Chapter Nine
Lexi knew a thing or two about psychiatric evaluations. After her traumatic brain injury, there were plenty of doctors who wanted to check up on her mind. She didn't like the prodding, the MRIs, the inquisitions, but she knew they were a necessary part of her life. If she ran her fingers along her hairline, she could still find the jagged scar that ran along her forehead. It was right where her skull had cracked open at the base of the stairs. Admittedly, it was easy to envision, which perturbed her.
She awoke sometime in the early hours of the morning when the agents began to show up for their shifts. It would be breakfast time soon, and she would be eating with a social worker while she filled out a survey and navigated an impending questioning.
Lexi was sure she was as mentally stable as she could be, albeit a bit rattled by her environment. She was trying her best to be as put-together as possible. It was the only way she'd be able to survive this.
She was led to another holding room within an hour of waking up by a guard who didn't say a single word to her. She wondered if he knew what she was in for and if that was the cause of his stubborn silence.
It was unclear how many times she would find herself on the wrong side of a locked door, under the thumb of some greater force. She hoped it would end soon.
The woman assigned to her was named Mrs. Dominguez, and she came in with a packet, a bagel, some steaming coffee, and a tentative smile. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, but there was something about her face that was timeless.
"You must be Lexi," Mrs. Dominguez said. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Lexi said, deadpan.
"Feel free to eat up. You'll need your strength."
Lex hated taking food from a stranger, but she didn't exactly have a choice. She didn't know when her next meal would be, so she took full advantage of what was in front of her. She ate quietly as Mrs. Dominguez ran through the procedure for the meeting, detailing what Lexi already knew. Lex politely listened, knowing better than to interrupt.
"It's been a rough week, huh?" the social worker asked.
"That's an understatement," Lexi replied.
"You're pretty tough. Seems like you're handling this well."
"I'm not sure that's true. Then again, I don't know many suspects who are wanted for murder." She glanced up at Mrs. Dominguez. "How come you don't look freaked out?"
"I've dealt with patients a lot worse than you," Mrs. Dominguez said matter-of-factly. She looked at her questionnaire. "What's your family like? Can you tell me about them?"
"Uh, well, I have two parents and an aunt who lives with me. I have one brother, Q. It's Quinton, technically, but he's not big on his full name. We're happy and tight-knit. There's nothing that could really change that," Lexi finished.
"A good support system is critical, and it looks like you have that."
"I don't know what I would do if I didn't," Lex admitted.
Mrs. Dominguez wrote something down before continuing. "Your aunt lives with you, correct?"
"She has for a long time."
"She's never been married?"
"She was engaged a while ago," Lex answered, knowing what the social worker was getting at. "It didn't work out."
"Why is that?"
"Well, when your fiance is a child molester and an attempted murderer, it tends to be a bit of a damper on the relationship," she said bitterly.
Mrs. Dominguez paused. "It sounds like this makes you upset."
"You read my history, right? Don't you know about Dennis?"
"Yes," Mrs. Dominguez confirmed. "It's merely technical jargon on paper. I want to hear your side of the story, Lexi. It'll help me understand you better."
"It was a long time ago."
"That doesn't mean it's not relevant," Mrs. Dominguez said. "It's going to be difficult for me to demonstrate your stability if you don't talk to me. What happens here, stays here. There's confidentiality between us."
"Is there?" Lex challenged. "I mean, all the feds in here are doing their homework. I don't think privacy is much of a priority."
"It is to me."
Lexi hated recounting the details. She could talk about what Dennis did abstractly. Brushing over it was the easy part, but the second she had to delve into the deeper parts of it, she started to close up.
Back then, he'd followed her into the bathroom, covering her mouth as she cried. He waited until they were home alone and stuck his hand up her t-shirt while she did her homework. She was so young, a mere elementary school student who couldn't fight back.
The thing about being molested was that even though she knew it was wrong, she didn't know how to vocalize it to her parents, or even what it was called. No one had ever sat her down with a doll and asked where she'd been touched. No one had ever explained what violations could occur beyond shut doors.
All of her first experiences with intimacy had been stolen, ruined, violated. She was working on the healing process, but it was slow-going and required the utmost effort to press onward.
She tried her best to tell Mrs. Dominguez all of this, but it was a challenge. She had to stop and start up again to hold back her tears. There would be no more crying. She was through with that, done with discussing some of the worst things that had ever happened to her.
"And how did all of that affect you?" Mrs. Dominguez asked softly.
"Seriously?" Lexi mumbled.
"I'm trying to get to know you."
"He made me feel unsafe in my own home, and when I tried to tell my mom, he tried to kill me. That fucks you up, ma'am. Granted, it's not enough to make me a killer. I'm lucky to be alive, and I'm not about to throw any of that away."
"I believe you," said Mrs. Dominguez. "I know whoever did this is a very sick person who needs a lot of help. Whoever he or she is has hatred in them, the kind of hatred that can't be fixed. You don't."
Lexi liked to believe she didn't hate the world. Maybe it was merely her naivete, but she kept herself from looking back in anger. She didn't want to lose everything that made her who she was to resentment.
Mrs. Dominguez finished the last of her on-page notations and set her pen down against the table. "I think you've told me everything I need to know. Thank you for cooperating, Lexi."
Lex didn't know how to respond. It wasn't like she really deserved to be thanked since she didn't have any other option but to go along with it.
"Did I pass?" Lex wondered.
"It wasn't a test," Mrs. Dominguez said. "I think you're a troubled young woman who has been through a lot, but I don't think you're dangerous and I don't think you're a killer either."
Lexi was relieved, even though she knew deep down that it was always true. Still, it felt good to have the validation from an outside source, to know that she was more reliable than she gave herself credit for.
