you did today. Tell me about the morning. Tell me all the good things you did. Did you save anyone today? Make me happy, Daddy—tell me.”
“I can’t—remember.”
LaTourneau was in an advanced stage of amphetamine psychosis. He wasn’t at all like her cocaine patients, but Beth knew that meth doesn’t work like cocaine: Cocaine is quickly metabolized and eliminated from the body, while meth remains in the nervous system longer, permanently altering the brain. She could see that LaTourneau’s schizophrenia was profound—that he had driven a permanent wedge between his two personalities. He was incapable of even remembering the actions of his other self—events that had occurred only a few hours ago. She wondered if there was any possible way to reintegrate his two personalities. It would take years of therapy—and the poor man didn’t have years to live.
“I want you to rest now, Daddy. You’ve done everything I asked. Your work is done—you’re finished now. It will make me happy to see you rest.”
“I don’t need to rest, sweetheart—I can keep going.”
“You have to rest. You have to sleep. It will make me happy.”
“I tried,” he said. “I can’t.”
Beth knew he was right. LaTourneau was no longer capable of rest; he was like a truck screaming downhill without brakes, and there was no runaway truck ramp to slow him down. It was only a matter of time before he crashed in flames—and maybe killed someone else when he did it.
“I want you to stop taking the pills,” she said. “I want you to promise me.”
He seemed confused at this. “But—it’s how we talk to each other.”
“No, Daddy, that’s what killed me. I don’t want it to kill you too.”
They killed you. Just tell me who they are—tell me where to find “them.”
“I won’t send you any more messages. There won’t be any more names or addresses on the mirror. I want it to stop, Daddy. I won’t be happy until it does—do you understand?”
He blinked. “You won’t talk to me anymore?”
“You can talk to me anytime you want. I’ll always be near you.”
He took a step forward again. “I can’t live without you.”
“No—stay back!”
But there was no stopping him this time. LaTourneau swung his legs over the starboard side of the boat and slid off into the water, never taking his eyes off Beth. He began to swim toward her, but his motions were erratic and awkward and his progress was slow.
“Go back to the boat, Daddy! Turn around and go back!”
But he slowly kept coming, flailing like a man beating eaten by sharks, coughing and choking, barely keeping his head above water. Beth was horrified; his metabolism was already accelerated by the drugs—how much of this could he take before his heart ripped apart like a rupturing tire?
She heard the roar of an engine behind her—Nick and J.T. sped out from behind the coffins and made a wide arc toward LaTourneau’s boat; when they reached it, Nick jumped across into the Zodiac boat and J.T. crawled back to take Nick’s place.
LaTourneau was halfway to the coffins now.
“LaTourneau!” Nick shouted. “Stay where you are!”
But he didn’t seem to hear Nick’s voice. He just kept coming, locked onto Beth’s shrouded form, desperately seeking to be reunited with his daughter. Beth realized that nothing would stop him or turn him back—unless his daughter was no longer there.
She shook off the tarp and let it drop around her feet.
“My name is Beth Woodbridge,” she said. “I’m a psychiatrist, Mr. LaTourneau—I can help you.”
LaTourneau thrashed in the water, shaking his head, trying to clear his clouded mind. “Sweetheart—where are you?”
“I want you to keep coming, Mr. LaTourneau—try to make it to the coffins. You can do it—just keep listening to my voice.”
But LaTourneau no longer heard her voice. He just kept staring at her—through her—searching for something that had been there just a moment ago.
His flailing began to slow.
“No!” Beth shouted. “Keep going!”
“I can’t . . . live . . . without you . . .”
His body stopped moving, and his head disappeared below the water.
Beth sank to her knees and began to weep.