Chapter Six 

Knew it, one of these is not a match to Bobby's found at the barn scene, one of them matches Ducas Dillinger! They both disappeared on the same day from the group home, but no one knew if they planned this and stayed together, or if they parted paths. Alas! They were in fact, together at the barn!


Why is there one singular tooth belonging to Mr. Dillinger here, and why hasn't his body or any other dental recovery ever been found?


Where is Ducas Dillinger? He is assumed missing by some and deceased by others -- even his brother Lucas stopped looking for him after a long while.


Lucas claimed Bobby murdered Ducas. At one point a police theory was, Ducas was the one who blew Bobby up, and that it wasn’t a suicide. That’s because they can’t find Ducas, alive or dead – and so the sights turned to him as a possible murder suspect. Many thought he did it for the robbery money.


Lucas stopped questioning the police so much about his missing brother after that. He got really upset that we were looking into his missing brother Ducas for murder, instead of searching for him as a missing person, and so, Lucas took a bunch of ‘Percocet’ and overdosed. He never did believe that was Bobby dead, and he always thought it was Bobby who killed his brother and took the money all for himself from the robbery, that day they ran away.


It all just became another cold case, then. He has been gone for years, or he could be dead already? Maybe we should leave sleeping dogs rest, yes? I don't have a good feeling about this, but I must let my findings be known immediately.




Her costume is fantastic, but she'd look fabulous in a paper bag -- my paper-bag Pimpcess.


"Can't believe you convinced me to come to his stupid Halloween function, Nylah,"


In all honesty? I'm ecstatic to be at any place with her.


"Be careful, love, you might fuck around and have a fun time." Nylah joked.


"Everywhere with you, is an enjoyable time, baby-girl."


Her cheeks turn red, we walk into the condominium together -- people are all packed in. There must be over two-hundred people here, at least. What a sweet place – it's too bad a complete fuck-bag owns it.


"I'm going to go and spring us some drinks, I'll be right back, beautiful." I spoke. My feet feel like they have missiles on my heels, as I hurry at the speed of light. I don't want to have to be away from her for one second longer than necessary. I fly over to the beverage table and flow us both some champagne. When I go back to where she was waiting, she isn't there -- Nylah, where did you go?




The night goes much as I expect, same shit different asshole. After that heinous gala, that I want nothing more than to forget, I haven't been myself. I'm such an atrocious person for abandoning Malachi, but how can I tell him what happened when I'm not even sure?


He's going to extirpate Ducas -- I want to end Ducas too, and his friends. From what I do remember they stood around, gawking at me. How can people be so cruel -- what happened to me?


The last thing I recall, I was waiting for Malachi to pour us drinks -- then, I'm waking up naked in bed with Ducas? My mind remembers flashes, and none of them are commendable. People were getting-off on us having sex, laughing and taking pictures and video.


Some others were even fondling me, too -- while he raped me. One guy, even put his beer bottle inside of me, I think there was still brew in it.


Also, I remember another girl yelled at me to stop 'rubbing her,' but touching her is not what I was trying to do. I was reaching out to her, for help, but no one helped me -- not a single person. Some laughed, some said that ‘it’s ‘wrong,’ -- but no one stopped him or called the police.


I don't recall much after that. For a split-second, I thought it was Malachi, because that is who I came to the party with, so that would make the most fucking sense, right?


Ducas said I came on to him, and that I should be grateful he liked me and gave me the time of day. He said I wanted to ditch Malachi, and that it was my idea to go and chill out in his bedroom. This doesn't sound like me at all. Embarrassed, I get up in a flurry and leave while he was in the bathroom -- how will I ever tell Malachi? He's going to think I'm despicable, he's going to think I'm a hoe and that I wanted it.


Another dreadful night at work done, so I head toward the stop with my mind sprinting. I can't miss this bus to night school. I'm so roused to finish this course because I can be charged to go to work instead of eager to leave it.


Walk up to the enormous concrete building, I open the large brass door, walk to my assigned room and take my seat. This time will lick by fast, why? It was something I like doing. Time relativity is a fucked-up thing. Sit somewhere you don't want to be, and a minute feels like an hour -- sit somewhere you want to be, and an hour feels like a minute.


Although hard, with all that is on my mind, I try to focus my attention back to the front. This teacher is great, Professor Mary Flannigan -- the best one at the school, I'd say. Everyone loves her.

"Please come down and get your case," she instructed. "You'll be working with Dr. Hans Simpson at SAM-H, again. Take these papers, your chauffeur is waiting for you now."


"Thank you." I'm genuinely stirred and that rarely happens these days. I need something else to focus my mind on, other than current events -- just something else, anything else to take over my thoughts.


Snagging my bag, I head downstairs to the car. The drive to SAM-H doesn't take long. The cabby is listening to the information station. He isn't talkative and I'm cool with that, I don't like talking anyway -- I want to save my energy.


A news story comes on -- the driver doesn't say anything, reaches over and turns it up.


"Breaking news! Eighteen-year-old Justice Atkins is still missing from her Riverside home. Anyone with any information on her whereabouts, please call the department as soon as possible. There is a picture of her on our website and the family is offering a $25,000 reward for her unhurt return. In other news, Lynn Bardashian was spotted today with a pimple, and we'll tell you how she got it. Stay tuned to find out how..."


