The Suicide Gene Read online

  “Anytime.” Giff nodded back, adjusted the knot of his tie.

  Matt opened the door, stepped outside, then glanced at his watch and turned toward Emma with a smile. “Am I fine to leave? Is my hour up?”

  “Yes.” She even laughed a little. “More than up.”

  He laughed, too, nodded, and the closing of the door separated their smiles.

  “I’d like to stay and hear more about the infamous Mathew McKinney, but I have to run.” Giff’s milky-white teeth peeked past upturned lips. He winked at Sharon.

  “Don’t ask,” Sharon warned.

  “Yes.” Emma raised her eyebrows. “We’d tell you more, but then we’d have to kill you. Confidentiality.”

  “This is a dangerous place,” he said, then kissed her a second time, on the lips, and longer.

  “Very dangerous.” He grinned and left them quickly.

  Chapter 19

  Monday, March 30, 2015

  Forty-five days.

  “Josh did not try to break into your house.” Sharon seemed adamant. “I have to leave. I’m late. I texted Giff. He’ll stop by when he gets back to Erie, but lock the door behind me.”

  “Sharon, I’m fine and, yes, it was Josh. He was angry because he couldn’t get in. No one will burglarize the office.”

  “I talked to him, Emma. It wasn’t him.”

  “Well, of course, he won’t admit he tried to smash my door to smithereens.”

  She wasn’t sure who attempted to flatten the brand new lock on her back door—maybe kids looking for beer—but she blamed Josh in order to keep peace with Sharon, Giff, and Ally. Whoever it was didn’t get in. For the rest of her life, she’d recommend that weekend warrior of a locksmith, all three hundred pounds of him. He’d installed his Goliath locks. They held.

  “Listen, you can’t take chances. It could be anyone. All these clients, my God, it could be Matt McKinney.”

  “Sharon!” Her face reddened. “Stop accusing Matt!”

  “You can’t be sure it isn’t him.”

  “Think.” Emma stood and put her hands on her hips, waiting for Sharon to come to her senses. “Do you really believe if Matt McKinney wanted to get in my house a lock would stop him?”

  She paused, waited for Sharon to imagine Matt McKinney’s big arms swinging a hammer toward her backdoor lock, and then him retreating, head hung low, when he couldn’t dislodge it. She almost watched the scene unfold in her head.

  Sharon broke into a smile. “Okay,” she said, “but please. Just lock the door.”

  When she was gone, Emma did lock the door. For one grateful second, she leaned her forehead against its wood and sighed thankfully, glad she’d escaped without admitting to Sharon the hang-up calls had begun again.

  She was fairly certain those calls came from Josh or Anna or maybe Mary McKinney. Okay, she didn’t know who made the calls, but she wasn’t going to tell anyone about them. She would change her number again as soon as she had the chance, but for now, she hustled toward a “to-do” stack that approached National Archive magnitude. These days, her mind puttered in slow motion, recovering but limping, from the stabbing realization she suffered at Trinity cemetery.

  She struggled to permanently cross the McKinneys off the consanguinity list. She believed they weren’t family, then didn’t. Believed and didn’t again. It was like taking a pregnancy test—which she’d done twice—and the results confirm you’re not pregnant, but you can’t rid yourself of that back-of-the-mind doubt. The uncertainty doesn’t subside until you have a full-fledged period. In the same way, she wasn’t sure she could run that pen across the McKinney name until she identified her biological family.

  There had been so many clues.

  Still, sleep came more peacefully now, and if not for the attempted break-in and returned hang-up calls, she would have slept like a baby in a car seat on a long ride.

  Her clearer thinking made her keenly aware it was imperative to intervene medically for the twins. But her intent to medicate them wore on much like the month—in like a lion and out like a lamb. Her determination waned from fierce to fragile. By March’s end, she knew they wouldn’t budge. She conceded with trepidation. No medication. Discussed the issue with Matt.

  Her fondness of him continued to grow. Although a red veil of blush fell over her face whenever she recalled the day Josh threw a tantrum in her office, she appreciated Matt’s serendipitous defense. If serendipitous at all. But she refused to go there. She had just begun to believe Matt was genuinely a nice guy—more normal than she originally thought. Yet, his perfectly-timed visit made her gut feeling slosh with worry, and she had learned long ago to trust her hunches.

