Hanging Time

58

It sounds like you’re under a lot of stress right now,” Jason said. His notepad rested on his knee below the level of the tabletop. He made a quick note.

Camille lowered her head and nodded. “I’m worried,” she said softly.

“Sometimes when people get tense and nervous, their ears play tricks on them. They hear things when no one’s there.”

Camille nodded again.

“Have you ever heard people telling you things when no one’s there?”

“No.”

“What are you worried about?”

Camille glanced down at where she’d bitten her arm. She was silent for a long time.

“I’m worried about Bouck,” she said at last. “I’m worried about my relationship with my sister.” She looked up at Jason. “I’m worried about my future.”

“You sound blue.” There was nothing quite like stating the obvious. It usually worked.

Camille’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head fiercely. “I’m not supposed to say.”

“Sometimes when people get depressed and worried they feel they don’t want to go on living. Have you ever felt like this?”

“Yes.” Camille mouthed the word.

“When?”

She shrugged.

“Within the last forty-eight hours?”

“No.”

“Have you ever felt life was not worth living?”

She bristled. “I already told you that.”

“You said yes. Did you ever try to end your life?”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

“Who told you that?”

She shrugged again.

Uh-huh. “You mean you did try to end it?”

“Nooooo, I mean I never went all the way.” She brushed her red hair away from her face, looked defiant. “I could do it. If I tried, I could do it.”

“So you went part of the way? What does that mean?”

Camille kissed the dog. “I have my baby to live for.”

“Yes.” Jason looked at the bloody marks on her arm. “But you can hurt yourself. You bit your arm.”

“I got nervous. I was upset. I don’t know why I did that. I feel better now. I don’t think I’ll do it again.”

“What else do you do to hurt yourself, Camille?”

She glanced at the pocket where Jason’s key chain with the knife on it was. “I cut myself. I burned myself.” She chewed on her lips. “I break things.”

“What about Bouck?”

“What about him?”

“Have you ever hurt Bouck? Or your sister? Have you ever hurt Milicia?”

She looked shocked. “No. How could I?”

“Anybody else?”

“What?”

“Have you ever hurt anybody else?”

She shrank back from the table. “You’re just asking me that because I’m in the police station. You think I’m crazy.”

Jason didn’t say anything.

She gnawed on her lip.

“Have you hurt anybody else?”

“No. Only myself,” Camille said firmly.

Okay. “You said you were worried about your relationship with your sister. You want to tell me about that?”

Camille shuddered. “My sister is making me sick.”

“How is she doing that?”

“Ever heard of voodoo?” she whispered.

“Your sister is making you sick with voodoo?”

“Yes, you got it.” She nodded vigorously.

“How does she do that?”

“It happened a long time ago, and she won’t stop. That’s why Bouck has four locks.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

“I can’t say.”

Okay. “Is your sister doing anything to you now?”

Camille nodded fiercely, her face brittle with pain.

“What?”

Suddenly her eyes squeezed shut. With her wild mane of reddish hair, the trancelike expression, and the loose gauzy clothes, Camille looked like a parody of a fortune-teller struggling for an omen. “I’m not sure. It’s hazy. I can’t see.”

Jason changed the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about the last few days before you came here. What were those days like?”

Camille opened her eyes. “You want to know what I do?” She looked around wildly, as if for something to say.

“Yes. What time do you wake up in the morning? What do you do? Things like that.” Jason sat back in his chair.

Camille took some time to answer. The dog pawed her hand for attention. It gave her something to focus on. She smiled.

“I have to get up early because Puppy likes to get up early.”

Then her face clouded over.

“You take Puppy out for walks?” Jason asked.

“Sometimes,” she said vaguely.

“Then what?”

“I read the paper. If the stock market’s up, I go shopping.”

So Camille read the paper and went shopping. He asked about the newspaper first. “What’s your favorite section?”

“I like the stock market. But I read the whole thing. Then I put the paper on the floor for Puppy.”

“What was the Dow today?” Jason asked. He didn’t know what it was himself, but he’d look it up later to see if she was right.

“Thirty-five twenty-five,” she replied without hesitation.

“Is that up or down from yesterday?”

She shook her head, looking at him shrewdly again. “You’re trying to trip me up.” Her shrill laugh was startling. “But you can’t trip me up.”

“Oh, why not?”

“Because I know the trick.” Camille clapped her hands triumphantly.

“What’s the trick?” Jason was careful not to frown. He was puzzled.

“You asked me what the market did yesterday.” He nodded. So?

Camille laughed. “Yesterday was Labor Day. The market was closed.”

“Oh, yeah. It was.” Jason smiled. One of his supervisors used to say, “Never underestimate the mentally ill. Just because they’re sick doesn’t mean they’re stupid.”

So, she wasn’t hallucinatory, knew what day it was, followed the stock market. Might be slightly delusional. Focus drifted in and out. She thought her sister was hurting her with voodoo that started a long time ago. What kind of voodoo? Jason checked his watch. It was nearly midnight.