My ears stopped caring -- who the fuck cares? A girl is gone, fuck Lynn and her damn zit. I take out my journal -- something I always carry with me.


Journal Entry:


We were almost at the institution, so heartsick about that girl. Would her parents be willing to spend that kind of money on her otherwise? Most don't need money spent, they need time spent. Time is so much more valuable than money. People don't realize this, but I wish more would. Perhaps she isn't lost, some people don't want to be found.


The media blows the things out of proportion that it shouldn’t and gives radio silence to the affairs that it should detonate. When I was little, I wanted to be a journalist -- until I learned how much they're censored. You can't say what's happening, you must broadcast what they want you to think is going on.


I wanted to be a vet and a lawyer at one point too. Then I realized that vets must put the animals down and that lawyers, are animals -- savages. They're money-hungry beasts and few do it for the good anymore. The few who do, are lost amid all the corruption.


So, I said fuck it and went the route of psychiatry -- I want to help people and make a difference in their world. I don't want to punish people for their behaviour, I want to understand it. To understand is the first step to fixing, and you can't repair what you don't first acknowledge.


My dream is to be whom I needed as a child, but I don't think little me would've listened to big me. Would little you have listened to big you? Maybe that girl ran away because she didn't have anyone to listen to her, without judgment.


Some people will hear you but not listen to you. Some don't know that there is a difference between hearing someone speak and listening to the said words. The words people use are essential to know their state of mind. Some are committed to misunderstanding you because they don't even understand themselves -- perception is everything.


Suffering from something called 'borderline personality disorder,' makes every day a war. My whole life is a mission to understand myself, and I'm still learning.


Also, I can't have children -- try being twenty-five years-old and broken, in a world full of fertile, baby-making machines. Try explaining to multiple people many times about why you don't have children yet. Tick-tock, tick-tock, they say -- fuck you and your ticking clock.


I stopped writing.


We drive up to the place and it is much smaller than most hospitals -- more like a titan of a white house. The closer I get the more auroral it looks to be -- I walk up to the door but before I even knock the door becomes ajar.


"Hi, Nylah, been waiting for you -- please, do come in. As you know, you will be assisting me again with the Blake case study." the short, white-haired, round man explained, while holding out an outstretched hand for me to reciprocate.


It sure doesn't smell like a hospital -- not that typical smell, although there was a hint of shit in the atmosphere. It smells more like that dollar place incense mixed with a note of chocolate chip cookie -- and shit, who shit themselves?


A lady is sitting with a young girl, trying to force her to take a pill. We walk past what looks to be a music room and into his office. The office is slightly decorated with some artwork on the wall and a desk. A thick canary-coloured book jacket is in the middle.


"Please, take a seat," he stared me up and down as he sat.


"Well, Nylah, a pleasure to see you again. This case is a serious one that I handpicked for you. Your marks exceed anyone else, so that leads me to believe that you are who could supply the best insight into this one. Many tried over the years. So far, I love your insights. Professor Flannigan and I talked it over, and we've both decided that you're the best for this special situation." He hands me the jacket, and it launches my hand downward.


"The last time you were here we just went over the basics of this case. Tonight, I want to get a little more in-depth about it with you," Dr. Hans said.


Wow, the profile is huge -- but there is a life in these slices of tree, someone I could help. Someone who hungers for my empathy and companionship -- this patient is that someone.


"Take a few minutes and tell me what your first impressions are?"


I opened the yellow folder and scanned the first page -- a picture of a young Bill, and another of him now at fourteen.


"Well first off, before continuing, I have an observation to make. The thing is thick -- thicker than most in class. The patient, has been here for a long time, hasn't he? Longer than I first assumed?"


"The first rule, Nylah, never assume -- it makes an ass out of you and me," he snorted.


Incredible, how wanting something so bad can change your capability to do something well, that you'd generally be able to do well otherwise, in any other circumstance. My speaking ability now, for instance.


"You are indeed correct, though, Ms. Diamond, this young man here has in fact lived here since he was four years old -- such a sad story indeed. The father was abusive daily for many years concerning the mother and the two children. They were always fighting.


Officers were over at that farmhouse often, the murder happened right in front of the children. They found them both startled as ever, hiding under the kitchen table. They were sitting in the blood of their parents. The investigation concluded she finally had enough, and so she let the woman-beating asshole have it, but not before getting beaten so horribly that it took her life."


He said children, but this file only displays pictures of one person -- Billy. It does mention a brother – Bobby Blake, but there isn’t a picture of him, and it makes me wonder. Why has he not said anything about what happened to him? Where is Bobby Blake?


Case #3052 -- William Blake, I feel a shiver come over me as I turned the pages, glancing slowly at each one.


"I'm going to go make some coffee, we're going to be here a while -- you want some?" he asked.


"Yes please, black -- thank you." I spoke.


"Excellent choice, like me -- I'll be right back. Give that some more of a read, but don't rush -- we have a lot to go through. Pace is major, kiddo." he said with a stern look.


The corners of his mouth are as sharp as an arrow, a bead of sweat forms on his brow as he shuffles out the door into the next room.


"Pace myself?" I asked him, raising my voice a little, so I can be heard in the back room.


With no response, I get up and walk toward the door. I begin to rephrase my question thinking Hans hasn't heard me, but he is already making his way back out with the two coffee cups, responding.


"You're going to need to sit down for this, most are never quite the same after looking at it."