  She strolled to the window and peeked outside, up and down the street. No sign of the car with the dark windows that Sharon and Ally were convinced had a stalker inside. They’d been harping on her about it for weeks, annoying the patience out of her.

  She returned to her computer, irritated with the two of them for putting such dark thoughts in her head. She stabbed at the letters of Matt’s name on her keyboard. Her screen blued, and Matt’s appointment dates appeared. She moved the cursor to February.

  Patient: Mathew McKinney

  Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr

  Date: February 18, 2015 5 p.m.

  ****

  Matt: Eventually Dad stopped driving and stayed home, but he would go days without talking. After Mom died, my sisters—the twins—spent a lot of time alone. I’m not sure they ever dealt with her death.

  Dr. Kerr: Were they close to their mother?

  Matt: Yes and no. They knew Mom was disappointed in them. That strained the relationship. But I’m not sure they cared. Mom said they lacked compassion, and she was right. Like most of the Scullys, the twins have no mercy for others, no remorse for harm or hurt they cause. They’re like my grandmother Sara.

  Dr. Kerr: Was your grandmother abusive?

  Matt: (Laugh.) Abusive to the core. There aren’t enough hours in the day to talk about good old Grandma Sara. I think it’s best to stick with the twins. I’ll just say Sara was as cold and calculating and evil as the twins—maybe more so. How about we leave it at that?

  ****

  Matt wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know. Emma had heard the stories about Sara Scully. Not a lot of people cried the day she died.

  She closed out February and selected his March session, waiting patiently for his transcripts to appear and mulling over the conversation she overheard about him last week. Still marveling at her lucky break.

  The fluke occurred at Dom’s Diner, where she was meeting Ally for lunch. She ran smack into Josh and Anna sitting beside each other amid a table of their co-workers. This, after he had spent March apologizing for his scene in the office, begging for a new key, pleading with Emma to go to counseling, and promising to keep his distance from Anna.

  Okay, she got it. They still worked together. But they sat uncomfortably close, his tailored shirt brushing Anna’s bared arms. When Josh looked up from his turkey panini—which he chose because it was less fatty and made him feel a notch healthier than the others who ate Dom’s favored pastrami sandwich—he halted mid-bite, openmouthed, and red rushed his face. When once the urge to run across the room and gouge his eyes out would have overtaken Emma, now she felt relief. Her still-married guilt over long weekends with Giff instantaneously dissolved.

  When Anna caught her eye, Emma moved out of character and did something so unlike her she still blushed when she thought about it. She smiled, waved, gave Anna the thumbs up, and walked out the door, wondering how many days his stuffy associates would whisper beside their purified water cooler about the odd gesture. Emma could barely text and ask Ally to meet her elsewhere for lunch when she walked away. Tears of laughter blurred her vision. Ally’s tardiness, for once, saved face.

  Josh left seventeen messages on her voicemail in the forty-eight hours after that brief exchange. She didn’t listen to one, erased them all.

  Ally and E
mma met at the Plymouth Restaurant that day, instead. Emma sat down at a two-seat table hugging the wall, and the much-adored Erie newscaster, Heather Richards, entered and chose the little table next to her. They were seated back to back at tables awkwardly close to accommodate the lunchtime crowd. The nearness made hiding juicy gossip impossible. When Heather’s lunch date arrived and asked her first question before even sitting down, Emma nearly choked. She managed to spit her pop into the plastic tumbler, the back of her nostrils stinging.

  “How did the gorgeous Mathew McKinney take it when you told him about the job offer in Atlanta?”

  Emma sunk in her seat, feeling a little like she had planted a bug under their table and was camped outside in a van listening.

  “Well, he didn’t ask me to marry him if that’s what you’re getting at,” Heather had said, laughing. “But I think he’s concerned. I’m not sure. He’s hard to read.”

  “Are you going to take the job?” Her companion asked.

  “Not sure,” Heather responded, and her blather cascaded into the pros and cons of living in Atlanta and the future opportunities that might open up from a high-profile anchor position.

