Page 90 of PSYCHOlogical

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Val

Ilooked at Vincent like he was out of his mind. “You’re kidding, right?”

In the midst of rolling Jack up inside my antique Persian rug, he looked up at me. “Not at all. I’m going to carry him to his house, dump him on the floor beside her, and leave him. I’ll bring the rug back, though.”

I glanced around the room. Blood was splattered everywhere. The walls? Covered. The floor? Soaked. My favorite entry hall table? Ruined. Little red spots were all over the ceiling. It looked like we’d filmed the final scene of a 1980’s slasher movie in my entry hall.

“There’s bits and pieces of him all over the place,” I argued. “If they spray this room with luminol and flip on a black light, it’ll have a blue glow that they’ll be able to see from the other side of the Potomac.”

He paused. “What do you know about luminol?”

“I watch cop shows.”

His gaze lingered for a moment before shifting his attention back to Jack. When he finished rolling him up in my rug, he wrapped duct tape around the make-shift burrito in two places.

He stood and stretched his arms. “Believe me, it isn’t going to matter.”

“They’re never going to believe he was killed over there.”

He sighed. “It’s not going to matter.”

I cocked my hip. “How is the fact that the entire top of his head is gone—and it’s nowhere to be found—not going to matter?”

“When the Office of the DNI finds out they’ve been murdered, they’ll intervene with the investigation—if the locals are investigating. When they intervene, the casewill become federal. The feds will get rid of the bodies, sanitize the home, and nobody will ever find out what really happened.”

Vincent was right. When an operator was killed while on a mission, DNI’s procedure was to interfere with any local investigation, take charge, and cover up the entire field operation. The Office of the DNI couldn’t risk that a savvy detective might expose the intricate details of clandestine operations.

I scanned the room and then shook my head at the sight. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Jack’s earlier accusations had me on edge. I wanted to figure out a way to clean everything up, deny it ever happened, and go on about my life. Now, more than ever, I knew that would never happen. I had somehow managed to become one of the damaged souls I was accustomed to counseling.

“What are we going to do about cleaning my house?” I asked.

“We’re going to gather up all the skull fragments, brain matter, and flesh. Then, we’ll make a quick pass to clean the blood with soap and water. When we’re done, you’re going to have an electrical fire.”

I gasped. “You’re going to light my house on fire?”

He nodded as if it was no big deal. “After I kill Trevino.”

“There’s stuff in here that I want.”

“You’re going to need to decide what’s important to you and take it with you. If this house looks like it’s been stripped of anything of value, the fire investigators will declare it arson. You and I won’t have the luxury of the Office of the DNI covering up investigations for us. Not any longer.”

The severity of what was happening weighed down on me so heavily I nearly collapsed, right then and there.

The manner in which I’d been living my life was going to come to a screeching halt. I imagined Vincent intended to torture Trevino until he revealed everything he knew about New Dawn and the DNI.

He’d demand answers as to why we were being eliminated. He’d ask about McMurphy and insist that Trevino tell the truth. After a few hours of torture, Trevino would comply with Vincent’s wishes.

In the end, if I managed to live that long, I’d be forced to begin a new life. One without deceit, lies, and manipulation at every turn.

I wanted my old life back. The one where Vincent would enter my office with one corner of his mouth curled up in a grin that he wasn’t able to completely conceal. He’d reveal his worries, concerns, and feelings.

I’d offer a professional opinion of why he felt the way he did. He’d ask questions. I’d make suggestions on how he could find a way to accept his feelings as being nothing but his mind’s natural reaction to a situation. He’d eventually stand, smile, turn away, and take one last glance in my direction before leaving. I’d cling to that glance until the next time we met.

On the surface, my life had been simple.

I glanced at the bloody wall. It stood as proof that beneath the surface, my life was eventually going to kill me if changes weren’t made soon.