The social worker's seal of approval could probably help her in the long run. She wanted to make sure she got out of here without any charges hanging over her head. Lexi wanted them to catch whoever hurt those men as much as the next person, but she also wanted it to be the right perpetrator and not someone tangled up in the web.
It felt like the ropes around her were loosening. She wasn't free, but she felt less like a captive, less restricted. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry. She trusted that.
Mrs. Dominguez started for the door, but Lex called after her. "Wait."
"Yes?" the woman prompted.
"Can I have a phone call?" Lexi pleaded. "I know you probably don't have much control over the policies here, but I could use a favor. It doesn't even have to be for a long time. I wanna talk to Quinton and let him know I'm okay."
Mrs. Dominguez pondered the request. "I'll see what I can do."
It wasn't a yes, or a no. It was an in-between answer, but it was sufficient. It would do.
Agent Foster's was the next face she saw. He came in quietly, less abrasive than some of his coworkers. Today, he was wearing a sweater vest with a crooked tie, a little shy before her. At least he was put-together. She could only imagine how wild she must've appeared.
"Hi," he said. "I heard you wanted to call your brother."
"I do. I dunno if that's allowed but if it is, can I?"
He pulled out the chair Mrs. Dominguez had previously occupied and answered by passing a simple black cell phone from his hands to hers.
She took it with a grin. "I didn't know you guys had hearts."
"We do. They're just hidden," he joked before growing more serious. "Make it quick."
She knew Quinton's number by heart, so it was easy to dial. He picked up immediately, undoubtedly because he'd been waiting expectantly for her to make contact.
"Please tell me that's you, Lex," Q rushed out.
"It's me."
He exhaled audibly. "Thank Christ. Mom is flipping out, Delaney's been going batshit, and Dad has been mowing the lawn for the past two hours. No one knows what to do without you around here."
"How are you taking it?" she said, trying to coax something out of him.
"I don't know, sis. I really don't. It's a lot to deal with. I didn't think an FBI agent was gonna waltz into our living room and tell us you're a suspected serial killer. I couldn't believe you'd ever do it, and I thought I missed something. At first, I was pissed you never said anything to me."
"I'm sorry, Q."
"No, I am," he said. "You're the one in federal custody. I would say I got the sweet end of the deal. Are you hanging in there?"
Nolan gestured down at his watch as if to remind her of the time ticking away.
"Yeah, I've got this," she assured him, even if she wasn't positive of that. "Trust me. I'll be back before the next Astros game. It'll be here before you know it."
"You better be," he said fiercely. "There's no one I'd rather share a beer with."
"Same here." She chewed her lip. "Hey, Q, can you tell everyone I love them and I'm gonna be back as soon as I can?"
"Of course," he replied. "I love you, Lex. Don't be stupid."
"That's your job, not mine. I love you too."
She had to hang up first because she knew Quinton wouldn't be able to let her go. She hated giving Foster the phone back, but she was glad to have gotten this olive branch if nothing else.
"You must be close," Nolan observed.
"We are. My whole family is."
"But you called him, out of everyone," he pointed out. "I just think it's interesting. That's all."
"Do you have siblings?" she asked.
"I do," he said. "Two sisters. I'm a middle child."
"I'm the oldest," she boasted.
"Lucky you, you're at the top of the family food chain."
"Nah, Q's taller than me and could totally take me in a fight. We all know who's boss," she said.
A buzz interrupted the dialogue, signaling an incoming text for Nolan.
"I better go. They want me back in the office," he explained apologetically. "Someone will get you back to your cell. We'll keep you updated if anything changes."
Her face fell at the thought of being back behind bars. It wasn't like she expected she would be let go immediately, but she didn't want to be put back in a cage.
"How long are you gonna keep me here?" she questioned.
"As long as we have to," he said. "It's not ideal, but we're looking at a violent homicide, and my boss isn't too keen on taking chances. You'll have to excuse me, but I really have to get going."
He did seem genuinely sorry about all of it. It softened the blow.
The outcome was hazy for Lex. If she had an 8-ball to shake for a glimpse into her future, she would probably get a vague, ambiguous answer. She couldn't gauge whether or not they would pin the crimes on her or if she would walk away soon.
She held onto the remaining fragments of her brother's voice as it lingered in her ears. He believed in her, she believed in herself, and she hoped that if there was any justice, her hands would be deemed clean.
Back in the crawl space they called a jail cell, she laid on her small bunk and stared at the roof above her. She was bored out of her wits, but imprisonment wasn't really meant to be an entertaining getaway or some sort of vacation.
She counted the cracks in the ceiling, running her fingers along the brick wall. She thought about herself as she did.
Was she a good person? Sure, she wasn't perfect, but where did she fall on the spectrum? She wasn't a monster, but she wasn't a saint either. No one was ever who they pretended to be, as exemplified by the killer they were chasing. Whoever it was seemed as elusive as ever. The FBI was chasing its tail, and she was too.
Even if she wasn't the culprit, she couldn't shake the feeling that she knew something. She didn't outright know what facts could be floating around in her mind, but she was inclined to think she had a clue buried in her subconscious.
During the next visit, when they delivered her lunch, she received a cold, rubbery sandwich and a small paperback book.
It was a copy of The Bell Jar. There was no inscription, no note, but she was glad to have something to read. She turned the first page gently, taking great care of this random book. They were having mercy on her, and she wasn't going to jinx it.
Lex wasn't a huge reader. It was something she did from time to time, but she wasn't a big fan or anything. She liked the activity enough to not be miserable, which was a plus in her eyes. She skimmed over the first line, and from that point on, she was lost in it.