  Later, after Ally arrived, they ate, and while both tables were adding tips and signing slips, she heard Matt’s name come up again and she blocked Ally’s chatter to hear.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do.” Heather sounded conflicted. “I like him.”

  “Enough to throw it all away? This is a great opportunity.”

  “Yes, I like him that much. If it weren’t for a few oddities, I’d have turned the offer down.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve never met his family, for one.” She hesitated. “More importantly, sometimes I feel like he’s hiding something. Of course, maybe I just can’t believe he’s that perfect.”

  Matt McKinney, perfect? She had nearly coughed up her lunch.

  Now Emma scoured his transcripts. Clicking in, scrolling, and clicking out in pursuit of the conversation she wanted, swiftly passing his apology for profanities used when he met Josh. The urge to erase those lines, blot out written proof of the ordeal, tempted her fingers. She steered her hand away from the delete key and moved on.

  She had worked hard to coax Matt into talking about Heather after that lunch. She had to camouflage her interest in her with idle talk about the twins at first.

  Patient: Mathew McKinney

  Psychiatrist: Dr. Emma Kerr

  Date: March 25, 2015 5 p.m.

  ****

  Dr. Kerr: Are you more worried about Minnie or Mary?

  Matt: (Pause.) I’m not worried about either. But if you’re asking who you should be concerned about, today it’s Mary. Tomorrow it may be Minnie. Their moods change like barometric pressure.

  Dr. Kerr: Has Mary’s behavior changed?

  Matt: She’s a bit more withdrawn but still as crazy as a mouse in a maze.

  Dr. Kerr: How is she withdrawn?

  Matt: (Pause.) She refused to babysit for Mel. Twice in the past two weeks. Even when Mel said she would ask Minnie.

  Dr. Kerr: I’m confused. Would Mary mind if Minnie babysat?

  Matt: Yes, I’m surprised no one told you. Once when Minnie was watching the kids, Ruby was burned. Minnie bought an old play stove at a garage sale for her. It plugged in and warmed up water. Supposedly, when Ruby picked up the frying pan with the water, the handle was so hot she dropped it. She was sitting on the tile floor. The water crept down her leg in a matter of seconds. You can still see the scar.

  Dr. Kerr: Did Mel blame Minnie?

  Matt: No, but I don’t think she was in a hurry for her to babysit again. She always asked Mary after that. When Mary turned her down twice, she was shocked.

  Dr. Kerr: Any other changes in Mary?

  Matt: She stopped going to church.

  Dr. Kerr: It sounds like you’ve been checking on them.

  Matt: Maybe.

  Dr. Kerr: Why do you think that is?

  Matt: Just making sure they leave my little sister alone.

  Dr. Kerr: Matt, you’ve mentioned that before. Is there something you’re not telling me?

  Matt: (Laugh.) There’s a lot I’m not telling you.

  Dr. Kerr: Something in relation to how the twins treat Melanie?

  Matt: (Pause.) You don’t need to worry about that. They treat her just fine. And they always will.

  Dr. Kerr: Well, let’s discuss what you’re not telling me.

  Matt: (Laugh.)

  Dr. Kerr: You never talk about your relationships.

  Matt: What’s to talk about?

  Dr. Kerr: Are you in a relationship?

  Matt: Yes and no.

  Dr. Kerr: (Laugh.) How so?

  Matt: I go out, now and then, with Heather Richards.

  Dr. Kerr: The Heather Richards?

  Matt: (Laugh.) Why, Doctor Kerr, you act surprised.

  Dr. Kerr: Nothing you say or do surprises me, Matt. Has she met the family?

  Matt: You’re kidding, right?

  Dr. Kerr: About?

  Matt: Introducing her to the twins? I struggled to admit my last name for fear she’d find out about them. Nope, I like where my relationship with Heather is going. The twins aren’t ruining it.

  Dr. Kerr: But you aren’t in a relationship.

  Matt: Touché.

  Dr. Kerr: If you are in a relationship and it is going fairly well, there’s no shame in that.

