Confessions of a Serial Killer: Cynthia Young

Epilogue

I watched as paramedics carted two gurneys out of my office building. I had just lost my sister, and now, two of my patients were gone. Reginald was an innocent casualty in all of this, and Cynthia was such a bright woman with a bright future. It is a shame I couldn't help them in the way that I wanted to.

I am sitting in the back of an ambulance; the lights are flashing, but the vehicle emits no sound. A paramedic is observing me, and they're trying to measure my level of hysteria. I am not a stranger to trauma, but they must do their jobs, as must I.

A police officer comes over to me and asks for my statement. I don't expect him to prod too much, as I overheard him talking with his fellow officers about how "open and shut" this case was.

"Cynthia was having an episode," I explained. "She wasn't making much sense, if any. If only I had known she was capable--" I am interrupted by my own mind.

"Are you okay, Sir?" the officer asks, and I assure him that I am fine. I do not speak anymore, and he doesn't ask me to. The officer leaves and the paramedic is out of sight. I am free to act of my own free will.

I walk to the officer who is responsible for the bullet that took Cynthia's life. She is leaning against the back end of a patrol car, and her eyes are looking at nothing in particular, much like Cynthia's in our first session.

"Hello, officer," I say, but I don't expect her to respond right away. My presence has startled her in an unsettling time. I will be lucky to get even a syllable from her.

"Hello, Doctor," the officer replies. She is avoiding my gaze. She wants to be alone, but I know that my presence can offer comfort. "I am totally going to get fired," she says, surprising not only herself, but I as well.

"You did only what was necessary. You saved my life. I will vouch for you." She looks up at me, and I am aware that she is intrigued. In so many ways, she is like Cynthia, but after our brief interaction, I already know that she is the complete opposite.

"You don't even know me," she whispers. Tears pool in her eyes. She blinks them away so quickly that I am left to wonder if her eyes merely twinkled.

"That is true. I do not. My name is Dr. Mann." I offer her my hand, but she does not take it.

"Yvette," she responds. I smile at her, and she offers a half-smile in return.

"Yvette, I will help you through this. If you want me to that is."

"I killed somebody," Yvette bluntly states. "And I'll probably kill someone again. It is my job. I will carry the death with me when I wear my uniform, but once I take it off, it will stay with the uniform."

"That takes a lot of strength," I say after a pregnant pause. Yvette smiles proudly. "Yvette, you will find that I am a very good listener. My door will always be open for you."

"Is it a good idea for me to go to therapy in the same place I killed somebody?"

"If you'd like, I'll rent a place for you. If need be, my family owns a lovely bookstore that would double nicely as an office," I say.

"That won't be necessary," Yvette replies smugly, "but I do believe you will be seeing me." She walks away from me without so much as a goodbye.

This time, I would catch the warning signs before it was too late. With my guidance, Yvette would get the help that Cynthia couldn't.