Sanford Crow

CHAPTER 37

Diane wasn't often afraid. Or at least that's what she told herself. The incident at Berkley College had dulled her, quieting fear to a forgetful murmur.

Yet, as Diane sat in her office she found herself experiencing fear on a level equal to the manics and phobics she'd consulted. But Diane's fear was simpler; she was afraid of Sanford Crow. Since her chat with Detective Waters, Diane had been in a constant state of flux. He'd come for her. She'd been toying around with the emotions of a fragile mind. Why? For literature? Money? Fame?

Things had gotten out of control though, hadn't they? She never thought in a million years that sweet Sanford could turn to murder. The other deaths—before his trip to Maine—she only saw as coincidental; a bizarre throwback to his past. But after Sanford called her and told her what he did to Ava, she passed that news on to Detective Waters. He'd told her about Panda. Now, sitting alone, she held on to her own gun for comfort. The sweat from her palm slicked the handle.

She was next. She felt that, down in her bones.

But if she wasn't....

The manuscript she had almost finished had bestseller written all over it. It could be award-winning.

Her office was cold. The heat blared but it couldn't seem to vanquish the chill in her body. She sipped her coffee, systematically, refilling the cup every time it passed halfway. The gun never leaving her hand. Christmas carols jingled and jangled outside. It was the time of year that cheer radiated. The sound of it made her sick.

She stepped towards the window and looked out. A station wagon pulled up, the older kind with wood paneling on the sides.

She watched through drawn blinds in an open slit as big as her eyes. The nozzle of the gun held the slit open. The wagon pulled around and into the parking lot. She backed away from the window, nervously filled up her coffee again.

The clock read 1:40. She had twenty minutes until her next appointment, which she was greatly looking forward to. She'd sit at her desk with the gun tucked in the top drawer, waiting to be pulled at a moment's notice. As much as she hated her patients, she'd be grateful to not be alone. Her next patient was a beast of a man, one who visited the gym far more than the therapy office.

Maybe I should get back into the gym. The treadmill at home can only do so much. Maybe I'll hire a personal trainer. A young guy, with muscles, in shape. A guy who knows exactly how to—

"What's up, Doc?" a voice called out from behind her. She froze.

She knew who it was before she turned around. The gun stayed in her hand, pressed against her thigh, as if she'd forgotten it was there at all.

"I saw you through the window. Do you like my new car? I stole it. It's kinda fitting, right? My dad drove the same thing."

Diane tried to speak but found that her tongue refused to cooperate.

"Don't be rude, Doc, I believe a hello is in order," Sanford said. "Or is that too much to ask for a patient whose life you ruined?"

"I didn't... how would I... I never meant to..." No sentence seemed to fit or wanted to complete itself. Sanford pushed forward. He charged at her, not even acknowledging the gun in her hand. She retreated quickly behind the desk.

"None of this would've happened if it wasn't for you and your shit psychiatry!" Sanford said as he tried to close the gap around the side of the desk. Diane moved away just as fast, keeping the desk between them. Then she felt it. The metal in her hand.

Oh my god...

She raised the gun, pointing it across the desk at Sanford's face. He seemed not to care.