  Matt: No shame. Heather is great. We aren’t able to see each other as often as we like with our work schedules. There’s a chance she may move to Atlanta for a national news show. I’m sure you’ve heard the chatter. It’s all over Twitter. I don’t see how she could pass up that opportunity.

  Dr. Kerr: She’s a great newscaster.

  Matt: She is. Too good for Erie. Unfortunately for me.

  Dr. Kerr: You travel a lot for work. Maybe you could make the relationship work.

  Matt: My GE trips are mostly day trips, to fix glitches in systems. I do fly south for long weekends. But I go to Fort Worth, Texas, never Atlanta.

  Dr. Kerr: You are a system analyst, correct?

  Matt: Yes.

  Dr. Kerr: You don’t mention your job often. Do you like it?

  Matt: Love it. How about you, Doc, do you like your job?

  Dr. Kerr: Yes, and thanks for asking. Do they treat you well?

  Matt: That they do—trips, lunches, accolades, and last month a fat bonus no one knows about.

  Dr. Kerr: I’m sure it is well deserved.

  Matt: It is. I’ll admit it. Logistics comes easy to me. I’m their problem-solver. I was never much for books, but my math aptitude is high.

  Dr. Kerr: Math and logistics are your forte.

  Matt: (Laugh.) I’m sure Mary divulged my forte. She talks incessantly about the family IQs. Hates it that hers is the lowest.

  Dr. Kerr: How do you get along with Mary?

  Matt: You know I don’t get along with either twin.

  Dr. Kerr: Well, I appreciate you continuing to come in for them—for Mel.

  Matt: It’s turning out to be my pleasure, and as I’ve mentioned, yes, I’d do anything for my little sister.

  ****

  Well at least there was that, she thought. Matt had Mel. Everyone yearned for family—even a genius.

  No matter how many conversations she reread, all indication was that Matt and Mel had no pressing mental issues. She usually spotted them easily—the ones inching toward the edge. But the smart ones could fool you.

  Doctor Cameron lost a client once. He spent over a year in counseling afterward. The seventeen-year-old—a slip of a girl with striking blue eyes—hung herself from the ceiling fan in her bedroom with an exercise band. Five days before her death, she received word she achieved a perfect score on her SATs. Smart people are never happy. Two days after the tragedy, her stepmother opened an acceptance letter to her number one choice of colleges. Fourteen years before her suicide, the girl’s own mother hung herself in
the basement of that same house, where her father and stepmother had worked diligently to revamp, refurbish, remodel, and rebuild the walls and floors and lives left behind. It was their attempt to scrape away the past. They failed miserably.

  Thankfully, Emma had managed to avert the client-suicide calamity, but she’d survived some tough cases, gingerly stepping in front of some desperate souls, guiding them around mines, pitfalls, and the terrifying fear that sometimes paralyzes a person who is afraid their world will explode with the next heel strike. She understood they longed for the pain to stop, not life. And, most important—they never thought they’d do it. Then one day, they toyed with fate and lost.

  But that was a problem, wasn’t it? No one thought they’d kill themselves. Research suggested no one truly knew how deeply the events in a person’s life impacted their genes. The McKinney’s odd family life put them all at risk.

  However, Matt dating Heather Richards did make him appear more normal — like her dating Giff. A good, romantic relationship was like a stability stamp on your forehead. If Heather likes him, if Giff likes me, then we must be okay.

  She warned herself to think carefully, but Heather Richards did validate his sanity somewhat. They were a striking couple. Both good looking, well educated, successful, well spoken, independent. Heather Richards and Matt McKinney fit perfectly.

  Then what was bothering her so much about the happy couple?

  Chapter 20

  Thursday, March 31

  Suicide attempt. Three.

  She parked her car on the side of the road but jumped the guardrail and hid behind thick brush when she saw distant headlights coming toward her. Who drove this way at this hour? Probably some late straggler headed home to the nearby township, McKean.

  Like two eyes widening, the lights came closer, staring, then blinked and zipped past her. She hurdled the guardrail while watching the red taillights, Siamese-cat eyes, disappear into the black night. She resumed her walk thinking about McKean. She liked the small borough. The houses weren’t on top of each other as in Erie. Big plots of farmlands with hills and horses and beautiful scenery separated them.